Labor Day Fishing

It was beautifully cool at a refreshing 27 degrees, clouds were rolling in with the promise of blissful rain and the time seemed right to go Labor Day fishing.

So cast off into the depths with a tried and tested worm rig, twitch it along and wait for action. But there was no action, just the occasional turtle diving about and one or two sluggish, non-committal tugs at the line. 

A couple of boats pulled into the cleaning station and they hadn't done well either, not a good day for the guides, and taking that as an omen I upped rods and headed to another spot. Maybe that would produce the goods.

It didn't. The fish were obviously on strike, swimming out in solidarity with international labor. OK, several refused to be brainwashed by Boshevik agitprop and took snatching runs at the hook but only to fall back in red cowardice to the aquatic barricades. I couldn't close the deal.

Then it began to rain and catching fish didn't seem to matter any more. God had sent life giving water from the sky to ease and refresh spirits parched and arid from the never ending funeral rites of the most heroic patriot that ever lived anywhere in the world ever.

Uplifted by this gift from heaven, I left the piscine Marxists to their aquatic skulduggery and headed back to the Compound. But not to worry, this match ain't over.

Fish on,

LSP

Monster Bass Bonanza

Like a gift from heaven it began to rain, rippling the still surface of the small lake and out whirred lines across the water. Tranquil, but not for long.

His First Big Bass

The first Bass plowed into my hook like a sledgehammer coming down on a Clinton Blackberry. Kaboom, and before you could say Russian collusion the fight was on, and what a fight but finally, after about 5 minutes, up came a Bass, a monster Hybrid.

Monster

This went on for two days, morning, noon and evening, monster Bass after monster Bass until I lost count. Outrageous, unreal, ridiculous fishing, a make-your-arms-ache Bass bonanza of epic proportions. Pretty much a huge fish with every cast, and here's the thing.

Weirdly Large Hybrid

I had some luck with green plastic worms on Texas rigs, very little with topwater lures and no luck at all with crankbaits. These didn't produce; similar, when you think about it, to the Deep State's various attempts to overthrow the President. P**gate, Russian spy, Stormy the Prostitute and on, none of them worked, dammit.

Scientific Rig

No, but live worms on a #1 baitholder did, these enormous Bass couldn't get enough of them. They loved them like a millionaire socialist loves fauxtrage, and perhaps this confounds conventional wisdom, which advises big hooks and big bait for big fish. 

Whatever the case, the small hook, live worm rig fished up a storm of surging, diving, running, thrashing Bass. Just a whole lot of fun and there's a message in that.

Get out and fish,

LSP

Still Beating The Drum

After a morning visiting the sick, I stopped off at Lake Whitney dam to test the waters. These were clear(ish), and apparently devoid of any fish. 

The occasional Water Moccasin slithered across the still surface of the pool, ignored by floating turtles, and that was that, no evidence of fish at all.

Still, I had the pier to myself, no pressure, and that's no small thing. There it was, the great edifice of the dam and the Brazos, winding its way through Texas to Waco and beyond under a big sky. A tranquil scene, and I cast off more for the contemplative reflection of it all than anything else.

Say your prayers, consider the upcoming Feast of Pentecost and the nature of the Holy Spirit, who we're told is the personification of the love between the Father and the Son. Take a break from the turgid skulduggery of the world and unwind overlooking the river.

Good call, right? No, it wasn't to be. The pool looked empty, like the pews of the venerable if shrinking Church of England, but it wasn't, it was full of voracious Black Drum. No kidding. I'd no sooner cast off with a famously scientific split shot, #6 worm rig than Drum were plowing into the line. 

Up came one, up came another, and another, and on we went for an hour or so. Good action and good sized fish. Finally the worm battalion were down to their last two conscripts, which I threaded onto a sharp, #6 baitholder.

The Tebbit

Within seconds something big was on the line. A Gar? A Striper? A Dolphin? Lord Tebbit himself, protesting against the rainbow riding iniquity of Bury St. Edmonds' Deanery?

No, just a monster Black Drum. He thrashed, flailed, dived and pulled but nothing worked, the fish was on and up it came. 

And that, international readership of this popular mind blog, is just the way it was.

MAGA and Fish On,

LSP