Some of you enjoy idyllic trout streams and rivers full of salmon or walleye, others again spend their time sea fishing off the coasts of fabled islands. Me? It's mostly all about Lake Whitney and, to be fair, the mighty Brazos, which is where I went this morning in a desperate bid to escape the crazy.
"Maybe getting out in the clean air of Texas will do you good," I thought grimly to myself as I loaded a couple of rods into the bed of the rig, "As opposed to staring in slack-jawed Francoist consternation at the end of the world."
And yes, it was good to get to the lake and cast off into the depths, and there were plenty of fish, no doubt about it, I could see them gliding by the bank and jumping with fierce predatory aggression. But did I catch any?
No. I did not. It was like our wars, Enemy 1, Home Team 0, but what am I saying. Every moment spent under the free sky of Texas is a moment worth living, a victory in itself. Just you try it and see.
That aside, there is an equestrian club at Ft. Hood which practices boot-to-boot cav charges, swords out, run! I told him, "Well you can ride, so join in. Just don't fall off and skewer yourself with your wretched sabre." Always paternal, you see.
Your Best Pal,
LSP
