Fish You Fool

 

Boy With Fish

Elements of USARMY were asking, tragically, plaintively, "What shall we do?" Quick as a flash Command issued orders, "Go fishing." And so they did, putting rods and tackle into a Chevy Z71 which headed for the lake in search of fish.

Boy With Fish

Were they successful? Sure they were, fishing with light rods, circle hooks, frozen Shad and catching Gar, Flathead, young Striper and Black Drum. Well done, boys. 

Your Old Pal

Senior officers, on the other hand, stayed home, sorting out the admin of this irregular unit. Yes, this must change, we pride ourselves on leading from the front.

Fish On,

LSP

Tight Lines

Inspired by tales of trout in the mountain streams of the White Wolf Mine, I drove to the lake in search of fish. Would there be any and if there were, would they bite? Two weighty mysteries to conjure with on the way to a date with piscine destiny.

And at first it seemed as though the answer was negative on both counts. No fish. No bites. Yes, it was all very beautiful, blue sky, autumnal Texan sun reflecting off the water, and all of that, so good for the soul, but where were the fish?

Then, just as I was about to head somewhere else there was a vicious tug on the line, hookset, and whatever was on took off like Trump Train 2020. Rod double, line out, reeling action, especially when the cunning leviathan made a mad bid to dive under the pier. It failed, but only just, and there he was, at last, a mighty catfish.

I hauled the monster up on the dock for a photo op before putting him back in to fight again another day. What a good fish. And there you have it, a short story of aquatic adventure in the Texan countryside and yet another testimony to the power of worms, small hooks and a light rod. Amazed the thing didn't break, to be honest.

Great fun, and a welcome break from staring in slack-jawed consternation at the corruption and malfeasance of our nation's political elite and their lying shills in the media. But that's a different sermon.

Fish on,

LSP