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

Thursday, August 31, 2017

Fish 1 LSP 0



The air was clear, bright and for Texas at the end of August, pleasantly cool. So why not head over to the dam after visiting the sick and see if the fish were biting. Good plan, eh?




No, bad plan because of the War on Weather, which stopped the dam letting water out of Lake Whitney into the Brazos and further inundating an already flooded Houston.  That meant there weren't any fish in the channel apart from a few lazy Gar and lots of turtles.




So I didn't catch anything. Still, it was good to unwind for an hour or so overlooking the water and, to be honest, I was more in it for the country air and relaxation than anything else. Mind you, there's no escaping the fact that the fish won this round.

Good luck next time, fish. This isn't over.

Fish on,

LSP

Monday, April 10, 2017

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

Saturday, October 1, 2016

Fish on Friday #2



Farsighted readers of this mind blog will know that it's customary at the compound to eat fish on Fridays, which means go out and catch some fish, then cook them. And that's what happened.

At first the spillway side of the dam was empty and I had that tranquil moment of casting off into the depths of the pool in search of fish. Then a kid turned up with an assortment of rods and started fishing for Gar in earnest. I admired his enthusiasm and wished him luck. He was using baby Shad as bait.


Downriver

Then two gentlemen tipped up and began working the pool. They seemed pretty serious, big nets, battle rods and the grizzled look of experience, which tokens fishing respect. They were using lures and cut bait, going after Striper.

So there it was, a skirmish line of fishermen  competing for the catch of the day. And here's the thing, the lures didn't work, the cut bait didn't work and neither did the Shad. But the Weightless Worm Rig (WWR) did, the fish liked it. Lots of them, to everyone else's washout.


Get The Kid on The Fish

After a while, the grizzled veterans upped stakes and headed off, leaving me and the Gar fisher; I turned him on to the WWR. Excited, he ran off and bought some worms and it wasn't long before he was pulling fish out of the water like a good 'un. I thought that was great and so did he, running around the pier with tremendous gusto. Go for it, kid. A happy moment.


Fillet That Fish, LSP

A crew of fishing technocrats from Vietnam (?) were next to arrive. Massive hyper-rods, long range casting floats, the whole array of fishing technology went into action against the submerged opposition. And... nothing. Meanwhile, the weightless worm riggers were reeling in the fun. There's a moral in that, somewhere.


Eat Your Scoff Like a Warrior

I gave our SE Asian friends the worm tip on the way out, they were grateful, and cooked up a fat Bluegill when I got back to the Compound. The rest of the fish are on ice.

Keep it simple,

LSP


Saturday, September 3, 2016

The Plan



So what's the plan? It's simple, read up on  Luke's Gospel, drink some coffee, fry up a steak and couple of eggs, then load some rods and a gun in the truck and get out in the field. And who knows, maybe catch a fish or two and shoot some birds. I think you'll agree, a clear, compelling, achievable plan.




Bill Clinton has a plan, too. He plans to fill Detroit with Syian refugees. Well, hey, they've got to go somewhere and Martha's Vineyard is already booked, by millionaire socialists.

Champagne all 'round!

LSP

Thursday, August 18, 2016

Rain and the Rich Reds



It wasn't a complicated plan, far from it. All we had to do was fish, ride and shoot, three eminently achievable objectives in LSPland. But our old enemy, The Weather, had a different idea and it began to rain. That started on Monday and it hasn't stopped, which derailed most of the fishing and all of the riding and shooting. It's no fun to go slogging around in the mud if you don't have to.


A Typical St. Tropez Poolside

In similar news, Leonardo DiCaprio met with his millionaire socialist friends in the well known workers paradise of St. Tropez to save the environment. They were particularly worried about overfishing, which is why the celebrity leftists reportedly dined on whole Sea Bass.


Saving The Environment, One Jet at a Time

DiCaprio raised $40 million for the environment at his St. Tropez celebrity socialist gala. How much of that was offset by the cost of private jets and a chartered Sea Bass fishing fleet is currently unknown. 


Millionaire Socialist Leonardo DiCaprio

Leonardo DiCaprio is famous for getting into trouble with a bear.

Fish On,

LSP

Saturday, August 6, 2016

Exploring McCommas Bluff



Not many people know that Dallas is home to America's largest urban hardwood forest, some 6000 acres of thick woodland and brush on either side of the meandering Trinity river. There's a number of access points in South East Dallas and we chose McCommas Bluff, clambering down the limestone, rods in hand.

There, on the banks of the Trinity, it's almost as though the city didn't exist and time had stood still since the area was first mapped. It hasn't, of course, and you have to ignore the occasional bit of trash left behind by poachers, fishermen and badly behaved canoe artists. That aside, it's pretty unspoiled and you get the sense of the mighty, mysterious forest weighing in on you from the opposite bank.




