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

Tuesday, March 3, 2020

Super Tuesday

Go to the dam and fish, what a great plan, elegant in its simplicity. But how did it work out? Slowly, to be honest, with the slipway waters churning and surging and the fish not biting. Who can blame them, they were surely shell-shocked by the current.

Pedro wasn't having any luck either at the other end of the pier, so I watched the mighty Brazos for a meditative moment or two then headed over to Soldiers' Bluff. Maybe the bite'd be on at the Bluff, which isn't a bluff anymore since it was flooded by the dammed up river.

Reflections on Brazos and Bosque County history aside, the waters of the lake were still and tranquil under the big sky and the bank was empty, peaceful. It had that topwater feel, but I went with worms instead.

Nothing, then a chime on the phone, a text, "I'm hoping for Sanders with plurality, a contested convention at which they hand it to Biden, and then RIOTS." This obviously worked as some kind of trigger because there was vicious tug on the line and out it played.

Up came a predatory socialist bass who was clearly in the business of snatching up free stuff. I put him back to find some other means of production to appropriate, before going berserk when Comrade Bernie's cheated of the nomination yet again. 

One more bass later, a baby, it was time to head for home, mission accomplished. And that, fellow adventurers on the roiling seas of life, is the story of that.

Fish on,


Tuesday, November 26, 2019

Monsters Of The Deep?

So you're standing on the rip-rap like a warrior on the edge of time, beholding the mighty Brazos as it flows beneath you to Houston and its enormous Dalek. You have a choice, stare in amazement at the fabled waterway and reflect on its storied history or get a rod from the truck and go after some action.

There's no "rule," either way is OK, but I chose the latter path and went to the pier armed with a light Shakespeare Ugly Stick and a couple of boxes of worms. I felt the fish would love these worms and they did, snapping, tugging and bumping with pretty much every cast.

All well and good, but I wasn't closing the deal. Fishing wizardry told me juvenile perch and bass were plundering the line and a smaller hook was in order. Such is piscine soothsaying, don't discount it.

Sure enough, before too long I was reeling in the young 'uns, and ferocious predators they were too, going at the juicy worms like Democrats boarding a Greyhound for Chicago. But you're saying, in that mocking tone of voice, "Aren't they a bit small?"

Not so fast, readers of this popular international mind blog, they may have been small but a fish is a fish and even a small fish is value on a light rod. So I left the dam pleased, mission accomplished. 

And I tell you, it's good for the soul to get out in the clean air and big sky of an overcast Texan morning and fish, no matter what you catch.

Tight lines,


Tuesday, July 30, 2019

LSP - All Talk No Action?

So Where's The Action Buddy?

Yeah, so what about the new rig and the lever gun, so-called "LSP," if that's your real name, which we doubt. 

Good question, and right about now the readers of this popular if lighthearted mind blog are wondering if it's all talk and no action. Sure, you talk the talk, "LSP," but where's the walk?

Where's the fishing, the guns, the horses, where's all of that? Where's the country life we don't pay good money to see played out in real time, straight from a rural haven deep in the heart of Texas? Where is it? I'll tell you.

Shaolin Glory Brexit

First off, unexpected evolution with a returning son; there goes the rig and the gun. Secondly, recovering from being kicked off the back of an Arab, who btw self-identifies as a woman, and being tended to by a dog and a recruit. 

Will the leg heal in time to see the kid off to Basic? To find out I hopped and climbed into the rig and drove to Walmart. Guess what? No problem, couldn't have done it a week ago. So there is movement and this, philosophers, signifies life. Which in this instance is made up of small triumphs.

In other news, the European Union's setting up an Army! The world trembles at the dread step of the rainbow phalanx. Who knows, perhaps the enemy'll die laughing.

Advance to contact,


Friday, June 7, 2019

Where Is That Great Leviathan?

The Compound's training schedule isn't complex, no, far from it. In between group readings from Maritain, Gilson, Aquinas, Mascall, Berdyaev, the awesome Ratzinger, Farrer and so many more, we go fishing.

X in search of, sort of thing, and that's what we did today, headed out to Lake Whitney dam and tried our luck against the ferocious prehistoric ambush predators, Gar. Well it wasn't easy. Sure there were plenty of fish but they were shell shocked by the current.

You see, thanks to climate change it's been raining, turning Texas into a cross between an Amazonian rain forest and a floodplain. We caught the floodplain today and that meant no catching, the fish were all rolling on the current and not biting.

