More Fishing

Yesterday's fishing was slow. Like the corrupt, lying, elite, venal, condescending, pugnacious mainstream media attempting to find proof of Trump acting as a Russian spy, not a lot was happening. A lot of trying, a lot of fishing, but no catching to speak of. 

Similar, come to think of it, to the infamous Kremlins hacking our election. No end of frenzied searching, no end likewise of not finding the elusive beasts. But that was yesterday, today was different.

Today the fish were biting like a Trump Train on full power. Boom. First off, a Megabass hit my worm  in the pool of Lake Whitney dam spillway, then took off ferociously upstream. No use, fish, you're coming in, if only to live to fight again another day.

No sooner was the gigantosaurian Bass back in the water than a Striper came in, and on and on it went. In the end my arms grew tired from reeling in the monsters, Black Drum, Stripers, Catfish, Bass and a lone Bluegill.

It made for some some brisk and satisfying action and then it was over, fish back in the Brazos and me in a truck heading back to the compound, time well spent.

Tight lines,

LSP

Fish

GWB headed over from Dallas for an evening of dove poppers, steak and a morning of fishing at Soldiers' Bluff. And I tell you this, it's a relief to be able to eat juicy steaks again; I cooked them on the grill, three minutes a side. They were right on.

Ocean Conservancy

Fortified by last night's ribeye, we drove out to the lake with high hopes of catching a cooler-full of Bluegill. Maybe GWB's cowboy hat would help, acting as a kind of country lure. But no, despite the promise of an early Striper the fishing was slow at best. 

Beer Battered Fish Snacks

Still, a few aquatic predators made it back to the compound, and  a right tasty snack they were too.

Fish on,

LSP

Spillway Action

I had two objectives, apart from seeing Hillary behind bars, the first being to show my Wittgensteinian pal, GWB, the sheer value and power of the weightless worm rig (WWR). The second, obviously, was to make up for Sunday's washout and catch a lot of fish.

Things got off to a slow start. AT&T came over and gave the Compound a new internet called "Uverse." The tech who installed the Internet was alright, friendly, competent, and good with dogs. I was taken aback by all these things. Well done, AT&T guy. Then we noticed that GWB's rig had a flat tire, as flat as Hillary's bogus "woman who cares for the people" act. So that had to be fixed.

In the end, a couple of hours late and in the heat of the day, we got to the dam. Sure enough, there were lots of fish, especially great hunter-killer packs of Gar, suspended in search of prey. And plenty of other fish too, just like in Seaworld. So we cast off with the worms and I have to say the action was sluggish. 

I hauled in a Black Drum and a couple of Hybrids but that was it, GWB wasn't getting anything either. "The fish hate your useless worm rig, so-called LSP," he chided, and swapped out to lures and plastics. I liked that, work out what artificials the fish like and report back. Then things changed.

Ho, Ho! A Bass. Boom.

Casting downstream off the end of the pier, I noticed a lot of Bass in the water, flashing in their quest to get upstream, into the pool and into the jaws of the waiting Gar. Twitch, tap, Boom. A Bass was on and fighting ferociously, and in he came. Good work, WWR. I alerted GWB to the spot and before long he was reeling in a Bass with every cast, all on a Texas rigged green ribbontail. Nice action.

Oh, Well Done, LSP, You Caught a Fish

I joined in with live worms and got the same result, big fun, then moved off in search of Catfish. And they were biting; I reeled in a decent sized fighter and a couple of juniors, then returned to the Bass. They were still on; then, just as though a switch had been flicked, the feeding frenzy was over. Time to go.

And that, readers, was that. I find great satisfaction in fishing, in case you wondered. Anticipation and the excitement of the strike, the fight itself, and just being outside in the country. To say nothing of reeling in the fierce predators. 

Next stop? Get back on the horse and shoot some guns.

Your Friend,

LSP

Torrential Rain and Mammon

Driving to the second Mass of the day was a bit of a deal because of torrential rain. Who wants to hydroplane across HWY 22 in the downpour? So I took it slow and wore a pair of Wellington boots to keep my 1% inside-the-beltway loafers dry.

In the sacristy I pointed to the boots and asked our MC, who's a renowned bronc champion, if he liked my "new church shoes." He shook his head.

"It's not that bad out there."

"Well c'mon, it was pretty much zero-viz coming up from the compound."

