One of the things the team looks forward to after Sunday Mass is fishing, and not just any old fishing. No, we like to go to a secret location somewhere in Texas and catch enormous, absurdly large, leviathan size Bass on light rods. Just a whole lot of fun.
That plan didn’t work out because of the threat of rain and because one of the team decided to go fishing in Venice instead, which is ironic, given that the place is flooded. So I went down another route, and drove to Lake Aquilla.
Not a bad option. As the storm was coming in, thunderclouds looming, boats were pulling into the ramp and the scene was soon deserted. Just me, the still-before-the-storm water, distant lighting flickering across the sky and the pleasure of trying to lure a Bass onto an enticing topwater spook.
Thrash! One of the fierce predators was lurking right near the bank and attacked the lure at the end of my retrieve. A good fight with a decent Widemouth, who lived to fight again another day. There were a few more close calls, with a small school of fish surging up and out of the water around the spook, but no strike. Still, even that was action, and action against the dramatic backdrop of the lake.
It’s a new lake, like most in Texas, and before its creeks were dammed, an archeological survey was done on the soon to be flooded area and what became the lake shore. There were any number of Indian campsites and small settlements, some of them dating from the not so distant past. They’d be hard to recognize if you’re not an expert; mostly charred stones from campfires and the occasional worked piece of stone. Some of the sites remain, if you have eyes to see.
I imagined those Indians as I fished, under the big, threatening sky. There they had been, hunting and fishing on Aquilla and Hackleberry creeks, in the vastness of the land. Well, the land’s still vast and the sky’s still the same, and before long it began to crash down with a vengeance.
Time to get back to the Compound, a glass of wine and the latest awful news from the Jihad. But before that, the sky turned ominously green and it started to rain in earnest, Texas-style. No fooling, and a good thing I had a truck because the streets were flooding as I drove into town.
If the rain continues, it will all be underwater. Is there a moral in this story?
If you care to draw it.