In his excellent English he asked, "the usual?" It seems that we had made some good decisions this trip.
Breakfast completed, we towed the boat across to the "other side", our tents and sleeping bags now stuffed into their nylon bags and crammed into corners of our vehicles.
This was our last hurrah.
We poled the island bay making certain not to get distracted by the smallies and headed out to the carping grounds where we saw three wading anglers with long rods looking for the same. The current at the point pulled like a tidal rip and I wondered at the cause as I stood on the platform ruddering the boat while being pushed along at 3 knots. We saw no carp.
We entered a small bay within the larger bay and spooked a big fish in 6 feet of water...no time to take a shot at it. We moved in toward shore and after a while found turbid water caused by wave action over a soft bottom.
We also found the carp.
It was decided that the slap of the waves on the hull and the density of fish near shore equaled anchoring up on a shell beach and having a go at it on foot.
Off the beach trough, filled with chuff and junk from the waves and wind, McSteel found his eater.
I was down the shore 50 yard when I heard him whistle. I sprinted past him for my camera and snapped away as he landed, admired and released the only carp of our Carp Trip.
As the wave height built and the midday sun played hide and seek behind the clouds, we shoved off dodging the rocks and reefs, all the while trying too keep following seas from filling the Battle Skiff and ruining a perfect weekend.
Twenty minutes later, behind the protective breakwall of the marina, I looked at McSteel and said, "I'm good, you?"
"Yep..." he said.
And that, was that.