The guys arrived and set up camp at Crooked River State Park. Nice big campsites and loads of small bugs – the punkies were swarming. A nice lady at the campsite office recommended the ”Lucky Dawg” for oysters, so we headed there for a late dinner.
Al got his oysters fried, but Mike wanted them raw. The only way they offered them was a “shuck them yourself” affair. Mike managed to open all 12 and to still keep all 10 fingers. The Magic Hat #9 from Vermont was really good beer, for the south. A trip to the good old “Bloody Bucket” bar will be in order before turning in tonight.
Now where does the knife go?