“Sic Semper Tyrannis!” or, for those who are not students of history and dead languages, “Thus Always To Tyrants!” We here* at CarpeTrutta do not claim fluency in English, let alone Latin, but it should be known that our unfortunate attribute of a curious mind has produced the tendency to examine closely the etymological origins of many common words and phrases, and as if in response to the pathological need of so many American’s to find conspiracy in their breakfast cereal, these words align in a suspicious way with the language of Pliny the Elder… how’s that for a run-on sentence?
I would like to take this opportunity to congratulate the lunatic fringe on the right side of the right side of the American electorate for their ability to assimilate devious and calculating techniques from advertising, (which itself assimilated these techniques from warmongering propagandists in the early twentieth century) and together with the philosopher’s stone of fear, transmute these toxic elements into callow prurient pandering to the over activated limbic system of this great nation.
We are but cattle before their prod.
Gentle reader; do not assume me to be a cynic. I will be the first to congratulate a better opponent when that adversary emerges victorious at the end of the contest.
Republicans earned it; they deserve it, and let no one claim otherwise. They really are that much better at the game.
I would merely contend the governance of our society has degenerated into farce, and this fact should be cause for alarm. And it might well be thus if the threat level wasn’t orange already.
The middle path, as advocated by certain enlightened persons of great antiquity, could be of some utility to those who wield power, if they wish to wield said power in the service of the elusive and seldom seen greater good. The pendulum swings to the right, we get Hitler, it swings to the left and we get Stalin. Either way = Epic Fail. So Sic Semper Tyrannis, take that in whatever way suits you best. Just don’t write it on your shirt and go blow shit up. We do not condone violence at CarpeTrutta, any more than we condone sagging your trousers or the existence of the “Tween” demographic.
Let’s go now to Bevan Lurrito with the sport.
Bass fishing is harder than fly fishing for trout. This statement makes anything above seem polite by way of comparison. Genteel. But it is true. Mostly.
OK, bass fishing is harder than fly fishing for trout the way I do it. I just walk along ‘till I see a likely mark, and after positioning myself within range, use the flyrod like a cane pole and drag the goods through their kitchen. They either get out of the way or they eat. Most get out of the way, but enough eat to keep me coming back. This despite the fact that hookups result in me chasing the creature up and down the river, huffing and gasping for air as the adipose of my torso quivers like the dessert of choice for all good Mid-western housewives. I also dunk on a semi-regular basis, owing to my stumble-bum nature and a general gung-ho attitude to playing fish, in sketchy conditions like high flows or pocket water. Or high flows and pocket water. Or high flows and pocket water, at night. You get the point. The way I see it, I will dry off.
I almost never get skunked when I go fly fishing, and I truly do not chalk this up to my being a great angler. I would rate slightly above average at best, due in part or in full to the fact that I have spent thousands of days fishing. But even young Mozart had the benefit of countless hours of practice. It does not hurt.
I DO sometimes get skunked when I go bass fishing. I am somewhat facile with the tactics of the modern bass angler. I even briefly considered a career as a competitive bass angler, fishing tournaments. This notion was abandoned as soon as I got a good look at the soft underbelly of the B.A.S.S. world, and recoiled in instinctive horror at the pungent stench. In so many ways, Skeet Reese I ain’t. Besides, it was always a pipe dream. But I still enjoy the fish, and the methods. I simply lament the fact of my geography. I once saw bass fishing in Colorado compared to monkey hunting in Alaska. No, it’s not that bad, but it is not what a Texas boy is used to. I have yet to break eight pounds with a largemouth in this state, and not for lack of trying.
I think that the great appeal of bass is that they are a “hot and cold” fish. Some days you can do no wrong, and you feel almost guilty. Other days you pull out all the stops (gratuitous pipe organ reference) and you can’t buy a fish. It does not hurt that they are strong and acrobatic fighters, or that they can live in any sort of liquid conditions you can think of short of straight gin… (Add a mixer and they are good to go.)
I toy with the idea of selling my boat, because I can not take it into Cheesman canyon. But it pains me to think of getting rid of it, because of what it represents.
Bass were my first love, and as reliable sources indicate, you never forget your first.
sieze the bass!
my only big largemouth of the year, 7 lbs. flat,
on four pound test. that's just how I roll, y'all.
One last note, new waders on the steps when I got back from the shop with my new boots, I got a smokin’ deal on some size thirteen Bites from the good lad at Discount Fishing Tackle. Coming soon to a stream near you: aggro metal Klingon screw-in death-spikes. I’m back in the saddle boys and girls.
* As you can see, our mental state is such that we are forced to resort to the use of third person. Pray for us, if that be your custom. -S.S.