We cast off into midstream, hoping to lure some prehistorically large fish that were surging out of the water in search of dragonflies and wasps. But the fish weren't having it, best efforts of Tiny Torpedoes notwithstanding, so the team headed for home before everyone melted in the triple digit chill.

I'd say there's good fishing to be had at McCommas if you get there at the right time with the right bait. Word to the wise, if you're fixing to explore the bluffs, consider taking a gun. No fooling.

In other news, a crazed Muslim went machete Jihad in Belgium, shouting Alahu Akbar as he hacked at a policewomen. Authorities are desperately searching for a motive because it obviously didn't have anything to do with Islam.

God bless,

LSP

Saturday, June 4, 2016

Torpedo Los!




Here's the thing about the Torpedo. It works. I don't know why, I'm not an expert, but perhaps it's the spitting noise of the propeller, combined with a slow twitch retrieve. 



Tiny Torpedo Topwater Lure

Maybe it's the color of the lure and the way it rolls in the water that triggers the aquatic predator to strike and strike hard. I don't know, perhaps it's all these things and more. But one thing is certain.


The Torpedo Works

The Torpedo works and works well. My Baby Bass variant has caught more fish in a month than I'd usually catch in a year. Granted, because of our enemy, the Weather, I've been fishing more and riding and shooting less.

Random Photo of  Jeffrey John

Still, the Torpedo is a lure to be reckoned with, and they're cheap. Get yours at the local Walmart and catch some fish. I doubt you'll be disappointed.

Tight lines,


LSP

Monday, May 16, 2016

Hijacked!



The great thing about the day after Pentecost is that you get to go fishing, at least that was the plan. Walk the dog, get a coffee at the pick 'n steal, then head off to the fish zone. A simple, elegant, straightforward Monday solution and it was going so well. Then the key snapped in the lock of the front door.


The View


I stared hard at that lock. Maybe telekenesis would move the key. No, it didn't, fail. Then I tried to pry the key out of its lair with needle nose pliers, a knife, and nail cutters. That didn't work either. Useless. So what do you do?


The Cry Babies

Sit around whining, like a cry baby, spoiled brat social justice warrior, and accuse the keyed up lock of oppressive gender stereotyping? Or maybe you stand there, open-mouthed like a Bass, hoping that the State will step in and fix the lock, with its big government magic? 


The Cylinder

You can try all that; sure, go ahead, just don't be surprised when your lock stays permanently broken. I chose a different path, I took the thing apart.


The Cam

Getting the key out of the cylinder wasn't too hard and I took it to the hardware store, where a helpful keysmith cut me a new one, using the broken offender as a model. He assured me "it wouldn't work." Thanks, key bloke. But it did, and everything turned out fine, except for the fishing, which didn't happen.


The Fix

So there it is, a fishing experdition stopped dead in its tracks by locksmithery. I'll have to make up for that tomorrow.

Cheers,

LSP




Saturday, April 23, 2016

Thanks a Lot, "Rig."



It being the Feast of St. George, I rose with the sun, got everything squared away, said Morning Prayer, walked the dog and put some rods in the back of the rig; the plan being to go fishing. Good plan, eh? Simple, clear, realistic, doable. But you know what they say, as soon as you make contact the plan goes all to hell. That's what happened to me.

Everything was fine until I got to Whitney and picked up some bait. Then, as I pulled away from the bait shop filling station, the dash pinged me with a check radiator warning and the gauge went into the red like a voracious Bass on a juicy worm.


The Plan

Sure enough, the radiator was leaking coolant like a good 'un and the reservoir was empty. I filled it up and drove home, hoping that, as if by magic, the leak would stop when I got back to the compound. It hadn't, and I resisted the temptation to get a quick fix with Stop Leak and folk remedies like black pepper, eggs etc.


St. George Makes Contact. Note: Princess, Humpback Hill, Your 9 O' Clock.


It can go to the shop on Monday, and in the meanwhile I console myself with the thought that the fish will still be there when we get back in the fight.

All for Texas and St. George,

LSP

Saturday, March 12, 2016

Texas Country



Unlike Chicago, no one's trying to manufacture a riot here in Texas, but we are mostly underwater. Smart people are investing in watercraft to navigate our newfound inland seas. 


It's Like Aberystwyth But Everyone Has A Deadly Assault Rifle

I have a good mind to go fishing after visiting the flock. I might even break with tradition and catch something. In the rain.

God bless,

LSP

Tuesday, February 2, 2016

Get A New Roof, Go Fishing



It's building season here at the Missions, and part of that means new roofs on churches. So I tore myself away from the cut and thrust of US Presidential Race 2016 to see how the work was getting on. It was getting on just fine, in fact the crew were finishing up.

"Good work!" I told the Boss of the roofers and he told me it was all done bar the clean-up. We talked about the job for a little while and the helpful weather. Far better to be roofing in the mild springlike Texan winters than in, say, August. No fun to be up on a roof in 100++ degree temperatures. 


