Do You Mind if We Dance with Your Baits?

Do You Mind if We Dance with Your Baits?

For nearly 30 years I’ve been driving back and forth between Northern Virginia and lakes like Gaston and Buggs Island, and on each of those trips I’ve passed through Colonial Heights, Virginia. To the best of my recollection, I’ve never stopped there. I’ve always been anxious either to get to the lake or to get home.

That changed last week when Hanna and I pulled into town for a stop at Dance’s Sporting Goods. For a tackle store junkie like myself, it was embarrassing to learn what I’d been missing over the past few decades. At the end of an unassuming strip mall, across the street from the Olive Garden, Dance’s could be selling just about anything – but when you walk in you realize that you’re in a sportsman’s paradise. For me, that meant gravitating to the fishing section, which is jam-packed with rows upon rows of soft plastics, including numerous colors not available elsewhere, and just about everything you could ever need to catch a bass. Moreover, they have you covered for the salt, panfish, and a wide variety of other species. Most important, though, is the fact that the section is staffed by experts – not only did I talk with a top local tournament angler who has traveled the country to fish for bass, but also with the designer and manufacturer of high-end cobia jigs and billfish trolling lures.

But the sense of community goes beyond that at Dance’s. Toward the back of the store, across from the gun counter, there’s a sit-down lunch area – both a counter with stools and a handful of tables. As we sat with proprietor Walter Dance, the lunch area served a steady stream of regular and pop-in customers (“He’s our Norm from Cheers,” Walter said, pointing to one guy holding down a seat), at prices reminiscent of the 80s and portions that your mama might have served you. Unfortunately, we had already eaten, not knowing of the bounty that awaited us, kicking ourselves for missing the opportunity.

As we sat with Mr. Dance, his father and uncle talked with customers over a meal. His niece stopped by, too, to offer us a drink, and his grandmother – Miss Virginia 1950 – also held court. I’ve always craved having a local tackle shop where I could stop by and just chew the fat, walking out with a small purchase each time as a thank you for the opportunity. Unfortunately, the number of shops near me has dwindled, and the really good independent ones are essentially gone. I’ll try not to pass by Colonial Heights without stopping ever again. Everyone needs a local tackle shop where everybody knows your name, and where there’s more than one reason to stop by. I’m jealous of those of you who have that.