So for once the usually dead-on weather-service prognosticators of Brazos River depths were off, and instead of a flooded weekend full of 50-foot-plus concern, the river “only” reached 46 feet. That’s high, but below flood stage, meaning my neighbors three blocks away were able to park their cars in their own driveways, and no one had to break out the canoes.
Two houses down, my friend Jimmy fashioned five trotlines, anchored them to his back fence, attached several large hooks to each line, secured bait shrimp to each hook, and slung them into the swollen river. A few nice, large blue catfish obliged him for his efforts. Free food from the outback.
As for the Brazos, this morning it is obviously dropping rapidly, and soon we’ll see just how many tons of sand and clay it decides to dump upon the newly dumped sand and clay it just left a few days ago before this crazy weather cycle started up again.
In the meantime, it was almost beautiful for a flood.