Fishing Guide to the Stars
by Kramer Wetzel
(c) 2005, 2006 by Kramer Wetzel for astrofish.net
For the Week starting: 10.26.2006
“That time of year thou mayest in me hold
When yellow leaves, or none, of few, do hang
Upon these boughs which shade against the cold
Bare ruined choirs where late sweet birds sang.”
Shakespeare’s “Sonnet 73” [73.1-4]
Mercury is heading into apparent retrograde motion, in Scorpio.
Aries: Green Parrots, who’d a-thunk it? I was meandering Austin’s hike and bike trail, and I heard a terrible cacophony — a squad of birds, maybe herd of birds, squabbling over something. Food, no doubt. I veered from the beaten path to investigate. Local urban lore includes the tale about how these parrots, normally a tropical kind of bird, came to live in Austin. I’m not up on my urban lore, not always. I know I’ve seen them before, and I understand that these are now officially wild birds, not the kind of parrot that would sit on my shoulder and say cute phrases. The noise of the birds bickering caught my attention. As I drew up closer, I was hoping for a chance to get a picture of the parrots. I was unable, though, because my approach scared them all off. Didn’t lessen the noise, though, as the parrots were certainly carrying on about some perceived slight. I thought about my Aries friends, and I realized there was a good parallel here. The skittish yet certainly not quiet activity, the bitter squawk for a bite to eat, the apparent sibling rivalry? All present. The flutter of wings taking flight? The noise? Yes, that’s what it’s like here in Aries. A flight of parrots in place where it’s not expected? Yet, for some reason, there’s an odd kind of similitude that makes the scene fit.
Taurus: I was looking at your chart, trying to figure out what to say. The sun popped out, a fall morning in Austin’s southern neighborhoods, fortunately, unlike more ‘hoods, a tad eccentric, even by local standards. I noticed that the fall foliage needed watering. I filled a bucket with water and tended to the garden. Then, there was that one plant, I had to trim some of the dead leaves from it. My bare feet got tangled up in some discarded fishing line, and I thought I should sweep a little. I put on some water, too, for a second pot of coffee, just to get started. So far, I had written nothing about Taurus. Nothing about how the planets are all stacked up in the opposite sign, Scorpio, and how this is making for an incoherent set of interruptions. I finished watering the plants; they didn’t really need it, but it was a nice gesture on my part. Then I swept. Looked like it was going to warm up so I was going to dig through the dirty clothes to find something that wasn’t too soiled. Again, nothing about Scorpio energy and its opposition to Taurus. I managed to avoid putting anything in printed form for the better part of an hour, still trying to get handle on what it is that’s going on with Taurus. I figure, I hope, I’ll get a grip on this as soon as I clean out the desk’s drawer.
Gemini: I was fishing, one fall afternoon, alongside the dock here at Shady Acres. Across the river, a bass boat with two fishermen was working its way along the shoreline, under the steady steam of a trolling motor. I could make out that they were casting up to the shoreline, and I know that section pretty well, so I wasn’t too worried that they would catch much. I cold point to where the fish were. I figured it would be exciting if I managed to get one of the big fellers lurking on my side, while I had an audience. The Fates are odd like that, though. I had a couple of nibbles, but other than a (very) small fish, nothing of substance. Like me, you’re interested in impressing somebody. Bragging rights, such as they are, so to speak. But like me, at a time when performance and results count, the odd fates deem it necessary to leave you empty-handed. Not that it’s bad, because, like me, you’ll persevere. Unlike me, though, after that boat passed, after the chance to show-off is gone? I figure you’ll hook into a big fish.
Cancer: Unfortunately, I spend a little too much time in rather urban environments, that is, too much time in cities. Have to face the facts, I’m not a country boy. I’m sure there’s a song with that lyric, too. Anyway, as I was wandering the mean winter streets, I noticed something I hadn’t observed before, a rare form of graffiti. The images themselves are rather ephemeral since the city workers spend an equal amount of time covering up the tagging and the artistic expressions. Sometimes, I’m wondering, if this doesn’t occur on the same day. Anyway, the images that caught my eye seemed to employ the natural scrape marks and various other features of the surface, as part of the depicted art. Weird how that works. Either it’s a really good graffiti artist, or maybe the natural wear and tear just lends itself to such forms of expression. I’m not advocating active civil disobedience, nor am I suggesting that graffiti should be immortalized. However, look around the Cancer trailer. Look around at what is already there. In the same vein, not in action though, consider making mark, working in the natural scrapes and markings from normal wear and tear, see if that doesn’t lend itself to some better Cancer-type of self-expression.
