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

It was a bit chilly in Texas yesterday, so we decided to get near some water and go in search of the mighty Leviathan Bass.

They were hiding, but the team caught a catfish and a fierce little predator that was lying in ambush off the bank. By some miracle, a leaky old Jon Boat managed to stay afloat. I watched it from the safety of the bank.

Don't Forget The Sunscreen

Word to the wise. If you go fishing in the searing Texan heat of the day, deploy sunscreen, otherwise you might find yourself suffering the next day. Speaking of which, Team Clinton seems to be feeling the heat right about now, with one journalist writing, "Finding a more obvious case of active political conniving than the Bill Clinton-Loretta Lynch Phoenix Airplane Chat (PAC) is pretty darn tough."

The Servant Must Receive Her Orders

This is absurd. Attorney General Loretta Lynch must serve her Masters and she can't do that if she doesn't talk with them. Maybe that's over an encrypted 'phone line, maybe it's on a shielded plane, whatever. And let's not pretend that there's some weird conflict of interest here. 

The Rule of Law is Adrift

The Clintons are above the law, and AG Lynch is there to serve them. So let's not hear anything more about the PAC because there's nothing to hear, just a Master talking to his servant. About Grandkids, right? Or maybe you want an audit, or worse.

Cheers,

LSP

It's Hard, Country Hard

Life may be easy if you're a hedge fund manager, lobbyist, or one of our privileged, deracinated, bi-coastal ruling elite. Everything's laid on; there it is, just watch the cash roll in off the gravy train. But that's not the way it is in the country, you have to get out there and make it happen. My philisophical pal, GWB, reminded me of this, sometime after Morning Prayer.

"Look, LSP, you can sit around all day in slack-jawed dismay at the Deep State of this country, or you can do something about it. Like fish." I took that to heart.

Reeled In.

Thirty minutes later I was on the water somewhere in Texas, making it happen, with worms, plastic and real, and a variety of spinners. The fish scorned that like the American public in the face of yet another Hillary lie. Contemptuous indifference was their hallmark and like I said, it's not easy in the country. Do you give up? No, you don't, you keep going at it.

Bass

With strawberry dough bait. And guess what? The fish thought it was the best thing. A Catfish went for the delicious red strawberry morsels like a commie on a five year plan. Then a Bass tore into it, fighting and leaping all the way to the bank. 

Catfish

Not the privately owned, create your money at interest for profit Federal Reserve Bank, no the bank of the lake. And it wasn't over, another cat hit the delicious strawberry bait and ended up at the shore. It was a mutated kind of yellow, which was interesting, if off-putting. 

Strawberry Dough Bait. Who Knew?

New rods vindicated, I drove through the waterlogged fields, praying that my 2x2 rig didn't get stuck in the mud. It's hard enough in the country without having to tow a fisherman out of the clay... But no worries, the truck made it to higher ground and out the gate, which I closed.

Fish On,

LSP

Get Back in The Fight

When the action goes against you, you can give up, defeated. Or you can reengage, get back in the fight and win. I chose the latter path, it wasn't easy.

After vicious setbacks, culminating in thieves stealing my rods right out of the bed of the rig this morning, I was tempted to pack the whole fishing thing in, at least for the week. But no, that would've been useless and defeated, so I rearmed.

Several Ugly Sticks and an Abu Gracia and a Mitchell reel later, there was Lake Aquilla, fish beckoning. I tried my luck by the ramp with worms, and sure enough they were biting, but no strikes. So change it up, put a red treble hook on the line and try some strawberry catfish bait. Yum, fish love that, although, to be honest, I've never caught anything with it.

First cast and... bam! Something hit the hook and ran with it. A Bass and a decent little fish at that, putting up plenty of fight and leaping out of the water like Bass are supposed to do. Great result. Reel it in.

Next up, a catfish took the line. It wasn't big but not shy of a fight either, and there it was, another fish. Then low ominous clouds scudded in from the Northeast, the wind picked up and the lake got choppy, so I called it a day.

Moral of the story? Don't give up, like a sad loser, get back in the fight and fish.

Fish On,

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

Texas Floods, So You Fish

Texas is mostly underwater, which forces us to fish. I tried out the old chicken liver and night crawlers method today, all in the hope of getting a monster catfish.

