Monday Shoot

One of the good things about the Feast of the Annunciation is you get to go out and shoot, which is exactly what we did. The orange adversary fell under a flak-tower hail of shot. 

I tell you, it was like screaming Messerschmitts going down over the Channel. But here's a thought.

If you want to hit the clay or for that matter the bird, you mostly have to aim. That's right, put the bead on the target as opposed to firing off in the general direction like some crazed Hitler Youth. It makes a difference.

You see, people come to shotgunnery with all kinds of myths and psychic seconds of forever. They think, understandably perhaps, that they have to over lead the fast moving orange or feathered target. This means they don't aim at it, take too long over the thing, and miss the shot.

No. Those lead BBs are flying out of the barrel at 1,200+ fps, they're fast, really fast. So put the bead on, aim, and shoot. Don't hold back, don't hesitate, engage the target and boom, smoke the clay, drop the bird.

After a while it becomes muscle memory and you can get into the nuance and lead of the thing, not that I'm an expert, but first things first, don't overthink the shot or you'll miss.

There's a moral here if you care to draw it.

Texas Rules,

LSP

Don't be a Determinist Goon, Fish

Life, unless you're some kind of rubbish determinist, involves a series of free-will choices. For example, you can choose to attack the Islamist savages, ISIS. Or you can attack the regime that's fighting them by throwing missiles at their airfields. Your choice.

Likewise, you can sit staring at a computer in slack-jawed rightist consternation as our country slides closer and closer to war, or you can go fishing. I chose the latter option and loaded a couple of rods in the rig and headed to Soldier's Bluff.

The Texan wildflowers were out and I wondered if that was a good omen; Bluebonnets in flower, fish bite with power, sort of thing. But no, they didn't. The bites were sluggish and slurpy and I lost a lot of worms without closing the deal.

For the first time in months, no catch, and that was everyone else's experience there on the bluffs. Still, it was good to get out in the clean air by the lake, it always is. There's peace in it and, if the fish are behaving, excitement too.

Your Old Pal

There was another kind of excitement driving through a storm to Dallas later in the day. Lightning seared the horizon, like Tesla attempting to harness Satan, as rain crashed down onto I35. God's judgement on the metrosprawl.

Fish on,

LSP

Cooking With LSP, Fish

I know, I know, it's Bushcraft Wednesday but plans have to evolve to meet a fluid tactical environment. Such as the opportunity to catch fish. We took that opportunity and went down to the lake.

Before too long there was a cooler full of Bluegill; take those fish home and fry 'em up! went the war cry, and that's exactly what happened.

Work Harder!

First things first, descale the fish. Use a regular stainless steel - no need to be fancy - kitchen knife with a serrated edge. Then fillet the fish, leaving the skin on. There's a helpful infovideo here, if you don't know how.

Then make some beer batter. It's not hard. 2/3rds cup of flour, 1 tablespoon of olive oil, 1 teaspoon of garlic powder and the same again of onion powder.Whisk it up, add around a bottle of beer and fold in a beaten egg white right before you're ready to fry. And maybe you do that with a loaded .45 close to hand. Or maybe you don't, there's no rule. 

Random Fish Photo

Sure, go right ahead and fry up some fish defenseless. That's your call; who knows, maybe your pal, Nanny State, will protect you, and you'll be safer because you're not armed. Your choice. I chose a Beretta PX4 Storm, you might opt for something different. It's up to you. Choose wisely.

Batter mixed, dredge the fillets in flour, put them in the batter and drop the beasts in a cast iron pot with 3/4" of hot vegetable oil. Fry for about 2 minutes a side, then drain on paper towels.

Frying over, admire your handywork, pound the mahogany and grin like a warrior. Fish on. And here's the thing, eating fresh-as-you-like fish gives you energy, health and the satisfaction of Lake to Table and thank you very much.

It's tasty, too. And that's cooking, with,

LSP

Pistols at Night

I visited some church people the other night and blessed their compound. Then, after a delicious dinner of grilled to perfection venison, looked out at the stars from their back deck. It was tranquil, being out there in the country air without the noise and light pollution of the city.

And a good environment to open fire with a pistol on an old oil drum. Behold the explosive power of pistols at night! Great fun, not that I'm, ahem, childish or anything...

Thanks, D&L, for the hospitality.

