How Do You Know You Have Too Much Tackle?

The other day I had to move about a dozen or so rods out of the way so that I could find a space for the three big boxes of Yamamoto plastics I’d just received. Seven hundred bucks worth of green pumpkin, watermelon, and black and blue goodness ready for the water, the lion’s share of which I hope to put to good use in 2023 (if not before then). The rods, too, are feeling kind of lonely and unappreciated. They’re stacked up against the wall, waiting to be put in my racks, sorry that they’re not already rigged and ready in the rod locker.

I have reached the point of owning what some people would call “too much tackle.”

I have reached the point when it’s rarely a matter of “need” as much as “want.”

I have reached the point when there are items I buy despite having just bought the same or similar items not that long ago.

Clearly, my bookkeeper is not on high alert and my inventory system sucks – but I am really, really happy.

I remember being 12 years old and being able to fit every lure I owned, including soft plastics, in a six-tray possum belly Plano box. I thought I had the world by the balls and more gear than I could ever use. Now I have more than that (far more than that) in my tackle stash at Lake El Salto. You might think that I don’t appreciate it as much, know that I have 10,000 Junebug worms instead of 10 Junebug worms, but the truth is that I do. I love every bit of it.

I was reminded of that as I sat in the boat, in the garage, last week getting ready for a couple of days on the lake. Back when I had fewer responsibilities, that was my thrill – the next best thing to fishing was getting it all ready to go. I could spend a day in the boat, no problem. No TV, no cell phone, no interruptions. It was Zen-like, a state of meditative grace. Now those days don’t happen. Sometimes I respool reels while I’m on calls, or during my daily hour of television. I fit it in here and there. The incredible level of consumerism, and the near-daily packages, have become a proxy for what I had when I had less money: more time.

But even though there are lures I may never use again, rods that don’t make it into the starting lineup, and lead weights that have gone the way of the Dodo Bird, it all still makes me happy. Each peg on the wall, and each drawer in the cabinets, either spark a memory or a hope. I can recall where I got just about every one of them, and what I was thinking about what I did. That’s what tackle is to me, the same as someone’s record collection or the growth chart on their wall, a road map to where I’ve been and hopefully where I’m going.