Still, good to get out in the sun by the water and enjoy the mighty Brazos. It was better once, before the dam and the lake, but that's a different story. 

In the meanwhile, Blue Nugget looks on. Hope, all two of you readers, springs eternal.

Your Old Pal,


Tuesday, March 26, 2019

Fishing While Jussie Skates

Take advantage of a beautiful Texan spring morning and go fishing; bright, clear air, a shining sun, and the still waters of the lake reflecting the sky. It smells good too, wildflowers, sage, cedar, sun on limestone, and the earth coming alive. 

But I wasn't there to record a lull in the new Ice Age, I was there to fish. And sure enough there was a school of carp under someone's pleasure boat tied up at the pier. You could hear them thrashing and fighting against the pontoons of the boat in some kind of furious carp frenzy.

Very exciting and I baited a small hook with a worm, visions of titanic struggle against monster carp looming large. Not unrealistic either, I'd landed some leviathans with the same bait from that very spot the year before, big fun. 

So off went a worm under the boat into the churning carp, expectation up, and I waited, and waited. No bite. You could see the carp ignoring the delicious worm in droves, they cared nothing for the worm, it didn't matter to them at all.

I bobbed it about, tried different depths and different positions. Perhaps the fish will love this worm if it's a foot higher or lower, or somewhere else altogether. 

No, it meant nothing to them. They didn't like gooey yellow chunks of special carp bait either, which was weird because the packet said carp loved them. They didn't.

Baffled by the perversity of fish, I packed up, promising the piscine adversary I'd be back with a vengeance. Maybe with canned corn, which carp love. Stay tuned.

Back at the Compound I turned on the internet to laugh at rich socialists insisting that Trump's a Russian agent because Hillary lost an election. And then Boom! what's this? Juicy Smollet skates? Yes, on 16 felony counts and the case closed and sealed. No trial, no nothing because of a deal with the state prosecutor. 

Even Rahm Emmanuel and Axelrod think it's a disgrace, which says something. Perhaps something about who wants to be the next mayor of Chicago?

Fish on,


Monday, October 1, 2018

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?


GUNS, and horses. This is important.

Your Pal,


Wednesday, June 27, 2018

Burn Ban Fishing

There's a burn ban in effect because even a spark, just one tiny spark might well be sufficient to set the air itself ablaze. No foolin', it's hot, like an oven.

With that in mind, it made sense to head off to the water where it's marginally cooler. And who knows, maybe even catch some fish if they weren't suffering from heatstroke.

Simon Weisenthal

I cast off into the furnace expecting nothing. Perhaps it's a character flaw; worst case the scenario and be happily surprised as opposed to hideously let down. Whatever, the line was out and there I was, waiting for fish.

"Nothin's biting, man," said the resident gap-toothed fish head, and he'd know. All he does, every day, is fish, right from the spot I was on. I looked him straight in eyes of his neon orange sunglasses and grinned. Out whirred the line.


Tug, thump, hookset! Out came a small fighting perch. Hey, nothing shabby when you're expecting exactly nothing. Then out came another and another; I started a game, how many Bluegill can you catch with the smallest fraction of worm. Lots, as it turned out.

Then, halfway through this childish exercise, KABOOM, something hit the hook like Simon Weisenthal on the trail of Mengele. Rod double, drag out, I thought I'd caught a cat. But no, after a few minutes of fight I saw a carp, a massive, monster, outrageous carp.

Ye Gods

We fought for ages, huge great fish on a light bass setup and make no mistake, the Leviathan Carp pulled every trick in the book. But, like Strozk's lies, it didn't work, the carp came in and was brought to account.

So what's the verdict? A heckuvva fish to catch, fight and land, no doubt about it, but bass offer more ferocity and so do gar. Carp don't leap, thrash and run with the same hectic frenzy; still, they fight like a force of nature, which in a sense they are.

Gar! Note Line...

Whatever the case, they all went back to fight again another day.

Fish on,


Sunday, June 10, 2018

Follow The Flag Catch The Fish

Orders are simple. RV (Rendezvous) with friendly forces at a 
secret location, deep in rural Texas. 

Then follow the flag.

And when you do, you catch fish.

There's a moral here, if you care to draw it. In other news, the Grand Commander's accused Canada's Suprema of being "weak" and "dishonest." Other's say there's a "special place in hell" for "backstabbers."

