Showing posts with label worms. Show all posts
Showing posts with label worms. Show all posts

Monday, May 18, 2020

Fishing Aquila Dam Spillway

A dirt road under an already fiercely hot Texan sky, and this is only mid May, a foretaste of the blast furnace to come. The heat and light bring an intensity, throwing everything into high relief. Not dissimilar, when you think of it, to one of those annoying filters on your cell phone camera, Satanbook or Instagram.

Well, this art blog's banned from Instagram and Satanbook, but not from the Aquila dam spillway and there it was, ready for action. I say action, I've never dialed this spot in to any great extent, but figured it'd make a change from Lake Whitney. So off I went in search of Catfish, Gar and anything else that came along in the midday heat.

Thanks to the pythonic wisdom of our latter day Delphi, Youtube, I came armed with frozen shad, worms, tiny baitholder hooks and small circle hooks. Idea being that you cast for catfish with the small circles, weightless and baited with worms, and send out shad fixed to a perch hook tied to a bobber for Gar.

Gar philosophy's interesting, at least to me, because they're an incredible game fish and well worth the sport - minutes, it seems like hours, of subterfuge, patience, false starts, new beginnings,  and then BAM, set the hook and off you go. A thrashing, jumping, prehistoric monster's on your line and it's game on. Tiny hooks seem one way to go, as they'll pass unnoticed by the fish who gleefully swallows your shad, allowing you to go for a hookset in the corner of Gar's mouth when it goes for its second run.

OK, fine, but before all of this excellence, the fish has to actually go for the bait. Normally this isn't an issue, Gar are notoriously ready biters, but not today at Aquila spillway. I had a few bites and a coupe of halfhearted runs, but the fish dropped the shad in boredom and disgust before I could even think of closing the deal. Huh. I put it it down to heavy fishing pressure, and maybe the rig needs rethinking.

A few bites on the worms though, with a small catfish coming ashore and a larger one who slipped the hook at the bank, annoyingly. Still, good fight. Should I have hooked the small cat with a big circle hook and used it as live bait for Leviathan Cats? Certainly thought about it, but the little fella went back to fight again another day.

So there you have it. A good day out in the sun and a fair amount of action, if little catching. Did the fish win this this round? Yes, they did, but watch out underwater adversaries, this isn't over, not by a long chalk.

Moral? Don't sit at home, staring blank-faced at a screen when you can get outdoors and fish. In other news, all the commies are mad because our President's taking hydroxy and zinc and isn't sick.

Fish on, or not,


Monday, December 9, 2019

Fish Till Your Arms Ache

Today was beautiful in this part of Texas, slightly misty but warm, like an autumnal Spring. Such is Fall in Hill County, season of mists and mellow respite from having to turn on the AC. Pleased by this happy turn in the War on Weather I drove to the dam in search of fish.

Idea being to replicate last week's success against the fluid adversary and get out in the clean air, rod in hand, which is exactly what happened. First cast, up came a baby bass, then perch, followed by baby striper, followed by decent sized drum, followed by young catfish.

OK, the fish weren't as big as the ones I would've caught with a boat, granted, but there were plenty of rod-benders, tug, pull, snap and here we go, battle on. What a lot of fun, to say nothing of the tranquility of the sound of the water coming gently off the dam in the rare moments of peace between strikes.

And on it went 'til I lost count and a fierce wind blew in from Waco, exciting the immature catfish but making it hard to cast. Throw out your line and watch it go horizontal in the gale, type of thing, so I packed up and headed for home.

On the way back over the bridge a vulture dive bombed the rig, like an avian Stuka or feathered Richtofen. No kidding, I thought the thing was going to hit the truck, first time that's ever happened.

In other news, you can read about the looming threat of war between Greece and Turkey here. And while you're at it, consider how good it would be to see Sultan Erdogan sink beneath the waves of the Med in Lepanto 2.0 and Hagia Sophia restored to its glory.

Fish till your arms ache,


Tuesday, March 26, 2019

Fishing While Jussie Skates

Take advantage of a beautiful Texan spring morning and go fishing; bright, clear air, a shining sun, and the still waters of the lake reflecting the sky. It smells good too, wildflowers, sage, cedar, sun on limestone, and the earth coming alive. 

But I wasn't there to record a lull in the new Ice Age, I was there to fish. And sure enough there was a school of carp under someone's pleasure boat tied up at the pier. You could hear them thrashing and fighting against the pontoons of the boat in some kind of furious carp frenzy.

Very exciting and I baited a small hook with a worm, visions of titanic struggle against monster carp looming large. Not unrealistic either, I'd landed some leviathans with the same bait from that very spot the year before, big fun. 

So off went a worm under the boat into the churning carp, expectation up, and I waited, and waited. No bite. You could see the carp ignoring the delicious worm in droves, they cared nothing for the worm, it didn't matter to them at all.

