Cast Away

Yesterday was blast, today was cast, and that's what the sporting life is all about, mixing it up, by land, sea and air. Well, lake, in this case.

After a slow start I drove out of the compound to catch fish with GWB. I wanted to show off the fun and success of the Weightless Worm Rig (WWR), so we headed to Lake Whitney by way of buying a couple of boxes of nightcrawlers. These were "imported from Canada," curiously, and I've been told that people in Alberta make a living from this.

Many Limits

Next stop, the lake itself and the limestone banks of Soldier's Bluff. At one point in time, soldiers must have looked down on the Brazos river from the rocky bluffs and before them, Indians. Not that long ago in the scheme of things, but today it was just the team, threading worms onto hooks and dropping the tasty morsels down into the depths.

Across the cove from us a solitary gentleman was sitting on a bucket with a line in the water. Was he a #BlackLivesMatter supporter? No, I doubt it, he was probably after catfish instead of a Soros grant. I watched a few rigs pull up behind him and out poured an army of young people, who clambered their way onto the opposing bluffs. They were going cliff jumping, big fun, but we were after fish, and they were biting.

Well, Well, Well

It started off in a competitive spirit, "Ha! Number 2, we're even," but that soon went by the by as fish after fish ran with the WWRs. I lost count, but GWB estimates a "good cooler full." We certainly caught that, though these Bluegills were put back to fight again another day. And not only Bluegill, I caught a decent little Crappie who was trying his luck in Sunfish territory.

Then the worms were gone and it was time to quit while the going was good. I'd say there's relaxing, innocent enjoyment in bank fishing, though it would've been nice to have some kind of boat to get out to where the Bass were were jumping, about 40 or 50 yards out.

Kindly Old LSP

Fishing wisdom: Go where the fish are and give them what they think they want; you'll catch an abundance. There's a moral in that somewhere, if you care to draw it.

Tight lines,

LSP

Prince is Dead, I Went Fishing

Prince has died. He was a Pop Star singer songwriter from the '80s and considered a super if eccentric talent. He may or may not have been a member of the Illuminati. Regardless, I celebrated Mass this evening and went fishing at Soldiers Bluff, at Lake Whitney. I guess soldiers used to watch over the mighty Brazos from the limestone bluffs, a century or so ago.

That was then, today Soldiers Bluff is a campsite surrounding a cove near the dam and it was flooded, thanks to Hillary's foreign policy and the settled science of climate change, or The Weather, which we're in a war with. Undeterred, I scouted the banks of this near inland sea and I have to say, the catfish were boiling in the shallow water.

Excited, I cast off with worms on a treble hook and was flummoxed when the cats didn't bite. There they were, juicy, tasty, fat Canadian worms and there they were, Catfish, in a bankside feeding frenzy. Hunh. The two should match but didn't, like Anglicanism and credal orthodoxy.

Who knows, maybe the hook was wrong and perhaps a bad workman blames his tools. Whatever, the treble was swapped out for a circle hook, the worms remained the same, and the fish started to bite. I caught a couple of Blue Gills and a Catfish, in a kind of competition with a Mexican gentleman who was bow fishing. 

He shot two Gar with an orange arrow, and warned me about a "real big snake" that was heading our way.

He was a good guy, that Mexican. 

Fish On,

LSP