Old tackle boxes storehouses of fond memories
One of an angler’s most important tools is his tackle box. When I was a kid, it generally was a small metal box with a single compartment where one would store everything he might need during a day on the water. Hooks, sinkers, bobbers, extra line, a rusty pair of needle-nose pliers, a stringer, a collection of lures and spinners, and, for trout anglers, a half-used block of Velveeta cheese.
A smart fisherman would include a packet of crackers because the Velveeta could double as bait and a midmorning snack. Crackers weren’t always a must; a fingertip worked well in a pinch. I remember my dad reaching for more bait and barking out, “Hey, what happened to all the Velveeta? We haven’t caught that many fish!”
As you’d imagine, my reply was generally slow in coming. Dad thought it was because I was somewhat sheepish, but more likely it was because my mouth was full of bait and I didn’t want to get into trouble.
Through the years, tackle boxes have changed significantly. Look hard enough and you still can find the small, single-compartment variety, but most of today’s tackle boxes are multicompartment tackle condos. Rather than having to rummage through a pile of gear to find what you’re looking for, everything has a place. Well, everything is supposed to have a place. Some guys I know have yet to figure out what the compartments are designed for.
Not long ago, I was rummaging through the compartments in my old tackle box and murmuring because my spoons were mixed in with the spinners. It seems someone failed to put them in the right compartments the last time he used the box, and the hooks had become entangled. As I worked to unravel the mess, it soon became apparent that tackle boxes hold something more valuable than our collection of fishing doodads, most of which do little to catch fish.
There in the midst of tangled lures and spinners was a red-and-white Daredevil lure, one I purchased years ago when I first left home. As I worked to separate the entangled hooks, my mind began wandering through fishing memories.
On one of our summer vacations we decided to fish the small lake up the hill from my Uncle Frank’s farm. Much of the afternoon passed without so much as a nibble. Worms and salmon eggs weren’t cutting it, so my dad began working his way through lures and spinners. His was the old-style tackle box with one compartment, so he worked from the top down. Eventually, Dad reached the bottom of the box, where he found a red-and-white Daredevil.
His first cast yielded a plump rainbow trout, and so did his second. Not wanting to be outdone, my cousin dug into his tackle box and found a red-and-white spoon. The fish wouldn’t leave those lures alone, so I wanted in on the party. Luckily, Dad had another Daredevil, but it took me awhile to whine him into tying it on for me. The catching was so good he didn’t want to stop.
I can’t remember how many fish we caught and released that day, but I remember well the sudden tug on the line as the feisty rainbows hammered that red-and-white Daredevil. And I remember the whoops, hollers and smiles associated with that day. It probably was the single event that turned me into a lifelong angler.
Funny thing is, I never have caught another trout on a red-and-white Daredevil, but I still carry one in my tackle box and with it the memories of one of the most enjoyable outings I shared with Dad.
A tackle box is great place to visit.
Freelance writer Doug Nielsen is a conservation educator for the Nevada Department of Wildlife. His “In the Outdoors” column, published Thursday in the Las Vegas Review-Journal, is not affiliated with or endorsed by the NDOW. Any opinions he states in his column are his own. He can be reached at intheoutdoorslv@gmail.com.