Showing posts with label bank fishing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label bank fishing. Show all posts

Sunday, July 29, 2018

Fish in the Heat of the Day

Fishing at 2 pm at the end of July in Texas doesn't make a whole lot of sense. I admit it, the fish are pretty much stunned by the heat and not biting. But I was in it for the challenge.

Sure enough, it was pretty slow going. Still, after a few minutes there was a tug on the line and out came a medium Perch, too big to use as Striper bait but a catch nonetheless. After that?

Not much until a Black Drum decided to attack the line, a fierce little beast and followed up by another, larger cousin. 

Good action, all things considered, and then the water grew quiet in the heat haze, with the exception of  a mighty Perch which I used as bait for the ferocious Striper. 

They weren't having it, so I packed up and headed for home before the air caught fire, noting a curious message on the way.

Fish on,


Thursday, April 26, 2018

Fish After Mass

One of the many benefits of LSPland is that you can go fishing after Mass, which is what we did, right there on Lake Whitney as the sun was beginning to sink in the large Texan sky.

It was a tranquil scene, no doubt about it, but excitement was in the air as first one then several ferocious Bass surged up out of the water to prey on insects and small, unwary birds. Time to get on the fish, gentlemen.

I tried a variety of lures, a mid size shad, some kind of minnow thing and several topwater torpedoes, to say nothing of worms real and plastic along with delicious strawberry fish treats. But the fish were having none of it.

We weren't catching anything, the anglers to the left and right weren't catching anything and neither was man across the way. And that's just the way it was.

No fish on, we fell back to the Compound for a tasty meal of fried chicken and a celebratory glass of the right stuff in honor of Melania's birthday. 

It's Not Over, Fish. Not by a Long Shot

Would fried fish have been better? Sure, but that's for another day, when the fish are biting.

Your Old Friend,


Wednesday, April 18, 2018

Fish, You Fool, And The Ghosts Of The Brazos

The sun was shining, the air was crisp and it seemed right to go fishing; Genius Patrol weren't invited, their job was to stay behind and guard the Compound.

A short drive later I was at Soldier's Bluff or Sosebee's Bluff, named after George Sosebee who left Georgia in the 1870s to escape the "odious" Reconstruction Government after the Civil War.
Reconstruction reached its most odious stages in the mid '70's and George Sosebee determined that he could stand no more of it. On the raw frontier, he reasoned, there must exist a place where no Reconstruction Official or carpetbagger would venture.

By 1875 Sosebee had found his frontier, where the Big Rocky Creek tumbled through a limestone precipice overlooking the Brazos river in Bosque County. 

Carpet Baggers

Today, Sosebee's Brazos is gone, inundated by the Corps of Engineers' dam which was built in the 1950s. Still, the tops of his limestone bluffs remain and you can fish from them, sometimes with spectacular results.

With that in mind, the lake was choppy and surging, thanks to a fierce North East wind, and I wondered if the expedition'd be a bust. "How's the action, kids?" I asked a professional crew of youngsters who'd set up on the shore with an impressive array of surf casting rods. They said it wasn't bad, holding up a very respectable Largemouth.

Inspired by success, I cast off with a plastic minnow allied to an earthworm and sure enough started getting bumps and tugs; fish were out there, no doubt about it. But could I close the deal?

It took a while but then, BOOM, a fish was on, pulling out the drag and glinting silver in the topwater. At first I thought it was a Drum but no, it was a decent young Bass around 12". I put him back and reflected on the towns flooded by the dam, including Towash, across the way from the bluffs. In case you wondered, Towash wasn't Cheltenham:

On January 5, 1870, Hardin was playing cards with Benjamin Bradley in Towash, Hill County, Texas. Hardin was winning almost every hand, which angered Bradley, who then threatened to "cut out his liver" if he won again. Bradley drew a knife and a six-shooter. Hardin claimed he was unarmed and excused himself, but claims that later that night, Bradley came looking for him. Bradley allegedly fired a shot at Hardin, which missed. Hardin drew both his pistols and returned fire, one shot striking Bradley's head and the other his chest. Dozens of people saw this fight, and from them there is a good record of how Hardin had used his guns. His holsters were sewn into his vest, so that the butts of his pistols pointed inward across his chest. He crossed his arms to draw. Hardin claimed this was the fastest way to draw, and he practiced every day. A man called "Judge Moore", who held Hardin's stakes of money and a pistol, but refused to give them up without Bradley's consent, "vanished. Later Hardin admitted killing two men in Hill County Texas - Donald Long.

Here's another account, fictional but I'd say on the money. 1865 Towash made a big sign... Texas-style. It boasted the Boles racetrack, which attracted the sports and gamblers from as far away as Hot Springs, Arkansas. There was a hand ferry across the Brazos and close by a grist mill powered by a huge water wheel. Dryer & Jenkins was the trading store. There was a barbershop that did very little business and six saloons that did a lot, dispensing red-eye... raw. Typical of many towns in the Texas of 1867, there was no law except that made by each man with his own ‘craw sand.’ Occasionally the Regulators of Austin rode in... always in large groups... more for protection than law enforcement. 

I reeled in the Bass and cast off for more, while the ghosts of the Brazos lay heavy on the lake.

Tight lines,


Sunday, September 17, 2017

Sorry Fish, You Lose This Round

Smarting from our signature defeat against the fish the other week on the dam spillway, the team decided to have another go. To catch the fish off-guard we went to a different location, Soldier's Bluff. 