I bobbed it about, tried different depths and different positions. Perhaps the fish will love this worm if it's a foot higher or lower, or somewhere else altogether. 

No, it meant nothing to them. They didn't like gooey yellow chunks of special carp bait either, which was weird because the packet said carp loved them. They didn't.

Baffled by the perversity of fish, I packed up, promising the piscine adversary I'd be back with a vengeance. Maybe with canned corn, which carp love. Stay tuned.

Back at the Compound I turned on the internet to laugh at rich socialists insisting that Trump's a Russian agent because Hillary lost an election. And then Boom! what's this? Juicy Smollet skates? Yes, on 16 felony counts and the case closed and sealed. No trial, no nothing because of a deal with the state prosecutor. 

Even Rahm Emmanuel and Axelrod think it's a disgrace, which says something. Perhaps something about who wants to be the next mayor of Chicago?

Fish on,


Sunday, May 13, 2018

Happy Mother's Day!

Happy Mother's Day; I hope you've all had a fantastic time with family, friends and hopefully, your Mothers. Here at the Missions we celebrated in good form, with feasting after the Masses and a lot of fun it was too. Well done, team.

Then it was back to the Compound to regroup, get collected and look to the next evolution, which weirdly enough turned out to be fishing.


Things were a bit crowded at the top secret Texan location today, on account of all the Mother's Day fishing expeditions and perhaps the pier pressure scared the fish off. 

At any event, the going was slow for the first hour or so but I didn't care, it was good to see families having fun at the water.


Picture the scene, Grandfather and Grandson, Father and Mother, all fishing away with Grandma sensibly sitting in the shade but smiling on.  

Heartwarming and I especially liked the Grandfather, who went by "Pappy." He came from a more civilized time and fished away with lures and jigs while I cast away with savage worms.

A Mother's Day Catfish

At one point the old gentleman pulled up a fishing rod, a fairly new one, too. I congratulated him on the catch and we laughed; a good moment. 

Fierce Little Predator

Then thump, tug, the fish switched on at last and with it a brisk hour or so of reeling in mostly small Bluegill. Hey, a fish is a fish and on a light rod these perch put up a fun fight. 

Country Life in Texas

I left as my new friends went after Bass with topwater lures and the sun was setting over the still, glassy waters of the lake.

What a good day.

God bless you, Mothers,


Friday, May 11, 2018

Outrageous Fishing

Unless you're a sad Marxist determinist or some kind of insane philosopher, you'll agree that we have free will, we can make choices. Some good, some bad, some tending towards freedom and others towards that other place which ends in iron tyranny.

No, Wymmin Can't Be Priests

With this in mind, we had a choice today at the Compound. Go fishing or sit in slack-jawed amazement at the wreckage of what used to be Western culture. The team took the better path, we went fishing.

Say No To Spirit Cooking

And BANG, pretty much out of the gate we were catching. Bluegill, Catfish and Bass; mostly Bluegill and a couple of keepers too, but they all went back. Some of you might want to know the detail. Here it is.

Defeat Globalist Elites

#1 Eagle Claw Bait holder hook, cheap as you like and then some. 1 medium split shot weight, placed appx 12" from the hook, 12' test (you never know). Bait, 1 half live worm threaded onto the hook with a chunk of Walmart shrimp (Cats seem to like the combo) and another half worm threaded below the shrimp chunk.

Smash The NWO

Presentation? Chuck it in! Well, test the water and see what works. I found that casting diagonally to a cross current tended to get good bites and... sometimes not at all.

Hey, a fish is a fish

Moral of the story? Get out and fish, and know the water. If you do, you'll be able to get on the fish with what they want and start catching. Which is the optimum result, but word to the wise, a few recce patrols don't hurt.

But of course you know all this. As it is, we lost count today. Result.

Gun rights,


Monday, May 7, 2018

Cool For Cats

No, not the supermegastar pop band fronted up by Jools Holland, but the fish, catfish. At least that was the hope as I drove to a top secret Texan location.

At first it was pretty slow sledding, with a couple of halfhearted nibbles on my go to worm and not much else at all. Then a boat pulled up, "We've been at it for hours, nothing!" 

I shrugged and cast off again, wondering if the expedition would be a bust. So why not change up the bait? Nothing ventured, nothing gained.

Several pieces of shrimp added to the worm and a slow retrieve later, something got fierce on the hook and a fight was on. Then up came a catfish.

And another, and another, and another in a kind of we-love-the-shrimp-worm-combo feeding frenzy. Great result and a fast 45 minutes or so of good action; out went the line, in came the fish, 6 in the end. 

After that things started to quiet down but I wasn't complaining, the sport had been good and it was time to head for home.