Someone's photo of Calgary from Scotchman's Hill

"Oh, we'd be here in August too," he assured me, and I'm sure they would. I told him about the Calgary roofers I know, up on the tall buildings in sub, subzero temperatures. "Cold!" the reverse of Texas but maybe harder. I respect that job.

Then we shook hands and he thanked me for the business and I headed for home, detouring by the lake for a bit of bank fishing. I cast away with a white shad crankbait and didn't catch anything, but it was fun trying. 




It was also fun to look at the limestone banks of the lake, with its fossilized wood, shells and vegetation frozen in stone, as though they'd been churned together in a great cataclysm. I reflected on that and the several "extinction events" that have overtaken life on earth. How was it possible, in the face of global die-offs, for life to reassert itself so abundantly? 




Metaphors for civilization and US democracy notwithstanding, I headed for home and meetings with yet more roofers, house painters and "tree service."

Mind how you go,

LSP

Monday, January 25, 2016

Retreat!



We're advancing in a different direction, which means getting on I35E and driving to Montserrat Retreat House for the annual diocesan clergy retreat. You need a retreat after that drive, I tell you.



I was hoping for some quiet fishing off Montserrat's pier but it's underwater. Well, there's no telling where, when and how The Weather will strike in its vicious no-holds-barred war on humanity. Just look at New York, all that tax money and they still got hit by several feet of Climate Change.




So maybe there won't be any fishing, but there will be some Chesterton, The Crimes of England. I'm looking forward to that.

More anon, as the story unfolds.

LSP


Saturday, May 24, 2014

Hunt Safari Style, in Texas


It was the final full day of The Dream and we had a several objectives, Viz. Shoot large hogs, a friend to shoot his first Auodad, and for everyone to catch fish. We were partly successful.

Just Where Are The Pigs?

Our shooting party drove out at first light(ish) to find the ancient enemy, Tuskers. Sure enough, we did. There they were! On a far away hill, maybe 800 yards off. Everyone dismounted and moved forward, chambering rounds and glassing the distant hogs. A long shot for sure, and we were hoping for closer contact, so we moved on, guns at the ready and adrenaline flowing. Nothing. 

Maybe The Pigs Are Here

Philisophically inclined GWB decided to take a shot... missed, and the pigs ran. Never to be seen again. Still, fair play to the shooter, off-hand 600-800 yard shots aren't the easiest of things, even if your target is a massive, predatory porcuswine.

Fish

Fresh from the pigs, the team got down to fishing and did alright, 5 Bass (I think) and some Sunfish. Lots of fun and a fried chicken lunch came in tasty too. Then, after a refreshing cold one by the pool, remember, this is the Dream, it was time to hunt North African mountain goats.

Oryx

We set off in search of one or more of the several herds. Spotted! Dismount, chamber a round, safety on, stalk. We got close, but they ran; time to drive on. After several false starts we found a couple of stragglers, mixed in with a small gang of Oryx. Now, it was near dusk and probably the last opportunity for our friend, CB, to get his kill. If he wanted the goat he had to take this shot, but it was a challenge because the animal was mixed in with the exotic Oryx and we weren't able to shot them. A challenge shot, for sure. CB decided to take it.

Good Shot, CB

We got into position, moving stealthily with the wind through the brush and as close to the animals as possible, to within about 80 yards. CB hunkered down, rested my Lee Enfield sporter on some sticks and scoped out the goat. Minutes passed. Then the Oryx parted, and the shot was clear. Cross hairs on, breathe, squeeze the trigger, shoot! The goat went down, shot by CB (well done) and the mighty .303 Brit.

Random Truck Gun

We finished off with war stories around the lodge's outdoor fire. The larger logs, and they were large, were named after ships, HMS Nelson for example, or politics, Old Tory etc. GWB shot a bobcat across the river with the .303. Project gun? Vindicated.

Old Tory

But I won't bang on. A more than good time was had by all. Huge thanks to MM for the party and congrats to CB and DV on their shots. Excellent result.

God bless,

LSP




Thursday, August 22, 2013

And so it Begins...

A Small Gar

I've always enjoyed fishing, a lot, but haven't made the time to do much of it. I've been correcting that bad omission in a concerted effort to become a better all 'round sportsman.

Random Lee

Good goal, eh? I like getting out on the water and seeing the fish glide by like submarines, or exploding up like fierce missiles. Then there's the prehistoric, living fossil Gars who surge up, inspect your bait, roll sideways to give you the beady pleistocene eye and surge off again in search of less threatening things. 

Rare Catch at the Tailrace

That's all good, it's even better when you actually catch something, and bask in that oddly self-satisfied "I've caught a fish!" sort of feeling. Well, it is very satisfying.

More on that later and with it, the mysterious Trinity river that flows through Dallas and North America's largest hardwood forest.

No Wedding Bells For Chelsea

In other news, a wedding photographer has been told by the state that she can't refuse to work a lesbian wedding. All in the name of tolerance. Nice. 

Fish on,

LSP