Yet More Crazy Fishing And A Hogg

You don't know what the water has in store, maybe something, maybe nothing but today it was all frenzied action and pretty much every cast a fish. 

Fish after fish hit my complex, scientific setup; split shot, worm on a #2 baitholder, and 12 Lb test on a cheap Shakespeare Lite-Pro Ugly Stick. And here's the thing.

A light setup's practical because it's sensitive, it's also fun because even a small fish feels like a decent fight and the fight's half the deal. There you are, like Ahab, reeling in the mighty, ahem, Perch. No kidding, on a light rod even a small sunfish feels important.

But today's fish weren't that small. A Gar rose from the depths, snatched the bait and leaped into the air in thrashing, predatorial fury. Time and again, Catfish pounded into the hook, diving deep and strong, rod bent double, drag playing out and fight-on.

That played out for an hour or so before quieting down and an alt-redneck pal came by. "I hear you been tearin' it up!" I replied that I had and promptly caught a Perch and a small Catfish, quod erat, sort of thing.

In other exciting news, the young 'un shot a pig. GOOD WORK, kid. 

Tight Lines,

LSP

Wake Up!

You're sleepy? Look here, you bandits. The day starts at 5.

And so it did, starting with day one. By the time the sun was rising, there we were, on the way to somewhere in Texas to hunt hogs. We passed through Gustine, Blanket, Brownwood, San Angelo and weren't too far from Mexico.

Switch on, Bandits

"So whaddya do if you meet an illegal alien, kids?" Moment of silence and then, "Send him up to the Mother Ship?" Another moment of silence, "Well, I'd give them a meal and a beer. Then maybe I'd build a wall."

If You Meet The Buddha on The Road...

We set up up camp and got after the pigs. That meant climbing up into stands and scouting trails, and the result?

Therein lies another tale.

Gun Rights,

LSP

Hog Poetry

I know, I know, it's been a long while since I posted a hog poem and I apologize for that. But here's something, inspired by Manhattan Infidel.

“Master thyself, then others shall thee beare”

     Pull down thy vanity

Thou art a beaten hog beneath the hail,

A swollen magpie in a fitful sun,

Half black half white

Nor knowst’ou wing from tail

Pull down thy vanity

     How mean thy hates

Fostered in falsity,

     Pull down thy vanity,

Rathe to destroy, niggard in charity,

Pull down thy vanity,

     I say pull down the trigger,

And slay the hog.

With no apologies to Mr. Pound.

LSP 

Easter Holiday!

I thought I'd take a couple of days off in Dallas after Easter. You know, just do nothing, apart from browse the gun shops, idly read Sci-Fi novels, and make the odd foray to the pub. Good plan, eh?

So far this has meant driving to Waco to visit a person in hospital and then, tomorrow, driving to Clifton for a funeral.

Some friends will be hog hunting in Clifton at the very moment I will be at the graveside. I hope they shoot something; we can grill it up later that evening in Dallas, if they do. Failing that, there's always hamburgers.

If you meet the Buddha on the road, shoot it.

LSP