Fish On

 

Well there you are, Morning Prayer complete, so whaddya do? 1. Answer emails 2. Check Telegram for war updates 3. Sketch out a Sunday homily 4. Drink strong coffee as you pray for the Church and her Missions and 5. Go fishing.

It's not hard, just put a rod or two in the bed of the rig and drive onwards and outwards to the lake, which sits there basking in springlike climate change. You see, we're moving into cool Autumn where it's only in the '90s.

All well and good, stand fast against the WEF, and cast off with a shad lure and see what you get. Nothing. Huh. Switch out to #6 hooks and worms and get... five or six perch. Ferocious little fish and plenty of fun on a light rod. Sorry, BIS. Then, as it starts to rain, DAVOS, I'm looking at you, head for home and the Compound.

So that adventure was all good, mission accomplished. In other news, my Mother-in-Law may be in her final days if not hours, and a close friend's wife has died from cancer. She was a good woman and a Christian lady. Rest in peace and rise in glory, EN. Some of you may have worked with her, I was happy to have known her. She will be sorely missed.

With every good wish,

LSP

For Goodness Sake Simmer Down LSP

 

OK, there's only so much Taylor Swift Jihad, Rwandan savagery, Big Brother Rainbow Stasi, US Clownshow politics a man can take. So what to do? Go fishing, that's right, in the heat of a Texan day in August. Would the fish bite or would they be in some kind of piscine climate change shock, immobile like their human counterparts. I drove to the lake to find out.

Sure enough, it was mighty hot, right there on the tortured limestone of what had once been part of a fibrous reef in a vast inland sea, and's now Soldier's Bluff. So it's hot, that's a given, would the fish bite, not a given, but undaunted by prehistoric reverie and the searing light of the Sun, I cast off.

Whoa, tugs and bites at the first cast, probably a small, ferocious perch. And that's exactly what it was, a perch. I tell you, even if they're small they're big fun to catch on a light rod, they fight you see. Some five or six fish later it was time to head for home and Evening Prayer, 1928 BCP style. I just prefer it, the language is worshipful, liturgical and beautiful. Here's a link.

So that was that, an hour or so catching fish at the lake in the sun and clean air of the so far Free State of Texas. What a lot of fun and a good antidote against the appalling wickedness which surrounds us.

Das Boot

That in mind, I find fishing brings you right down to earth and calms the soul, or excites it when the catch is on. Not unlike shooting and riding, when you think on it.

Fish on,

LSP

Mad Dogs And Englishmen

 

Mad dogs and Englishmen, what do they do? They go out in the noonday sun, or so it's claimed. To test this theory I loaded up the rig with a couple of rods and headed for the lake in the pyramid peak intensity of the Texan sun.

Were there any mad dogs at Soldiers Bluff? Yes there were, doing mad dog stuff on the opposite bank. Was there anyone else? No, there was not, only me, and it was starting to look like the old adage was true. Even the fish, our piscine adversary were lying low.

To test the theory further, I headed over to the other side of the dam, you know, follow the science. And guess what? It was deserted, no one was there, not even a mad dog, they were on the other side of the dam, crazily frolicking in the hot water.

No, there was just one Englishman with a US passport, some frozen shad, a few rods and the ovenlike heat of Texas in the midst of a regular day in June. Hot, so hot your eyelids are sweating while the fish, heatshocked, hang deep in cooler water.

It's a challenge and a good one. You've proved the old noonday axiom, LSP, I thought to myself, grimly tying on a #6 hook, will you get a fish? Serious question, and a seriously bad time to try your luck against our finned friends. You see, they just don't want to know, too busy sensibly sleeping out the heat.

Undeterred, I cast off with shad and worm. But where? Into the shade of the spillway's fishing pier, get the science? And lo and behold, reeled in Black Drum and Perch variants. What does this mean.

That no, fish as well as mad dogs and Englishmen go out in the noonday sun, at least in Texas. Science has shown us this. Also, it may be hot as a preheating oven but get out there in the country and fish. Good for mind, body and soul.

Tight Lines,

LSP

Taking Care Of Business

 

A busy morning. Get up, feed the Blue, make hot tea, enjoy that tea on the back porch while scanning the news, say Morning Prayer, you might say "Mattins," walk to the Pick 'n Steal, observe a new iteration of the Meth Shack, get back to the Compound, answer emails and then... drive over to Tom's Tire to get your rig inspected.

You have to do it every year, the State demands it, and we must obey. But it's no big deal, just 7 bucks and an excuse to go to Montes for a delicious brisket burrito. Tasty and then some. Next stop? 

A dinosaur museum, conveniently next to the diner. It used to be a filling station and then something else, followed by something else, and something else again, amounting to yet another vacant, asset stripped country lot. But now it's a dinosaur museum. 

I ambled over, pleasantly aglow with brisket and homemade tortilla's, only to be ambushed by a fit young fella with a dinosaur T and a Ho Chi Minh, obviously a paleontologist. "What's up, man!" he asked. I looked him straight in his expensively rimless glasses and asked, right on the nail, "Is this museum open?" To be fair, it rarely is, and he said yes, step straight on in, which I did.

What a great little museum! Big fossils of the ferocious beasts that used to roam North Central Texas, and small fossils too, to say nothing of aboriginal artifacts. These, if you know where to look, which I mostly don't, can be found by the boxfull here in Hill and Bosque counties. How old are they? Good question.

Museum over, collect the rig, get it registered, go to the 1st Inconvenience Bank and then to the lake. I won't lie, it was quite chilly, only about 100*. Is it too hot to fish when your eyelids start dropping sweat on the inside of your cunningly polarized glasses? Hardly, all the more incentive to carry on regardless.

