A few days before school started, David and I got up early to go fishing with some friends. We drove south of town to a bridge where we launched their kayaks into the Bosque river. [This reminds me that I finally found out why it is pronounced BOS-key, not bosk. It's because bosque is the Spanish word for woods or forest. Here in Central Texas the Spanish pronunciation is still maintained, at least approximately, albeit with little Texas y at the end like frosty. I know nothing of linguistics, really, but neither am I afraid to draw unsupportable correlations or make sweeping generalizations as I see fit. I owe the blogosphere that much, anyway. Or the blogospherey. Yet I digress. Again.]
I am refusing to sell this photo to National Geographic, despite their repeated and lucrative offers. They say it has artistic framing and stunning views of nature. Who am I to argue with NG? But as an artist I refuse to sell out.
This is Ellis parking the kayaks at the little island I like to call Ellis Island.
My friend Blaine remained optimistic that we would catch something, probably a sword fish. After all, he had kayaks and a fishing hat, we had boxes of brightly colored rubber lures that even made me want to eat them, and we got up early when, it is rumored, fish are easily fooled. Regrettably, however, we didn't get a single bite. This photo of Blaine makes it seem like we were fishing in a ditch or something, but it really was a decent sized river. I suspect the real reason we caught nothing was because of my presence; based on my prior fishing experiences, I seem to be a fish repellent. I may have polluted our chances by simply being there. I wish that worked with mosquitoes.