"Look. I'm not interested in your sad little stories, LSP."

"Yeah, said the rich man. You can't serve God and Mammon."

Wellingtons

And that's what the sermon was about, with reference to Dives and Lazarus. Note that the former isn't named in the Gospel, he's nameless and accordingly not written into the book of life. "I do not know you," says Christ, elsewhere, and, "Depart from me ye cursed, into the lake of eternal fire prepared for the devil and his angels. For I was hungry and you did not feed me."

A Random Fish

No, the rich man was too busy enjoying the mammonistic gravy train to love God or his neighbor and accordingly found his way to perdition, which is separated from heaven by a great chasm.

Don't Worship This

Some say the god of our age is Mammon. I'd think twice before you pledge allegiance to that particular deity.

God bless,

LSP

Mix it up, Fool!

Everyone's bored of "the usual spot" and stories of Bluegill rising from the depths and into the fry pan, and I don't blame you. It's been samey. So, with an eye on adventure, I went to the other side of lake Whitney dam, to the spillway, to see what was up.

I'll tell you what was up, SeaWorld. A brief recce from the top of the riprap told me there were plenty of fish in the channel, and in the pool beneath the fishing pier. Big Gar, up to 4' long, maybe larger, sizable catfish, suspended in wait of prey, schools of young Sand Bass darting about and who knows what else. Just all kinds of fish, visible through the technology of a pair of polarized Ugly Stick sunglasses. Cheap, maybe $10 at Walmart.

Excited at the prospect of catching a monster, I cast off with a light rod, 12lb test, a treble hook and a worm, weightless (WWR). Natural presentation and no resistance rules, says fishing wisdom. Well, let's see about that, I thought, cynically.

Kaboom! No sooner had the worm begun to sink than something hit it like a Rhodesian Light Infantry flying column. Thrash! Drag out! Rod bent double, and remember, it's a light rod. Then up came a Gar; they're gentle giants, for all their ferocious prehistoric teeth, and this was a young one. Back you go, my friend.

Just for kicks, I moved down the pier and cast off by the wall of the dam. There were big Catfish lurking in the depths, you could see them, and who knows, maybe they'd be interested in the weightless worm rig.

After a few minutes waiting, what cost patience?, something most certainly was. The fish tore out into mid-pool and dived ferociously for the bank, then back again. A fighter. This went on for maybe 5 minutes, which seemed like the 10 seconds of forever, until the fish was finished. I reeled him in. A Catfish, not a monster, but not far off, either. 

An hour or two later, Striper, Black Drum, and more Catfish than I could be bothered to count struck the WWR and came in. Pretty much every cast a fish, and good ones, too. If I'd had a cooler, well, there'd be a big fish fry tonight.

As it is, a couple of fat Bluegill are about to hit the pan.

Fish On,

LSP

Fishing Frenzy

It was like fishing for Hillary Clinton's lies, just throw a lure in the water and pull one out. Seriously, there were times this afternoon when I couldn't cast fast enough.

Lake Whitney dam was releasing water into the Brazos and the fishing pier was unexpectedly deserted, so I set up right at the side of the dam in the face of the churning current. That alone was exciting, watching the elemental force of the water, and then there were the fish.

Bass after Bass struck and struck hard at a small silver spoon. They were chasing shad and I fished with the current, which took the spoon and the baitfish to where the predators were waiting in ambush. The idea being to get your lure to where the fish were feeding.

That was the theory and it worked, though to be honest it was hard to miss, fishing science regardless. Anyway, I stopped counting after some 20 Hybrids/Sand Bass were reeled in, which is a lot of fish for me. But that wasn't all.

Black Drum?

Somewhere in midstream I got a fierce bite, it felt like something more than the ubiquitous Hybrids and sure enough it was. After about 5 minutes of aggressive to and fro, don't lose that fish LSP!, up came a very respectable Striper. A big fish, and then, right at the point of taking a trophy picture, I dropped the ferocious creature and off it swam into the surging depths.

A couple of Black Drum(?) came in too. Large fish with plenty of go and neat to catch on a light rod. Perhaps I should have kept them to eat, but they lived to fight again another day. And that, readers, was that.

There She Lies

As I write this deep-thinking philisophical fishing post, the fish are still there, and so are Hillary's lies. Rest assured that the fight isn't over.

Tight lines,

LSP