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Fishing Lake Austin
Now that my garden is on autopilot, hunting season is over and I can only do so much mountain biking and yard work I’ve started fishing more often. It’s the perfect time of the year to fish. I’ve been going to Lake Austin once a week for the last month or so and park under the 360 bridge (see photo) and hop in a boat.
Last weekend the wife and I took the boat out and the water was choppy and full of wake boarding boats bumping Lil Wayne and tweens on SeaDoos so it was a little maddening trying to get to my sweet spots. In fact I didn’t make it to any of the spots where I typically troll motor across hydrilla stashes using the fish finder to measure depth and luck. Instead we tucked into a little cove I’ve dubbed “Turtle Cove”. Here, we got away from the wake and I fished while the wife read. I have to admit it was a pretty terrible outing in that the water was rough, crowded and the fish weren’t biting. We had a good time drinking ice cold 7-Up, watching birds and turtles on a beautiful day.
Most of the time I go out with a friend of mine who is a professional fisherman. The guy is lights out when it comes to catching bass and he’s got a very serious Skeeter bass boat. This boat also hauls ass across the water. My boat goes plenty fast for what I want it to do (which is duck hunting) and has a 25 HP engine. In comparison, this guy has a 250 HP engine that shoots 30 foot rooster tails across the water as we zip down the lake from spot to spot. This boat is lose your hat, glasses and then hurt your face fast. I’ve never been in a boat this fast.
We fish with worms along the bank, docks, rock slides and grass patches as he knows several choice locations where 3-5 lb. pound bass await. We’ll fish a Texas rig or “Wacky Worm” style and it’s amazing how detailed the worm combos get with rich colors named Green Pumpkin Neon, Oxblood Red Flake and Chartreuse Motor Oil. Most of the time I’m simply along for the ride and choose my worm by the “This one looks good.” method. I always give the worm a little pep talk like, “Alright worm, you’re at a bar, alright? I want you to go up to the fattest fish you see and bring her on home. I know it’s not easy, but I’m counting on you.” And then away we go.
I guess the reason I’m writing about this at all is because we were fishing yesterday when the sky turned black and scared me a second. I saw the photo on the left that a news station took and was impressed because that’s what I saw yesterday. Anyhow, my friend had already caught (and released) several bass and I hadn’t caught a thing, which amazed me since we were on the same boat using the same bait, but anyhow, a quick, cool air settled over us and lightening broke across the sky. The entire line of hills seemed to shake and loosen. We were a few miles north, close to the dam when the storm began to close in and we could feel it running towards us. We packed up and drove to the loading ramp, but stopped at one more rock slide before calling it quits. I’m not sure that was a good idea, but I didn’t mind one last chance to make a catch. Once we decided it was time to go there was something very dangerous and at once appealing to be out on the lake with lightening, thunder, knifing winds and suddenly cold air streams attacking the senses from every direction. Darkness and the first sign of rain fell through the clouds as we bolted across the water. We were the only boat out there so it was top speed all the way. I held on with both hands as lightening cracked behind the hills and rain poured from the distance. I pretended we were fleeing something like in a movie. Some terrible monster or natural disaster nipping at our heels as we barreled towards freedom. I thought about what I’d do if our boat flipped and I was injured in the water wo/ a life vest and the storm raged on. Mostly I enjoyed the excitement and thought about what I’ll do the next time I’m out there.
Catch a fish.
Attack of the outdoors.
I woke up early on Sunday and pulled the boat around as I planned on going fishing. While backing it up, into the driveway I somehow punctured the sidewall of the spare tire on the trailer. This set off a chain reaction of me pulling off parts, cleaning them up and repairing a few things on the trailer. My window of time before the “after church fisherman” was slowly closing and they crowd the boat ramp and it takes forever to get your boat into the water if you don’t get there before 10:30.
I decided to simply work around the house instead. I’d just finished spreading a square bale of hay in the main garden when my wife and dogs came out to see what I was up to. Just then we heard a great buzzing noise coming towards us. We both looked up because we thought it was an airplane or helicopter or something and instead saw a huge black cloud of bees passing over about 20 feet in the air. My wife decided to go inside and as she neared a tree she started freaking out a bit and I thought a bee was attacking her. What actually happened was that she saw a large snake curled up near the base of a tree. I had a shovel in my hand and ran over to see the snake. She picked up the small dog and went inside. I decided I’d grab my gun instead of using the shovel due to the snake being so large. It took two shots before the snake was dead and I hung it’s dead body on the fence on the far part of the land. I’ve been hunting this snake for 3 weeks now and I’m glad I finally got it.
