Slay the fatted calves, the Prodigal has returned

Our last trip out with Shane the Gentle Giant, back from Canada was on the eve of the first Lockdown or thereabouts when we emptied an Essex estuary of its roker stocks and nearly got caught out by a sneaky ebbing tide flooding back down a newly breached channel. He only just left Blighty with hours to spare before Spaffalot shut us down.

Covid is (for) now just an inconvenience and our naturalised Canuk Gentle Giant Prodigal was back to visit relatives so The Loafer aka The Essex Scribbler and I arranged a day on our Undisclosed Midlands Stillwater. I had run out of fatted calves to slaughter so a pack of LIDL's finest Cumberland sausages and a pint of milk (nearly a quid these days) were stashed alongside the dead baits in the cool bag  and said sausages were later devoured along with some Essex Braaahn Sowce courtesy of The Loafer. He missed the memo about spare mugs so the loving cup was passed round through the day, with quite a mountain of used teabags building up on the retreating shores of the 400 acre UMSW. Tales of yore, and disbelief about the shit show unleashed on us by this cringe worthy Truss administration flowed, and special ire was saved for the Facebook numpties that inhabit the local sea angling and broads angling groups and of course Des Taylor. 

 

Less than half an hour in and The Loafer's sunken float paternosterd lamprey section was attracting some attention and first blood was offered to the Prodigal, more used to walleye than northern pike these days (and he's after Fraser River sturgeon next year).

Note the pathetic toothpick of a rod being brandished by the Prodigal. And that's not perspective, he really is that much bigger than The Loafer and I. Back to the toothpick, very inferior when compared to my sawn off 20 quid jobs. Told you he was twice our size....

I had drop a drop off drop off with no  resulting run and that was that. Oh, the Sacred lamprey had their run out to self macerate  then back in the freezer. We dodged  the day ticket collector. Phew at 25 quid  apiece unbooked. That's 2 and a half  20 quid jobs. And the Loafer ID'd some fellow angling brothers from Eastern climes with his bins from 500 yards, mainly cos they were sitting round a table on picnic chairs