Long day on the trail did well over seven miles, looping down to the eastern terminus of the trail, scooting across the damn. Seems like forever since I’ve done a long hike on the east side. Stopped off for some enchiladas, and took the north side of the trail back through downtown.
Sun was out and the wind was from the north, cold, yet warm. Deep in East Austin, I kept catching a spring-like fragrance on the breeze, and I couldn’t identify it. The aroma haunted me. It was like fresh-cut grass, only different. Eventually, I figured it out.
Wild onions.
I’m not a hundred percent sure about the plant, but as I recall, I’ve detected this smell before. It’s sweet, in a spicy way, and redolent of verdant and pregnant earth. It’s spring time. Seems a little late, to me, but I finally saw a single bluebonnet. One. That’s it. I’m used to seeing the whole side a freeway embankment covered with these guys. One.
In a state agency’s parking lot, as I was taking a long-cut to get someplace, I found that bumper sticker again, and I hope I got a better picture of it.
“Have you hugged a goat today?”
Big deal? I’m glad spring is here. I did a load of laundry, and while it was all on the wash cycle, I dropped a few worms in the river. Score? A half-dozen crappie. But no girlfriend.
Trolling?
Every year, about this time, there’s previously alluded to sxsw, the Carp Fishing Tournament (brings new meaning to Carp Diem), the shallow water fishing expo, rodeo, some state-wide college athletics, and best (or worst) of all? The Heart of Texas Regatta. See, I have this idea, and it might could work.
One of those long boats with about a dozen girls pulling on the oars? I’ll be the guy in the back, giving commands. I figure I can spider-web down-rig about three trolling lines, one port, one starboard, and one straight up and down.
I know, you’re thinking, “sexist pig,” and sure, that may be true, but after watching one boat, the little slave-driver in the back was banging on the side of the craft, hollering instructions through a bull horn, and counting cadence to a quick eight-beat.
I’d hate to be that last crew member, about three feet away from the driver.
Since I have no rhythm, it would be a three-four beat. Much easier on the crew. And since I would be facing backwards, I most certainly wouldn’t – I couldn’t – since I’d be watching the fishing lines be staring at the girls’ breasts.
Besides, I figure I know the lake well enough, I could steer perfectly well without having to look to see where we were going.
I just need to boat, and about dozen volunteers. If I package it right though, it could be a great astrology experiment, you know, one of each sign? Plus there’s the health benefits of rowing. I wouldn’t have to charge them too much to be on the crew.
We’d stay out of the lanes of nautical traffic, too, “Over to the south bank, cut in and head for that creek.”
“Whoa, slow down girls, it’s a big fish!”
(My mind really shouldn’t be allowed out at night, not without adult supervision.)
