Retail Therapy

Did you make a Black Friday tackle purchase?

How about a new graph on Cyber Monday?

I made the former, and was greatly tempted by the latter. In the end, it was only about $75 out of pocket, not enough to have me eating cat food or living in a refrigerator box. I don’t need to sell any of my “vintage” or “collectible” gear, either. But at the same time, I didn’t really need the stuff.

It’s never a matter of need.

In fact, there’s a decent chance that the stuff won’t get used for six months or a year or ever, for that matter. But now I have it. Just in case. It filled a temporary hole in my hierarchy of needs and on my pegboard. Despite that, I don’t feel guilty in the least about it, nor am I mad at myself. Of course, I’d rather that every item in my garage – whether in a box, on a peg or shoved in some other hole – have a distinct purpose. The reality is that they don’t. A big part of fishing is buying things and assessing and perhaps reassessing their merits. It’s whittling down piles of gear, and saving things just in case they become the next Senko or the next Wiggle Wart.

Some of it is preparing for a plastic-based apocalypse – I have bags upon bags of green pumpkin, watermelon, and green pumpkin/watermelon Senkos, just in case something ever happens to the mold. More of it, though, is about accumulation, bordering on hoarding. I love to go out into my garage and dig around to find things I’ve forgotten and then return them to use. I love pressing “send” on a Tackle Warehouse order, and I love opening up the box to discover what’s inside, even though I know exactly what’s inside. There are guys out there who can catch the snot out of them with just a paper bag full of jigs or hula grubs. I’d love to have their skill, but to be honest I don’t ever want to have their focus. I’m a tackle junkie. You probably are, too.