The day went by quickly and as night fell I started a fire in the fire pit to get rid of a bunch of limbs and leaves. The fire grew tall and I sat on a hay bale watching it for quite some time. When the fire started to go out, I just let it. The coals stayed bright as I walked towards the house. Along the way I stepped on a sharp tree limb that pierced the arch of my foot and blood went everywhere. I hadn’t had shoes on the entire day except for when I was snake hunting and I put on some rubber boots real fast. Anyhow, I bandaged my foot and laid down only to realize that my back had gotten sunburned from bending over in the garden weeding, shoveling and working on the Koi pond during the day wo/ a shirt on.
I felt good. Bees, snakes, fire, guns, hay bales, turtles, boats, blood, wives, dogs and sunshine. I didn’t mind that I didn’t make it out fishing that day.
10 minute short story exercise.
Inspired by a few friends of mine I started doing short story exercises where I challenge myself to think of an idea and write it, edit it, etc. all under 10 minutes. Here’s the first story. It turned out nothing like I planned, but due to time restrictions I had to go where the story took me.
The Father of Science Fiction
“..and he flys his horse of crystal and turquoise toward the moon so it can feed. The moon nourishes the horse and allows it’s eyes to glow and see as they fly across the sky. That is why the moon is only half full tonight, because Red Finger’s horse has eaten well.”
Two Cub stops his horse and looks at Big Eyes in disgust. “Yes I know. And Red Finger has a pouch of fire that he can draw flames from at will. And when we see fire shoot across the sky it is Red Finger flying around on his horse. He eats stars and pisses rivers. I’m tired Big Eyes and I’m tired of your tales of Red Finger. Let’s get back to camp and tell Of-Old-Bear the buffalo have moved further than we expected and we must leave in the morning. We’ve been gone a long time and I’m hungry.”
Big Eyes looks to the night sky, “I’m not leaving with the tribe in the morning Two Cub. I’m going to stay at our campsite. I’m going to build many tee-pees by the river. Many tee-pees. My wives, my children and my slaves will stay with me. They will plant corn, fish and hunt and bring everything back to camp while I listen to the stories Red Finger tells me in a special tee-pee I will build for my daily sitting. “
“That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard you say,” Two Cub sneers and kicks his horse to a quick walk.
“I’m serious Two Cub! I’m tired of following the buffalo. We pass this same spot every 4 moons. I’m staying. I like it here! I don’t understand why we’re always moving. I want to relax a bit. What’s wrong with that?”
“Whatever, you’re an idiot. You tell that shit to Of-Old-Bear and see what he says.”
“One of his wives is my older sister. She will sway him for me.”
“Don’t count on it. Anyhow, quit talking. We have at least another day of riding.” Two Cub moves his horse into a trot, but Big Eyes quickly joins him at his side.
“Did I tell you the story of when Red Finger battled 4 eagles made of ice?”
“Yes.”
“What about the time when Red Finger wakes up and he is lying next to his twin and his twin tries to kill him with a sharpened corn cob?”
“Yessss.”
What about the time Red Finger has to scalp the sun in order to save our land from darkness, but Red Finger’s arms have turned to buckskin.”
“Yes. That seems to be your favorite.”
“What about the time Red Finger can longer see his horse, snakes fall from the clouds and Red Finger has to run 20 moons ahead to drink the entire sea?”
“No, but that doesn’t even make any sense.”
“What about the time…”
“Big Eyes! Shut the fuck up!”
Oleg’s Finest.
In the building I work in there’s a small cafe on the first floor. Our building is not a luxurious one. Very standard office fare and many of the offices are empty, but the cafe is run by a Russian immigrant named Oleg. Oleg is a short, stocky man who looks more Italian than Russian and he wears a big floppy chef’s hat and black apron. His accent is thick and obvious. I’m not exactly sure what his cafe is actually called as everyone around the office refers to it as “Oleg’s Finest”. This is because Oleg will typically refer to his daily dish, or better yet, Daily Special as Oleg’s Finest, in 3rd person. The problem is that Oleg is still very Russian and his dishes reflect this in spice and combinations. Many times they don’t make a great deal of sense and are always very bland. I went there yesterday and his “special” compelled me to write this. Here’s what happened:
Me: Hey Oleg, what’s the special today?
Oleg: Today we have Oleg’s Finest. You are in for today’s treat my friend. Feast your eyes on this!
And with this Oleg rips off the metal lid with great gusto and does a little, “Wala!”