Leo: When I working a lake, especially now that fall has arrived, I tend to look for a pattern. Some way that the fish all seem to be in the same place, eating the same thing. Something that works. Summer patterns, early fall patterns and then, there’s the Halloween pattern. I really, seriously doubt that fish do the Halloween thing, but that doesn’t stop me from dragging out lures and such that artfully resemble the same kind of coloration as Halloween. A “pumpkin colored” bait, something that looks like, I don’t know what it looks like, it’s a bit of wiggly plastic, but it’s also a color that I haven’t used a lot lately. What I’m seeking is pattern/ What you’re seeking is pattern. I really doubt that you’re trying to catch fish. But you are trying to accomplish one goal, and that goal, getting there? It requires a little work on the part of the mighty, mighty Leo. Seek the pattern. Look for what the fish are feeding on. Try something with a different color. Do something different. If that doesn’t work, do something really different. If that doesn’t work, then try a third option. I’ve got tackle boxes just full of items I’ve been meaning to try. If anyone questions what your fine Leo self is doing, just tell them you’re trying to figure out the pattern. You know there’s one there.
Virgo: I get exposed to a lot of the West Texas landscape, and the terms itself, “West Texas,” can vary dramatically in its meaning. What I was thinking about was the more traditional western vista, the high desert, along about the place where Interstate Ten and Twenty come together. To the south, not that far away, is Mexico. To the north, a long, long way distant, is Amarillo. Hit this in the fall, though, while everyone else is looking at trees, and after a little fall rain, and the high desert is green. Not brilliant green, a dusky shade, perhaps dusted with the thin material of the soil. But it is green. Late, out-of-season flowers offer a different kind of “fall colors.” It’s matter of looking in place where not everyone is expected to look. Along the Interstate Highways, the urge is to go barreling past, ignoring the local flora and fauna. But stop, if only for a few moments, and consider the strange yet evocative planet life. Against all odds, flowering in the fall. Likewise, consider this a harbinger of what can, might, could happen in Virgo. Against all odds.
Libra: As a noted writer of horoscopes, I was asked to submit a writing sample to a certain editor for consideration in working as a co-author on a birthday anthology. However, the terms of the potential assignment were rather pejorative, no name on the cover, just my name added to a long list of “contributors,” and a rather diminutive pay rate, per piece. Might have been half a penny per word. Maybe less. However, since I’d been sought out, I felt obligated to submit a sample, give it a try, even if I really wasn’t interested. I followed the guidelines, hammered out some hammered prose and posted it along. And yes, it was less than a stellar effort on my part, but they had a certain style, and I tend to veer away from such style sheets. And I wasn’t selected. Then why waste the time trying? It was an exercise, and failing to make an effort meant, to me, that I wouldn’t get any other chances. When you get an opportunity, then take advantage of it, even if it is a task that is well below your lovely Libra skill set.
Scorpio: What an evil trick, huh? One planet forward, one planet backward, all that good energy concentrated in Scorpio, and the vile little trickster starting his backwards routine. Happy birthday, Happy Halloween, and all the other assorted celebrations. Scorpio, in case you haven’t figured it out, is an incredibly resilient sign to be born with. Under. Whatever. Strong and quiet, usually. I’d admonish a strong and quiet approach, too, as the best cure for this kind of planet infection. Quiet. More quiet than usual. Avoid the common mistake, common for me, anyway, of sticking one’s foot in one’s mouth. While that’s not a typical Scorpio trait, between Mercury and Jupiter, by Jove, I could see it happening rather easily. Not that it will happen, but it could. Mars is frying right along, too, and the sound I’d associate with that planet would have to be the noise of bacon hitting hot grease in a skillet. Which made me think about Scorpio, and then, what I’m going to have for lunch, but not all in that order. So with Mercury and Jupiter, plus Mars, consider what influences you want, but I’d suggest that there is a background noise, like something frying. Blame Mars. Then, consider that Mercury action and its reaction, or your reaction, and consider making yourself a little more quiet. We can all still hear the sizzle, it’s just how you react that’s important.
