A few weeks ago Pat called me. He had picked up some fishing tackle at an estate sale and had some for me. He swung by the house and brought over 4 or 5 gallon Ziplock bags full of inline spinners, and he had a couple of fly boxes with some flies in them for me. We sat at the kitchen table and started sorting thought his find. My wife said it looked like some sort of illegal deal going down, but only with fishing lures (defiantly not illegal). We sat quietly with cups of coffee and spread out the lures from one end of the table to the other.
The lures are old. They smell like old lures too. Not sure what that smell is, but it is a distinct “old lure” smell. I wondered who had owned these lures, and what had happened to him or her. When I look at old lures and fly boxes I wonder about the stories they hold captive.
Fishing to me about connecting with the natural world. It’s never about how great a lure or fly is, it’s always about the experience gained with its use. Fishing is about living and not making a living.
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