What do fishermen really get up to when they abandon a warm bed before the crack of dawn, stuff a haversack with maggots and a folded campstool and disappear into the drizzle? Millions of wives wish they knew the answer. It became clear to Thelwell that some sort of enquiry should be made into the strange rituals of the cult, and its secrets exposed to the public gaze. After years of crawling through wet grass and conducting lonely vigils in distant torrents, he here presents his report.