The rented Transit drew to a halt at the gates, still locked. Opened a few minutes late(er) and along the slab road into the car park. The reservoir ruffled by the steady sou'wester masking any moving roach. Open the big back doors, kit and boots on: left first (always) and then right. That's funny, won't go on. Because it's a size 6. Not a 10. Fortunately had my canvas Vans type thingies on. Not my work shoes. Grass damp but not wet. Far bank not showing much gravel bank though, water well up. Nice. Ho hum.
Wak Lite arrives bearing many gifts. Buzz bars. Books. CD's. A Turnbull print. We set up on the car park bank waiting for the arrival of Zanderland's Norfolk bog door blue enthusiast Two Terriers. Little to report save the delivery of sage roaching advice about groundbait colour, one fruitless drop back on a joey and the strange disappearance of a vital part from both Gardner run clips, the brass tightening nut. That has never happened in thirty plus years.
Squeezing out every last second before the belated arrival of TT who had endured several hours of road hell. Certainly 3 hours more than his sat nav calculated e.t.a.
We took the longish trudge round to the favoured area, probably and crucially 3 hours past the hot feeding spell. First job was to get the kettle on, always a welcome addition for longer stay fishing.
Swim a little tight for 3 of us but needs must and just enough room to keep my feet dry.
TT more used to the rod hopping approach in the wild fens flicking out a bait into the hot area found like the rest of us that today it was barely warm.
One definite tug on a joey again for me and that was it. Wak, Essex Scribbler that he is will no doubt have a comprehensive list of topics discussed to share but certainly the delights or otherwise of Wisbech figured heavily and class war was heartily declared. Oh, and another failed Gardener tensioning nut.
On the way home, driving past a funky new web based wine distribution corporate hub in the fine city of Naarich I saw a group of hipniks brazenly cavorting in the brightly lit foyer or blue sky thinking place, playing wiff waf whilst we proles trudged back to our Orwellian alcohol and pornography and there in plain site was a hideous chute, of the water slide type to enable these hipsters to come downstairs ...wait for it, without having to use using the stairs! How wacky and zany.
They will be first up against the wall.