Palo Duro Canyon cuts through Texas like a big spoon in a tub of ice cream at a church social. We load three poles, a tackle box, frozen corn, rubber worms and salmon eggs, and navigate three locked gates to get down to the prime fishing holes. There are some good spots below Lake Tanglewood in the canyon bottom that have catfish, perch, stocked trout, and even bass. It is too early in the year for fish to be biting but we pull in three and throw them back after gently lifting them onto the bank at our feet, carefully removing the hook from their mouths, careful not to get our hands on their bodies, holding them with two fingers slipped under the gills. Catch and release is a new fishing tenet in human history.  In the old days you fished and what you caught ended up in a frying pan with batter and went on your plate with the head on one end and the tail on the other. Now, we throw them back and eat fish sold at the grocery that were raised in fish farms in Vietnam. We fish an hour then track down one of our cousins.  H.B. is working in his garden, in the bottom of the canyon. Questioned, I maintain that Uruguay is a good place to visit, but living there will be worse than where we are when trouble hits the fan. Palo Duro Canyon is one hell of a secure foxhole in a world turning dangerous. In another month it will be warmer and fish in this canyon will be biting better. You can bet we won’t throw them all back. That wouldn’t be natural.