Sagittarius: It’s pretty obvious that I spend a portion of my life in a fantasy world. As a Sagittarius, a rich “inner-life” is important as a method for coping with daily stress. No time is that make-believe world more important then these upcoming days. This week is harbinger of “things to come” for the next couple of weeks. Mercury, apparently turning retrograde, and the host of other planets, all stacked up in Scorpio? Time to check in with checking out. As a writer, or, at the very least a typist, I can rely on the shop-worn excuse that I wasn’t day-dreaming, I was working on an idea. Some times, that excuse works. Other times? No one buys it. I’m afraid that we’re — us Sagittarius — are heading into a period of time where no one believes our excuse. That’s the way it goes, and like I’ve suggested, this is merely a precursor to what the next Mercury Retrograde time will be like. Folks aren’t buying our lame excuses. To our Sagittarius benefits, though, there is that rich inner-life. The fantasy world? Can’t really live there too much, and can’t really rely on that made-up existence to solve all the problems. But take note, as there is a touch of the subconscious, the intuitive, the mystical that offers both relief and answers. Perhaps, even solutions. The only problem, what with Mercury heading backwards? How do you differentiate between what’s real and what’s not?
Capricorn: “Presentation” is a term bantered about by many fisher-people. How the fly is presented to the fish, I suppose, is an integral part of fly-fishing. Not my sport these days, but how I present a lure, or piece of wiggly plastic to the fish? It’s important. Some fish, wise fish, scatter when something hits the water’s surface. So presentation, as in how the fish is supposedly seduced by the bait? It’s an important element in fishing. I’ve read countless tales of fly-fisherman working on their “presentation,” like it’s a major aspect to what they do. Bass, what I shoot for most of the time, are spooky, wily critters, just like brook trout. What I’ve found is that “plopping” the correct bait, or a reasonable facsimile thereof, right in front of the slumbering bass, will provoke a nice strike. But the whole point is how the bait is offered up to the target. That’s the point from the fly-fisherman to the bass fisherman to the Capricorn. It’s all about how offer what it is that you’ve got to offer. Just like fishing, I’ve found that something that is either food, or resembles food, is a good place to start. Then, work on a smooth delivery. Make it look natural.
Aquarius: I was reading an article about saltwater fishing, and the author claimed that the rhythmic noises made by modern fishing gear, like those lures and bobbers I use, that rhythmic noise is supposed to drive fish crazy. I can’t say as I understand, though. Some city truck, along with a city employees, no doubt, got to digging up a piece of asphalt adjacent to Shady Acres. There was a rhythmic noise, all right, a steady pounding of jackhammer. Or something like that. Air hammer, maybe. Or backhoe. I haven’t a clue, as I didn’t deem it necessary to investigate. All I know is that there was a rhythmic noise, a steady drone, and like that article claimed, it did drive me crazy. However, it didn’t drive me into a feeding frenzy. It was just plain irritating. It’s a little bit of a fallacy to assume that fish are like us humans, in feelings and so forth, but if I was a fish, and someone was making that kind of racket, I don’t think I’d strike. Unless I was really cranky. In my fishing experiences, though, those noise-maker lures seem to attract fish. Now, with the planets where they are? There’s a rhythmic, repetitive noise occurring. The question is, are you like me, and you find this annoying — that’s my bet — although, there is a theory that suggests you’re lulled into a feeding frenzy by the noise. What will it be? Me? I left. On some days, I wonder if that’s what the fish do, too.
Pisces: There are just some events that I don’t understand. Clearly, since I’m not really a Pisces, I won’t ever understand some this, either. I was having an afternoon meal in a little place in East Austin, as in, “on the East Side,” and punctuate that with the appropriate comment or gesture that would indicate a large Hispanic population. Latin population. I’m not sure what’s the right term. Beef tips in gravy (Carne Guisada), hot sauce that hurts it’s so good, and Telemundo, or Univision, or whatever the Spanish channel is called, blaring away in the corner. A Mexican soap was on, obviously in Spanish, and from what I could glean, it had something to do with these people. One of them was a young man. I’d guess the actor’s age to be in his mid-20’s or so, but the setting indicated he was supposed to be much younger, like a teenager. His shirt? On that set? In bright read letters? “Road to Hell.” The waitress spoke little English. The TV spoke no English. Neither, for a point of reference, does the jukebox, but that wasn’t on, just that soap. It’s a little thing, to me, but I’m sure it meant a lot in the context of the drama unfolding on the screen. As I paid and left, I wondered about this, to the point of pondering it for an extra few miles on the trail while I ambled back towards the old trailer park.
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copyright (c) 2005, 2006 Kramer Wetzel, for astrofish.net