That meant clambering over the bluffs looking down on lake Whitney, and dropping a Carolina rigged treble hook baited with liver onto a recently submerged limestone ledge. I'd seen two big Channel Cats grazing there, so my hopes were up.

OK, Not a Monster, But Still, A Fish.

I left the rod in its holder and waited for the liver to do its trick while I fished the topwater with lures. Sure enough, after about 10 minutes, down went the float, out played the line, and the rod bent with a vengeance. Big excitement, no doubt about it, and I dropped the one rod and scrambled for the other. Reel that fish in! And I did, or at least started to, then... nothing. Whatever it was dropped the bait. 

Fierce Little Thing

My guess is that a Gar hit the liver and ran with it but let go after discovering something was up, they do that. Nothing was biting after that, so I moved on to less adventurous water and was rewarded by a Catfish and a Sunfish.

Gratuitous Texan Sunset Over Lake Whitney

They hit worms on treble hooks in shallow water with the kind of zeal you'd expect from Bernie Sanders promoting the Communist Manifesto. Aggressive beasts, fish. And that, readers, is that, except that it isn't, because the challenge is still on for a big Cat.

Fish on,

LSP

Go Fishing, After Mass

God never did make a more calm, quiet, innocent recreation 

than angling.  

Izaak Walton

With Walton's Compleat Angler in mind I went fishing, after Mass. It was good to stand on the bluffs overlooking Lake Whitney and cast off in the hope of big fish, though I was more in it for relaxation and quiet concentration than anything else.

Not knowing the water, I tried the shotgun approach, which means throwing in a variety of lures to see if anything works, in this case plastics, spinners, a silver spoon and a crankbait shad. No result with the plastic worms and the spoon got hung up as I bounced it off the bottom. Contrary to the spirit of Mr. Walton, I made a bit of a ruckus trying to unsnag the thing but no joy, the lure was stuck, so I cut the line. Just then, a large gray Catfish rose up from the depths and circled around and above the watery tomb of the spoon. It was like a baby shark, no fooling.

Compleat

This taught me that big Catfish live under the bluffs on that part of the lake and that they can and will be caught if I fish accordingly. Think positive, fisherman. After the spoon, I had a bit of action on the crankbait, which was partially hit by a Bass as it lured its way near the surface, but no strike and I called it a day.

Look. It's a Fish.

Just for kicks, I cast off in a shallow part of the water on the way to the truck, using a small green spinner. Why not? Maybe the fish will find it irresistible, I thought to myself, and sure enough, after a couple of casts a ferocious little Bass attacked the lure like a social justice warrior at a Trump rally. And that was that.

Fish on,

LSP

Go Fishing After Mass

There's all kinds of ways you can relax on Sunday afternoon after Mass and I'll share one option with you. Go to a lake somewhere in central Texas and catch some fish, or at least try. With that in mind, I put a rod in the bed of the rig, Blue Crankbait in the cab and drove off to RV with GWB at a lake.

Hope Springs Eternal

Would I catch any fish, I asked myself hopefully, as Blue Eschaton frisked and gamboled in the lakeside pasture. Remembering past success, I put a sparkly green worm on a Bass hook and cast off. Bass love sparkly green worms, I thought, full of pescatorial wisdom. 

A Bass

Strike! Fish on, the rod bent double and out played the line. Big excitement in LSPland, I can tell you, and after a decent fight I reeled in a Bass. Good result. A little later, GWB tipped up and cast off with a spinner but soon retired to watch a Sand Hill Crane through a spotting scope. There it was, a Sandhill Crane. 

Recon

I kept fishing, however, which is a sport that's all about perseverance, and was rewarded with a fair sized Catfish that struck my plastic worm near the surface. Again, big excitement, top water hi-jinx, but he slipped the hook after thrashing about in the water like an enraged Great White. Readers, all three of you, don't underestimate the fury of the fish. Then, as the sun was beginning to set, another Bass decided to strike, this time hitting a blue worm. Bass love blue plastic worms. Well, at least this one did, and that was that.

A Typical Texas Sunset

Fishing adventure over, we scouted out the land near the lake for potential predator calling and hunting. It's beautiful country and remarkably green and lush, which will change all too soon under the fierce Texan sun; the country even has hills and views, or vistas. Rremarkable, it's like Gloucestershire, except for the bobcats, snakes, coyotes and wild pigs.

