|Heavy surf. Really?|
We knew we were screwed as we drove north to the end of the beach road and saw, suspended above the dunes, dozens of windsurfing kites. The urgency with which they pulled against their restraining wires told us that our angling day was shot. The kites might as well have been flying No Fishing signs – signs that our final day to cruise the South Padre flats was a blowout.
But that’s not to say we didn’t try – just a little – but the wind gods were against us. Rather, we spent the bulk of the day wandering the dunes, looking longingly into the Gulf surf for diving birds or Jack Crevalle-driven baitfish, and taking one last half-hearted, unsuccessful shin-deep dip into the waters of the Laguna Madre. Disappointing.
But, I’ve got to admit, if you're forced to deal with disappointment, this is a mighty fine place to do it.
|Keeping the flags straight.|
|Prayers to the local surf gods go unanswered.|
|But there's beauty in the dunes.|
|And ugliness. (O)ops indeed. Pack it out, asshole.|
|Practicing. Just in case.|
|But if the fishing's poor, this ain't a bad fallback.|
A day well spent - fish or no.