4 Blue Gill later it was time to head home, in yet another episode of being glad to be in Texas.

Your Old Pal,

LSP

In The Heat of The Day

 

What is it they say, only mad dogs, Englishmen, and members of tactical signals brigades go out in the noonday sun. Or something like that, and it's what we did, the mission being to catch some fish even if it was 100 degrees in the shade.

Sure enough they were on and before you could say Das Kapital, perch were snapping and tugging at the lines like the voracious predators they are. I pulled out a couple of fierce little beasts, looked over at the kid and boom, something slammed into his hook and it was rod double, drag out action. No fooling.

What was this monster, a cat, a bass, an enormous drum? No, it was a dinner plate sized blue gill, perhaps a Zeta Variant, and easily the best fish of the day. What a great result. Then, after another hour or so of catching we started to melt and headed for home, a good afternoon at the water well spent.

In other news, the Pope's attacking the Latin Mass. There are two classes of being which hate Latin, schoolboys and Satan.

Fish on,

LSP

Gone Fishing

"I know," I thought cleverly to myself, "I'll go fishing." And that was the plan for Monday morning, but it nearly got derailed because of a church PO Box and taking care of business.

Load up your rig with beer and tacos and head for glory.

Still, got to the lake and cast off with worms and a couple of lures, but the fishing was slow. Sure, a couple of bites here and there but nothing much. I blame that on the malfeasant, demonic static unleashed by Fienstein and her cohort of satanists on the world. It confuses the fish.

Look what the FBI caught!

The hideous Golem representative from California and her puppet aside, I managed to catch a decent Bluegill and had a couple of strikes with topwater. Some kind of Rapala lure, I think.

Then it was time to head home, happily tired out by clambering around the rocks of Soldier's Bluff in search of fish. Next step?

Blue SCOTUS

GUNS, and horses. This is important.

Your Pal,

LSP

Fish Soldier's Bluff

Well. I didn't follow my own advice and watch Leprechaun, awesome though it is, and I didn't drink any Guinness, annoyingly. But I did go to Soldier's Bluff after Evening Prayer in search of fish.

It was a bust at first and I thought it'd stay that way. Then, as the bright sun started to go down, the fish started nibbling and then biting. Out came 5 Blue Gill and one small Bass in short order. Good result.

Apart from the excitement of catching the small but feisty fish, it was simply good to get out in the open air and enjoy the view of the lake from the bank. 

I gave my left over worms to some kids, I hope they caught something, and you can view excerpts from the adventure at, ahem, Incredible Video!

Fish on,

LSP

Cooking With LSP, Friday Fish Fry

Just because you've cleverly caught some fish and filleted them doesn't give you license to stare at the things in slack-jawed, alt right consternation, like someone who's observing the Church of England's General Synod, or Hillary Clinton's truth disorder. No, you've got to eat them, and Friday's a good time to do it.

Watch The Temp Rise

That's because you're not supposed to eat meat on Fridays, as a small token of abstinence in commemoration of the Crucifixion. That said, the ten golden, crispy Bluegill nuggets didn't seem that abstemious, but hey, they weren't steaks. 

Don't Get The Plastic Bowl Hot. It'll Melt

I used the old beer batter method and invested in a candy thermometer to gauge the temperature of the oil in the cast iron pot. Keep it at 185* and get that fish moving! First, dredge the fillets in flour. I used a blue plastic bowl from Walmart which cost $1.00, but you might go for something more fancy and 1%. 

Blue Davos

Maybe a silver bowl or a handy bit of Waterford crystal that's knocking around; whatever, that's up to you, your call. Next, immerse the fish in batter (1 cup flour, 1 egg, salt, 1 bottle light beer) and put it in the pot. Watch the fillet boil and pop in the hot oil, then remove after a few minutes, put aside to drain, and repeat.

Ah Hah!

You can serve the fish with some kind of "side," like a deep fried Mars bar or a fried cherry pie. I chose onion rings, like a member of the ruling globalist elite, and didn't regret the choice.

After admiring your fry up, serve it with some lemon, or whatever else you like, and eat your scoff like a warrior. And I tell you this, it tastes better when you've caught it yourself.

And that's cooking, with...

LSP

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,

LSP

Sun Fishing on Bushcraft Wednesday

Right, I know, it's Bushcraft Wednesday when everyone's supposed to be out in the bush with rare Scandanavian knives, tinder boxes, buckskin clothing and an encyclopedic knowledge of how to live off the bush itself. 

A Typical Bushcraft Scene

All of that, as opposed to trudging about some supermarket in homage to your Overlords in the Nanny State.  Sure, I respect that, but I didn't get out in the bush today, I went to the water instead.

A Fish

Lake Whitney, in fact, where I thought I'd try my chances against the fish and the objective was simple; get enough for a decent meal. To reach that objective I tried the old weightless worm rig (WWR) method, which is just as complex as it sounds.

Kindly Old LSP (Get a Haircut)

Tie a hook on your line, thread a worm around the hook, a real worm, not a plastic one, and throw it in the water without a weight. Then watch the WWR sink into the depths; it will, albeit slowly. If you're fortunate, sunfish will start hitting the WWR on its way down. Be ready for that and set the hook! If they ignore the juicy worm, twitch it about a bit and experiment with different depths. Fishing wisdom.

Monster of the Deep

Well, the old WWR methold certainly worked this afternoon and I lost count of the fish reeled in. To be sure, lots were small and had to be put back, but others were a decent size and worth keeping. 

Mission Accomplished

I ended up with five, which is plenty for me, and would've had six, but he jumped off the hook, flopped into a crack in the limestone and was eaten by a snake. There's a moral in that, somewhere.

I'll fry those fish up tomorrow, beer batter style.

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