Fish On - Or Not

 

Thanks to our ongoing War Against The Weather it was cool this morning, only in the low/mid 80s. So whaddya do? After a brisk morning constitutional and Morning Prayer, 1928 BCP thank you very much on the front porch, head off to the lake. And that's exactly what happened.

Were the fish biting? Yes, they were, but not in a good way. These were ferocious little bites from ferocious little fish. Still fun on a light rod but hard to close the deal, and you start to feel like you're feeding the fish as they snatch and tug worms off your line. Huh.

Mildly annoyed at being a kind of food pantry for our aquatic adversary, I persevered and caught the main perpetrator, a ferocious little perch, a bait fish really, and I cast the little beast back into the depths on the end of the line as just that, bait. Did it produce a result?

It can do, no kidding, I've caught good sized striper from that very point using the exact same method, but today? No. Nothing. Yes, there were plenty of junior perch darting about but no mighty bass to catch them or be caught. Maybe the bass were sleeping after gorging on all the baitfish, maybe they were taking a Biden style nap after the rigor of actually waking up for the day, maybe, like our Commander in Chief, they weren't there at all.

Sensing that, with the sun now high in the sky, I headed across the dam to see if the legendary Lake Whitney spillway would yield up the goods. Sure enough, there was a cowboy fishing off the pier. You could tell he was a cowboy because he wore a straw hat and his flatbed truck had ranch brand logos on it. There he was, a cowboy, fishing.

not today, buddy

"How's it going, man?" I offered by way of piscine greeting, "Whole lotta bait fish here, like wow," and there were, great schools of shad and minnows. But he hadn't caught anything apart from a baby cat, and I commiserated with the tale of my baby perch, and off we went to cast again. With no luck whatsoever.

Sure, there were lots of shad, some large(ish), mid-sized gar floating lazily about the pool like submarines, a few buffalo carp being equally lazy, and none of them hitting on anything we put into the water. My cowboy pal left and I fished on, enjoying the clean Texan air, the sight of the mighty Brazos, and the sheer pleasure of being outside in the country. 

Must do more of that, most especially when the bass catch up to their watery prey. Hopefully that'll be soon. More anon.

Cheers,

LSP

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,

LSP

This & That

Things get kind of hectic in the lead up to Christmas, even in the laid back rural wonderland of the Compound. Problem being that by tradition I drive to the metrosprawl a few days before Christmas to get presents.

Devolution?

I broke with unholy tradition this year by doing all the shopping right here in town, within view of the hangin' trees on the Square. Boom. Done. This freed up space and time to visit the flock, deliver Christmas gifts to the Fire Department and local LE, and visit the mighty Brazos.

The Mighty Brazos

No one was catching anything but it was good to see the river and plot against the piscine adversary. Recce patrol, sort of thing. Then Walmart got a look-in. I tell you, that's where the church should be because that's where the people are, in all their glory and everything else in between. 

A Beautiful Unicorn

Dwarves, unicorns, elves, all the flotsam and jetsam of Middle Earth in abundance, right here in North Central Texas; no kidding, like the court of kings. 

The Halls of Moria

Resisting the urge to set up in the midst of the action, I went about my business, got the job done and headed back to base in that sweet sunny southern weather.

Ride on

As I type this exciting letter home from the southern front of the War on Weather, pheasant's boiling in the pot along with assorted veg. It'll become a pie, a victory pie in the ongoing battle for or against global warming.

Take that, vast international readership, as you will.

Gun rights,

LSP