Me: Wow. What is that Oleg?
Oleg: Enchilada Casserole! Served with mashed potatoes and gravy and a salad.
So herein lies the issue. These things don’t really go to together and I’m not really sure what enchilada casserole is. It looked like a big pan of cheese topped something or other.
Me: Alright Oleg. I’ll have the club sandwich and a bag of chips.
Oleg’s shoulders slump as though someone just killed his puppy. It’s as though someone has slapped him, insulted him and I know he tries to hide it, but you can see the disappointment coursing through his entire body. I can almost see the thought bubble appear above his head reading, “Failed again!”
While I feel bad I have to think of my own safety and don’t want to sit at my desk the rest of the day regretting the enchilada casserole.
Tomorrow Oleg. There’s always tomorrow.
On Writing.
At one point in William Burroughs’ life he taught writing and sometimes his students would say, “I don’t know what to write about.” Burroughs would always point them to one of his favorite authors, Denton Welch. Why? Denton Welch was the master of taking very small, insignificant subjects and making them beautiful and poetic. After I read everything Denton Welch had ever written (4 books and a handful of shorts) I became obsessed with writing about the mundane. This was around the mid-90′s and I’ve searched out this type of writing ever since. Luckily, I have friends who do this very well and several times a year one of them will produce a piece of material that I really enjoy for no other reason than I feel I should have thought of it myself or I simply appreciate the creativity involved. In this post Shon Toney takes the task of simply mailing off the rent check to a new level in very few words. This story is appreciated.
The Suspense is Not Appreciated
by Shon Toney
Coupon valu-pak. Banking invoice. Ah, this is it, addressed from my tenant in Portland, the guy paying off my mortgage for me, month by month. The stamp is of a liberty ship – British designed, American built – from world war the second.
Liberty…
Postal date, thin scars across the envelope’s cheek, reveals it was mailed on the eighth. The date on the check is the fifth, the day the rent was actually due. Today is the tenth. I’ll let it slide – always do – but each month the payment slides another day. The suspense is not appreciated.
Interesting choice, the liberty ship. Brittle as British biscuits, suffering hull and deck cracks frequently. Vessels unable to handle the flex, the strains of the moon’s thirst for the ocean, long nights imagining the horizon.
My wife asks, “Anything good?”
“Rent payment arrived.”
“Is it the right amount this time?”
“Yup, yup. Looks like he’s going to ditch on his lease early though.”
“Really? That’s unfortunate. At least he had the guts to give us some heads up.”
“Nah. No letter or anything. But look at this stamp he chose — it’s a liberty ship.”
“Unfortunate.”
Review of Luby’s
It was a beautiful spring day, the kind that poets write about when they are feeling most gay, when I noticed the marquee outside of Luby’s read, “$3 Chicken Fried Stake”. I knew that meant it was time for me to get down on some of that stake, old person style, and teach a motherfucker how to spell.
I walked in, grabbed my green wrap of silver ware and school tray and asked the guy at the cole slaw tub if Luby was around.
“Huh?” he asked.
“Luby. Is Luby here? I need to talk to him… or her about the sign outside.”
It was then I realized that I didn’t know the gender of the name Luby. Even though I always wanted to meet Luby, even if for no other reason than to be able to say I met Luby, I suddenly felt a bit humiliated by this realization. With this I decided to let it go and move on with my life, down the chrome pipes, as they say, and into the wonderful experience that is “cafeteria style” dining.
I had $3 Chicken Fried Steak (CFS) w/ fried okra, macaroni and cheese, a wheat roll, a jalapeno, sweet tea and a slice of key lime pie.
The chicken fried steak was gigantic. I mean like as big as a clown’s shoe. I mean as big as a full grown penguin. I mean as big as the head of a very skinny midget wearing a winter hat big. Then someone, I don’t know who because I was dizzy by now, poured about a rubber boots worth of cream gravy over it and I’m not sure if I ever saw the actual steak again. I could only sense it’s presence.
The okra, though first recorded by a Spanish Moor in 1216, was crispy and fresh. The seeds sprung around the pallet like a pop rock might and settled heavily into my stomach with honest gratuity. I imagined them growing quietly in some small field in Mexico, where a young princess walks by daily, kissing each finger of delicious okra and maybe she sprinkles a little marijuana dust on them to make you want to keep eating more and more okra. So I mean… the okra was pretty damn good.