Don't say Little Potato,


Friday, June 8, 2018

The Face Of The Anglican Communion

Thanks to Climate Change, it was cool and springlike this morning, a mere 23* and then BOOM, there it was, the Anglican Communion, parked outside of a Pick 'n Steal in asset stripped rural Texas.

No Driver

No one was driving this car, the driver's seat was empty, but the vehicle had a passenger. You could see it, grinning.

Look, I'm not saying the Worldwide Anglican Non Communion is a driverless yellow car carting about a crew of clowns to the nearest Pick 'n Steal, that's your call.


After taking photos of the Anglican Communion, I went fishing. It was a bit slow, 6 catfish (one BIG), 1 large Bluegill, a bait Perch that nearly caught a Gar and a turtle. 

Little Fella

All went back to fight again another day.

God bless,


Thursday, May 24, 2018

Fishing Isn't God But I Still Love It

"Man," reminds Archbishop Fulton Sheen, "is engaged in a threefold quest for life, truth and love." Would I find that after Evening Prayer, fishing? Only imperfectly. Fishing, you see, isn't God.

Still, I won't deny that the sport's up there, especially when the watery beasts are switched on, for real and love what you're throwing in the water, which is pretty much the way it was yesterday evening.

The pier was empty, no pressure, and the spillway pool beckoned with submarine life. You could see it gliding about the water in search of prey. Big Gar, Catfish, a few Bass and a lot of Drum, some large; time to cast off.

Out went line #1 into the middle of the pool and stayed there, a stationary rod, then out went line #2 for casting. And sure enough, the fish wern't only live but loving the bait, with both rods popping. And that meant a bit of running around. 

There you are, reeling in a fish when the other rod starts jumping, bends double and off you go. Quick, sort that fish out and get on the other rod!

Big fun, I tell you, and while it's not God it does  make for a better evening than staring in slack-jawed consternation at some computer screen.

So get out and fish. Shoot and ride too, but those would be different stories.

God bless,


Sunday, May 13, 2018

Happy Mother's Day!

Happy Mother's Day; I hope you've all had a fantastic time with family, friends and hopefully, your Mothers. Here at the Missions we celebrated in good form, with feasting after the Masses and a lot of fun it was too. Well done, team.

Then it was back to the Compound to regroup, get collected and look to the next evolution, which weirdly enough turned out to be fishing.


Things were a bit crowded at the top secret Texan location today, on account of all the Mother's Day fishing expeditions and perhaps the pier pressure scared the fish off. 

At any event, the going was slow for the first hour or so but I didn't care, it was good to see families having fun at the water.


Picture the scene, Grandfather and Grandson, Father and Mother, all fishing away with Grandma sensibly sitting in the shade but smiling on.  

Heartwarming and I especially liked the Grandfather, who went by "Pappy." He came from a more civilized time and fished away with lures and jigs while I cast away with savage worms.

A Mother's Day Catfish

At one point the old gentleman pulled up a fishing rod, a fairly new one, too. I congratulated him on the catch and we laughed; a good moment. 

Fierce Little Predator

Then thump, tug, the fish switched on at last and with it a brisk hour or so of reeling in mostly small Bluegill. Hey, a fish is a fish and on a light rod these perch put up a fun fight. 

Country Life in Texas

I left as my new friends went after Bass with topwater lures and the sun was setting over the still, glassy waters of the lake.

What a good day.

God bless you, Mothers,


Wednesday, December 13, 2017

Go Fishing

"Time to go fishing," said a noted member of the mining community, who may or may not be raising a pack of white wolves somewhere in Arizona. So I took that advice and paid a visit to the lake after visiting the sick.

It was good to get out and try my luck against the watery opposition and perhaps you know the feeling, that sense of quiet excitement, maybe this time you'll catch the best fish ever. Or not.

This time fell into the "not" category, though I tried my best with the kind of juicy worms that fish are known to love. But they weren't having it, if they were even there at all. 

Still, getting out by the waters of the vast inland sea that is Lake Whitney made a welcome change and no one else was catching anything either, by way of consolation. 

We were in it for the Texan air, with its hint of sage, cedar and mesquite, taking a needed break from Chelsea Handler and all the other NWO stooges gloating over Alabama.

Don't worry, fish. There will be a rematch, you may be sure of that.

Fish on,