There's been times when fishing the Bluff has been simply outstanding, fast action, good fish and pretty much a catch a cast and sometimes more. No kidding, when the Bass are blitzing it's topwater frenzy and devil take the hindmost.

With that in mind we cast off into the depths and at first things didn't look good. A boat kept roaring by, surfer in tow, churning the water, frightening the fish and blasting some kind of pop music. Perhaps it was rap/r 'n b hybrid, I don't know, I'm no expert but I do know this, it was annoying and we weren't catching.

At last, the boat sped off into the vastness of Lake Whitney and we were in with a chance, perhaps. After throwing worms and their plastic imitations into the usual spots and getting nothing, we headed towards the dam.

Still nothing and then, as the sun was going down, a fierce tug at the line. Yes, fish, you're on the radar. After that it was pretty much a Bluegill every five minutes or so and many more escapees, who were happy to run off with our enticing worms and "Crappie Bites."

Regardless, it was fish on and if we'd been in the way of keeping them, dinner on too. As it was, these fierce little predators went back in the water. They lived to fight again another day.

Victory assured, we headed back in the setting sun. Burgers were on the menu and the Cadet wasted no time in dialing up Highland Regiments, piping us into the Compound.

He's inspired by the A&M Corps and ROTC. Shoot in the X Ring, kid.

Tight lines,


Thursday, October 13, 2016

I Was Born to Have Adventure

I know what you're like, international readership of this popular mind-blog. There you are, riding big boats and fishing for shark off the flats of Bermuda. But don't scorn me for being a humble bank fisherman on Lake Whitney.

Little Fella

Speaking of which, the lake was up and restless this evening after Mass, with waves crashing against the limestone shore like breakers in the North Sea, or Aberystwyth pier. I didn't have a boat so I cast off from the limestone, with a worm. Who knew what'd turn up? Maybe nothing, that's the way I felt.

Yes Indeed

Wrong. Bass turned up, with the best of four plowing into my hook like Trump on Twitter after midnight. I didn't even have a boat.

Head Home, Fool

Here's the thing. You can sit or stand looking at the news in slack-jawed consternation, or you can get out and catch some fish. 

Be wise, readers, and chose the better option.


Thursday, September 8, 2016

How To Fillet A Sunfish

OK, you've set your objective and met it - catch enough fish for a meal. So you've got those Blue Gills in a cooler and, well, what next? Descale and fillet, that's what's next and here's how.

Put your fish on a cutting board and stare at it with respect, the ferocious predator died that you might live. Meditation over, get a knife, a kitchen knife will do, and remove the scales; you don't want to eat them. 

Next step, use a fillet knife to cut around the head, gill and fin of the fish, then work the knife along the the back of the fish, following the bones of the ribcage as a guide. When you're clear of the ribcage you'll feel it; push the knife through the fish and cut through to the tail, being sure to keep as close to the bone as possible.

That done, work the knife over the ribcage, severing the flesh from the bone. Don't be pernickity, cut the fish flesh off the ribcage when it's obvious that you'll have no more flesh. Then cut out the fillet.

Look at that small Sunfish fillet but don't be dismayed, it'll puff up several times when it's deep fried, making for a great snack.

So that's how it's done, at least in LSPland. There are different ways to do this and you can go out and do them, good luck to you, but there's no rule. At the end of the day it's all about catching your own fish, like a Sovereign, then prepping them and having a meal.

Fish On,


Wednesday, May 25, 2016

Don't Scorn Bank Fishing

People scorn bank fishing. They say, "Look, loser. Where's your Mercury rig Bass Boat?" and I know what they mean. Having a boat should equal catching more fish, as well as planing about on the lake like the King of Texas. But that's not always the case.

Just the other day, on Lake Whitney's spillway, there I was, casting off into the current from the bank while a boat full of guys anchored opposite me and started fishing. Who caught more? I did; 8 Bass to their 0 Bass. Mind you, they drank 8 beers to my 0 beers. So they won that part of the contest.

I reflected on that and the message was clear. You can have a perfectly good fishing experience from the bank. In fact, you might even do better than some clowns goofing off in a boat, and that's the way it was this evening.

No boat, but plenty of fishing action from the shore of Lake Whitney as the sun was setting. Was it beautiful? Yes. Was it exciting? For sure, especially when a decent Bass smashed into my lure. Was it expensive? Not nearly so expensive as a boat, or a night out in Dallas.

Still, I'm looking forward to one of my rich socialist pals redistributing part of their great wealth to me in the form of a Skiff. For that matter, I'd be happy with a canoe, maybe one with a motor.

And, let the record show, I've resolved to learn fly fishing. I've heard that can even be done from the bank.

Carry on,


Monday, March 7, 2016

Blue Genius

If there's one thing that Blue Genius enjoys it's chasing after a tennis ball, so I lob them into the church hall from my kitchen workstation.

It makes a break from reading trenchant analysis of little Rubio's rat claw hands, Hillary's perfidy and the latest salvos in the war against Christian bakers.

Bake That Cake!

But here's the thing. If the Church of England is buried beneath the sands of the Red Planet, how much will it cost to excavate it and who will own it when it's dug up? Some say this implies a lawsuit.

Regardless, I'm off to hunt down some Confederate dinner plates and try some bank fishing on lake Whitney. You never know, I might even catch something.

This is a Tennis Ball in my Mouth, Not Marco Rubio