My waitress came up to me and her name tag read “Margaret” and in barely audible words she stated that my macaroni and cheese had been flown in from Italy that day. Well, just the macaroni part as she herself had hand made the cheese early that morning after milking several cows. I told Margaret it tasted like it and complimented her on her cheese making ability.
It was now time for my key lime pie and just looking at it gave me shortness of breath, but I took a bite and I guess this was about the time when I passed out from so much fucking goodness. Anyhow, I woke up about 2 hours later and no one said anything. I looked around and noticed a few others were sleeping or had maybe passed out from the delicious shit on their own plates.
This is when an older lady approached me and informed me that my waitress, Margaret, had passed away. She said it was from natural causes and she was in heaven now. She also said she would be my waitress for the remainder of my dining experience. It was then that I noticed my new waitress smelled like ketchup and beans. I immediately knew that I would never marry a woman who smelled like ketchup and beans and poured some of my sweet tea on the floor, onto the Luby’s indoor / ourdoor carpet in honor of my former waitress, and homie, Margaret.
Margaret had died honorably, in the break room of Luby’s, serving steak and making bank.
At this point I had to leave. I was overcome with sadness and fullness and promised everyone I saw on my way out that I would be back soon.
Real soon.
Will work for Poetry.
Sunburned and sore I drove to work this morning after working outside all weekend. Traffic was terrible and it took me over an hour to drive 13 miles. This is very frustrating and I’ve not gotten used to spending so much time in my truck. I feel like it’s a huge waste of my time. I could certainly use those 8 or 9 hours doing things around the house, reading or well… just about anything.
At this point I’d rather be at home than be anywhere else. Especially stuck in traffic.
This weekend the April edition of “Poetry” came in and I read it front to back each month to find those one or two really good poems. 95% of the work in Poetry is crap and this is the fault of Christian Wiman, the editor, who should know better. He writes well and is commonly the “country folk” rep in The New Yorker type magazines. Anyhow, it was only 10 pages into this month’s issue that I came across the poem below. After reading it, I thought driving 13 miles an hour or less each way to work isn’t so bad, compared to this.
In Colorado My Father Scoured and Stacked Dishes
by Eduardo C. Corral
in a Tex-Mex restaurant. His co-workers
unable to utter his name, renamed him Jalapeño.
If I ask for a goldfish, he spits a glob of phlegm
into a jar of water. The silver letters
on his black belt spell Sangrón. Once, borracho,
at dinner, he said: Jesus wasn’t a snowman.
Arriba Durango. Arriba Orizaba. Packed
into a car trunk, he was smuggled into the States.
Frijolero. Greaser. In Tucson he branded
cattle. He slept in a stable. The horse blankets
oddly fragrant: wood smoke, lilac. He’s an illegal.
I’m an Illegal-American. Once, in a grove
of saguaro, at dusk, I slept next to him. I woke
with his thumb in my mouth. ¿No que no
tronabas, pistolita? He learned English
by listening to the radio. The first four words
he memorized: In God We Trust. The fifth:
Percolate. Again and again I borrow his clothes.
He calls me Scarecrow. In Oregon he picked apples.
Braeburn. Jonagold. Cameo. Nightly,
to entertain his cuates, around a campfire,
He strummed a guitarra, sang corridos. Arriba
Durango. Arriba Orizaba. Packed into
A car trunk, he was smuggled into the States.
Greaser. Beaner. Once, borracho, at breakfast,
He said: The heart can only be broken
once, like a window. ¡No mames! His favorite
belt buckle: an águila perched on a nopal.
If he laughs out loud, his hands tremble.
Bug Bunny wants to deport him. César Chávez
wants to deport him. When I walk through
the desert, I wear his shirt. The gaze of the moon
stitches the buttons of his shirt to my skin.
The snake hisses. The snake is torn.
Then I watch movies.
Every morning, on my way to work, I drive up the interstate. At a certain point, on a certain bridge there is a dead raccoon on the 3 foot shoulder. A big one. Each day I look for it to see how much it’s decayed since the day before. It’s been weeks since I first spotted it. This is the only thing that changes on my morning commute. Eventually it will disappear.
This weekend I was moving a roll of chicken wire off the side area of my storage building and a bunch of critters started moving. I saw a large lizard scamper off and then I saw a snake. I grabbed my rifle with the snake shot cartridges, crept up and pulled the trigger. It blew the snake out of the roll and onto the cement on the other side. I then realized it was a Checkered Gartner Snake (see photo) and not every poisonous, but I still don’t like snakes.
