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We made the short commute and pulled into the deserted pavilion parking lot. I wondered if homechick was passed out on the ramp, but a puddle of A/C condensate running down the concrete indicated she’d already gone. We launched first, because if you’re not first, you’re last.

Todd hasn’t fished Pflugerville since before the pandemic hit. We were stoked to be back on home waters for some close-quarters, two-man buggy fishing. We trolled across the lake into the hella wind. We were lines in when I felt water on my ankle. I‘d forgot the plug, doh!

I jumped into action, calling for flank speed from the troller. Eduction emptied the cockpit. Plug installed and fishing resumed. We caught fish on bottom dragging soft plastics. When the sun came up, we fished weightless in the honking south wind. The gusts were strong enough to blow my hat into the water, which I cannot recall ever happening before.

The bass were striking and we boated around twenty, mostly on the strength of Todd’s senko fishing. My best fish came on a Texas-rigged Super Speed Craw. Off at noon.
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