Next time I'll bring a cooler and keep a few. Fry those cats up.

Tight lines,


Sunday, April 29, 2018

Beat The Drum

What kind of countryman are you, so-called LSP? All you do is post creepy photos of Barbie dolls dressed up like wimmyn priests.

Hey, I get your dissatisfaction. So to put things straight I put a couple of rods in the pickup and headed for water. Intuition and experience said try the other side of the dam, and that's exactly what happened. 

It was deserted and the river flowed clear. So clear, in fact, that you could see that there weren't any fish apart from a small posse of Carp, guarding the spillway entrance to the once mighty Brazos. Therein lies another tale, but undaunted I set up on the empty grid of the pier and cast off with worms and carp bait.

Within seconds something was tugging at the juicy worm/strawberry dough bait combo. Nice, then out pulled the line  with that steady, mindless-hunger, piscine determination and I snapped the rod up to set the hook. Action! 

Only to pull the hook up through empty water. What was this, a fish without parts that didn't occupy space? No, just a Gar who sensibly dropped the enticing strawberry chummed worm.

Knowing that persistence in the face of adversity is key, I cast off again, expecting nothing but hoping for everything. And there it was, a tug, a dive and fish on in the form of a voracious little Black Drum. I hauled him in.

Next, a decent sized Bluegill; up you come, predator, and back you go to fight again another day. And this little menace was followed by another Drum. Then something big hit the line. 

BOOM. One minute you're waiting there on the pier, looking out over Texas and the fabled Brazos, and the next? Something's charged into the hook like a Trump Train on full loco. Rod double, drag out, fast and furious action. Then up came the fish.

It was a big 'un too, no foolin', and a larger  adversary hit the line at the end of the expedition. Big action from a big fish, which annoyingly snapped the 12Ib test as I brought it up, defeated. 

Then it was time to head back to the Compound, under the light of a shining moon.

Fish on,


Sunday, September 17, 2017

Sorry Fish, You Lose This Round

Smarting from our signature defeat against the fish the other week on the dam spillway, the team decided to have another go. To catch the fish off-guard we went to a different location, Soldier's Bluff. 

There's been times when fishing the Bluff has been simply outstanding, fast action, good fish and pretty much a catch a cast and sometimes more. No kidding, when the Bass are blitzing it's topwater frenzy and devil take the hindmost.

With that in mind we cast off into the depths and at first things didn't look good. A boat kept roaring by, surfer in tow, churning the water, frightening the fish and blasting some kind of pop music. Perhaps it was rap/r 'n b hybrid, I don't know, I'm no expert but I do know this, it was annoying and we weren't catching.

At last, the boat sped off into the vastness of Lake Whitney and we were in with a chance, perhaps. After throwing worms and their plastic imitations into the usual spots and getting nothing, we headed towards the dam.

Still nothing and then, as the sun was going down, a fierce tug at the line. Yes, fish, you're on the radar. After that it was pretty much a Bluegill every five minutes or so and many more escapees, who were happy to run off with our enticing worms and "Crappie Bites."

Regardless, it was fish on and if we'd been in the way of keeping them, dinner on too. As it was, these fierce little predators went back in the water. They lived to fight again another day.

Victory assured, we headed back in the setting sun. Burgers were on the menu and the Cadet wasted no time in dialing up Highland Regiments, piping us into the Compound.

He's inspired by the A&M Corps and ROTC. Shoot in the X Ring, kid.

Tight lines,


Monday, June 26, 2017

Don't Be A Pathetic Lib, Fish

Now that the risible "Russians hacked the election" narrative is dying the death of a thousand failing PR spins, the team decided to go fishing. We'd tried Soldiers Bluff the day before and the young 'un did well with a good sized Hybrid but I struck out. Today would be different, I promised, at the dam spillway.

Sure enough it was. The water churned and foamed and we cast off with circle hooks and worms. A few minutes in and Boom! out came a decent Black Drum and we could see the Gar schooling off the current. Big excitement as the prehistoric looking river monsters circled and prowled like submarines in search of prey.

After a few false starts, as the fickle Gar took the bait, ran with it and then let go, I felt an encouraging tug on the line. That firmed up, the rod bent double and the fight was on; I thought I'd caught a Catfish but no, a big Bass broke the surface and tried to run downstream. Sorry fish, you're coming in and up came a decent sized Leviathan. Great result.

Then the Cadet started catching, Black Drum, and that's the main thing. You want kids to experience the action so that they get into the sport. Otherwise they'll be tempted to write it all off as a boring game of waiting for endlessly non-appearing evidence and give up. Or worse yet, be forced to retract the story altogether as a phony piece of CNN-style agitprop.

That wasn't the case today; it was fish on and thank you mighty Brazos for the opportunity.

Tight lines,