I woke up at 6:30 AM on Sunday and hooked up my boat in the dark. I was at the 360 bridge boat dock by 7:45am where a friend met me with his two young sons for a fishing trip. Fishing with two young kids is a lot of work. Lots of tangled lines. We didn’t catch anything and after we showed the kids how to drive the boat that’s all they wanted to do. We meandered through the coves of Lake Austin where the insanely rich people live. I felt sorry for them after seeing their homes and backyards. I would never live that way.
I spent most of weekend outside working on the garden and my hands are cut up and sore. I use the riding lawnmower for most everything now. I go places. Around the land that is. I pull heavy panes of bull fence with it. I pull logs. I haul stuff in a trailer I hitch to it. Mostly dirt, mulch, branches, weeds and wood. I enjoy it. I feel like an old man doing chores and it’s peaceful. While I haul and pull stuff I have the mower engaged to cut so I can multi-task. I did accidentally knock over an entire 36 pod planter full of exotic pepper seeds when I got the trailer too close to the table. It ruined the seeds and I was pissed to watch $25 worth of materials tumble to the ground. I made up the money later in the day:
A year or so ago I posted a bad review about a business on Yelp. The business contacted me this weekend and we negotiated a deal wherein I would take down their bad review and instead write a good review. The cost? $800. This is much more complicated than I’m making it sound right now and in a way the money is the only way they can make it right by me. Somehow though, I got a slight feeling that my opinion was for sale. I was okay with that. I could’ve gotten more for this, but like I said, it’s complicated and I didn’t want to gouge them.
When night fall comes it’s time to stop. I can work through the rain and I did this weekend as I don’t mind getting wet, but it’s too dark out in the far part of the yard to continue. I put away the tools and go in for a shower and watch movies or read. Here are some movies I’ve seen recently:
The Big Year – I keep picking up movies I have no idea about. I just saw this had a bunch of funny people in it (Jack Black, Steve Martin & Owen Wilson) and thought it would be good. It wasn’t. It’s about bird watchers entering a contest to see who can see the most birds in a year. Basically, you have to travel around the US keeping track of how many different birds you can see. This movie is way too long and not funny at all. Terrible godamn movie. I can’t believe I watched this godamned thing. I was actually mad at myself when it was over.
Take Shelter – If a movie has anything to do with the apocalypse then I’m going to watch it, but this movie is also way too long. Just get in the damn shelter already. Anyhow, I got it because it stars Michael Shannon who plays a great role in Boardwalk Empire. He has a strange missing link look to him and I wanted to see him in a different character. He plays a guy named Curtis who starts having these detailed dreams about the apocalypse and it starts to drive him crazy in his waking life. It drives him to the edge and beyond. Everyone around him is certain he’s gone crazy, especially when he takes out a loan to build a huge bomb shelter and freaks out at the Lion’s Club dinner. I bet this is what Harold Camping told everyone at his Family Radio Doomsday Church to do. Suckers.
In Time – This is a really good idea, but the political satire in this film beats you over the head every few minutes. The class war idea can’t be more obvious. I guess it could be more obvious, but only if Justin Timberlake (the star) turned to the camera and said, “See how this is just like how things are today, except told in a different way?” In the future they drive 2010 Dodge Challengers, ’67 Lincolns with suicide doors and ’86 Ford Broncos that make flying car sounds. That being said, the currency is now time and humans are genetically enginered to stop aging at 25 and then die 1 year later if they don’t earn more time. Coffee cost 4 minutes of your life, a fancy car costs 59 years, you get paid daily in time and so on. The poor people in the ghetto live day to day, literally and the rich have centuries and are seemingly immortal. This movie quickly turns into a futuristic Bonnie and Clyde / Robin Hood movie. While entertaining it was still a bit silly.
Then I went over and looked at the neighbors new chickens. Nothing like a new chicken.
Dirt and Wind
I worked on the garden this weekend, but didn't get as far as I'd hoped. I did get the gate up, tilled the garden, added compost and started removing weeds. Then I found a tree that had fallen over the fence and it became chainsaw time. I also took the liberty of sawing off a giant limb hanging over from the neighbors yard. I doubt they'll notice.
I'm also working on the inside garden and getting the planting station cleaned up. After weeding and mulching beds and pathways I started working on the compost barrels you see near the fence. I had to call my friend Brett for composting advice. They look and smell much better at this point.
I took some time off to go to the Austin Kite Festival. They've been doing this every year since 1929 so I went for the first time this weekend. Here's a skull kite caught in a tree.
Thousands of kites were in the air. They got tangled quite often.
Space kite.