Speaking of which, the man who farms there says that pigs are always a problem and I guess they are, except when they're on the grill.

God bless Texas,

LSP

Catch The Fish

About time, LSP! And to be fair to you, yes, it was. Fishing, for me lately, has been more of a matter of casting away into the watery depths and losing lures on snags than actually catching anything. But that changed today.

There we were, just me, Blue Texas Rig and a lake, not too far from Maypearl, in Ellis County. Off I cast with a green worm, thinking "you can't lose with chartreuse" and sure enough, within a few minutes of slow retrieve, there was a strike. The rod bent double and the line played out, big excitement. Fish on. 

We fought, the fish and I, and the fish won, but at least something was biting. Sure enough, 10 minutes later the same scene played out and up thrashed a mighty Leviathan, lured by the enticing qualities of a sparkly green plastic worm.

The dog was fascinated and so was I. Go fishing and actually catch a fish. Remarkable. I put the monster of the deep back in the lake; who knows, maybe it'll gain a few pounds and fight again another day.

Fish on,

LSP

Go Fishing, Fool

In a mad bid to escape the fawning worshipers of Bruce "Caitlyn" Jenner, I drove to Lake Whitney. The Lake's a good 20' high and areas that are usually used for recreation are flooded. I checked some of those out, to see if there was a fishing opportunity.

Sure enough there was, with catfish readily visible in the shallow water, feeding off worms and bugs. Recce over, I went back to the truck, got a rod, and tried to catch a few fish.

Many different lures later, I was empty-handed, though I saw lots of fish and reckon that the right bait would've produced a good result. Maybe I'll try casting with worms and using chicken liver on a couple of stationary rods.

But whatever, it was good to get out on the bank and cast away. I find it peaceful and recollecting as well as exciting. What if the next cast gets a big strike! I always think. Well, we live and hope.

Fish on,

LSP

I Went Fishing

I thought I'd step out of the mix for a couple of days, shoot some skeet, brush up on pistol and carbine skills, see if the Lee's scope was still on (it is) and do a bit of fishing. Good plan, eh? But look what happens, with apologies to LL.

Welcome to the Buffoonalia

Dobby and his Chinos decide to make wimmin bishops, (next stop gay marriage) Israel invades Gaza, ISIS savages destroy Christianity in Northern Iraq, 100,000 people are without water in Detroit and pneumatic plague fires up in Colorado. 

Killer

Meanwhile, John Woodentop Kerry wanders around the world like a malfunctioning wardroid and lest we forget, a giant sinkhole has opened up in Putin's Siberia. Some speculate that the Archbishop of Canterbury is using this as an underground HQ to direct operations to further destroy what's left of his deadending church. Others claim the hole's caused by the explosion of ice, hot gas and space aliens. As in, "Church of England."

Killer

Whatever, I went fishing today on lake Whitney and deployed plastics, rooster tails, Twizzlers(!) and spoons. A couple of bites, no strikes and a lot of fun standing on the Limestone bluffs watching the world go by.

Christians, Rise Up

That included cliff jumpers, who were mostly men. Backflip off cliff. Thump Splash! "Dude, like an awesome bomb and a dive. Bombdive! Unh hunh." 

I saluted them with my rods. Fellow cliffmen.

Pray for the Christians of Mosul and the Middle East.

LSP

Country Life Dystopia I

Respect

This so-called "blog" is supposed to be about country life, instead of not-so-sly digs against the Axis of Gayness and its willing dupe ally, the Episcopal Church. So here's some pictures of country life, albeit when the cash runs out. See if you can guess/know where it is.

My Great Grandfather used to enjoy this resort, especially for its catfish. We owned a ranch near here; it was sold in the '70s. For Pennies in the Pound, my friends.

Rostrum

I remember collecting arrowheads, when I was a child. They were probably put there, to be discovered. 

Catfish

For some reason the resort lost traction and shut down, my Great Granddaddy's catfish restaurant with it. But it's still there, including the pool, which looks sinister and dangerous. It probably is. My Great Grandfather looked right Cherokee (location hint); he blamed most disasters on the godless Sov-Cubans.

Moral of the story; it's all fun and games till the cash runs out. After that? Look out.

We have three confirmations tomorrow. Pleased by that.

God bless,

LSP