Gun rights,

LSP

Saturday Ride

After my morning routine of Morning Prayer (1928 BCP), walking the dog, drinking coffee and talking with spiritual singing gentlemen of the road, I went for a ride.

It was good to get out in the country and back in the saddle, though my horse disagreed at first. Easy, girl, we're riding on, and that's just the way it is.

Rodeo bronc over, we walked, trotted, cantered and galloped through the bucolic Mesquite groves of Olde Texas. Good thing I was wearing a sturdy Carharrt! Those thorns are big. But seriously, there was room enough to open up and I enjoyed that. Gallop.

After the ride I asked myself if I'd learned anything. Maybe a bit; sit deeper in the saddle, rely more on legs than rein, work with the rhythm of the horse, not against it, use the animal's instinct to get back with the herd to your advantage. All that sort of thing; basic horsemanship skills, and there's nothing wrong with that.

More importantly, it was exhilarating to ride out fast in comparatively untamed country and get away from everything. Just you and the horse. 

There's a freedom in that.

Gun rights,

LSP

A Chance Encounter in Texas

We all get into routines, some are good, some less so. My routine is this. Say Morning Prayer from the 1928 Prayer Book, none of your newfangled rubbish, thank you very much, then take the dog for a walk and get a coffee. That's what I did today, and as I was standing outside the filling station, sipping my coffee, and enjoying the crisp, sunny Texan morning, I heard singing.

It was faint at first and sounded like a spiritual. The singing grew louder; sure enough, it was a spiritual and its source was a middle aged black man walking down the road by the 1st Baptist Church. He was wearing a Russian style hat with ear flaps and a dirty old parka, defense against the cold, I suppose.

Blue Stryker went on guard as the singing gentleman came closer and stopped,  just out of range of the leashed dog. I smiled at him and he smiled back, "Is that a cow dog?" he asked, "They're real smart dogs! I got three. Say, do you have a cigarette?" I told I did and threw him one, as he cleverly stayed out of the dog's attack zone. "Bless you, brother," he said, and went on his way, singing his spiritual. "God bless you," I replied, and meant it.

I liked that man and file this story under "country life in Texas."

Your Old Friend,

LSP

Battle of Lepanto

It's the 444th anniversary of the battle of Lepanto, in which a Mohammedan navy was destroyed by a smaller Christian force, led by Don John of Austria. It's a comparable victory to the lifting of the siege(s) of Vienna, and prevented the Jihad from invading Italy.

Here's an excerpt from Chesterton's Battle of Lepanto:

They gather and they wonder and give worship to Mahound.
And he saith, “Break up the mountains where the hermit-folk can hide,
And sift the red and silver sands lest bone of saint abide,
And chase the Giaours flying night and day, not giving rest,
For that which was our trouble comes again out of the west.
We have set the seal of Solomon on all things under sun,
Of knowledge and of sorrow and endurance of things done,
But a noise is in the mountains, in the mountains, and I know
The voice that shook our palaces—four hundred years ago:
It is he that saith not ‘Kismet’; it is he that knows not Fate ;
It is Richard, it is Raymond, it is Godfrey in the gate!
It is he whose loss is laughter when he counts the wager worth,
Put down your feet upon him, that our peace be on the earth.”
For he heard drums groaning and he heard guns jar,
(Don John of Austria is going to the war.)
Sudden and still—hurrah!
Bolt from Iberia!
Don John of Austria
Is gone by Alcalar.

Had the battle gone differently, Europe, and by extension the world, might look rather different today. I'd say we owe a vote of thanks to Don John.

God bless,

LSP 

Ride On

I took the Team out for a ride near Waco, where the Colonel has a squadron of Arabians. They were a little tricky to catch at first but came around soon enough to the lure of feed in a bucket.

It was good to be back in the saddle again and the kids had a fine time galloping about. I took the youngest on a short trail ride through some woods on the acreage, where we saw a snake eat a mouse.

In the meanwhile, the eldest charged about and managed to jump over a pile of brush. Stay on the horse, I thought, and sure enough he did.

After a couple of hours we took the horses back to the barn and hosed them down. They liked that, and no wonder, it was pushing 109 degrees. 

Great fun and big thanks to Mr. and Mrs. E. I've resolved to ride more often, good for mind, body and spirit.

Your Beacon of Tolerance,

LSP