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NO FISHING ON SUNDAY EVENING -
'On Sunday afternoon we set off for Oyster Creek. As we drew close we were surprised to see a number of cars parked around and about. Suddenly a man spotted us and, waving his arms frantically, he shouted to us to stop. We wondered what was wrong until a moment later we felt our wheels sinking into the soft sand; the spring tides had turned the parking area into a bog. For the next few hours, we joined the others in trying to get the cars un-bogged with no luck at all. Eventually at dusk, a local man, who was affectionately known as 'Ribs' because of his large size, arrived in his four-wheel-drive intending to have a relaxing few hours fishing. His heart must have sunk ... when he surveyed the scene before him, but, to his credit, he did not turn tail. He pulled out seven cars that evening ... we did hear a rumour that he vowed never again to go fishing at Oyster Creek on a Sunday evening.'
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