In Praise Of Tackle Shops

I visit tackle shops for two reasons: because I am going fishing and because I am not. All winter fair-weather carpers like myself wander the aisles, fondling packets on the rig boards, gazing wistfully at reels and rods, knowing the campaign will not begin until the sun has regained its strength and also that the bank balance is ill-equipped for a fresh assault. As Arthur Ransome wrote in his fabulous book Rod and Line, way back in 1929, ‘The pleasures of fishing are chiefly to be found in rivers, lakes and tackle shops and, of the three, the last is least affected by the weather.’

And then, in double-digit temperatures, I emerge from winter hibernation, a sucker, like the fish, for any bright shiny object dangled before my eager eyes. Nothing too major at first, just the customary tackle bag re-stock: rig putty, a packet of hooks, swivels, shrink tube, scissors and a baiting needle all placed furtively on the counter. A bulging brown paper bag concealing the essential carpy fix, everything required for the early season ritual rig tying session.

However, if I’m being strict with myself, having determined the visit is only reconnaissance, there is always pleasure in observing and perchance participating in someone else’s retail therapy. A thrill in catching comrades offloading their hard-earned cash on impulsive ‘upgrades’. If I’m particularly lucky I may stumble upon an opportunity to help someone over the line on a new set of rods, reels or bite alarms. And on such rare occasions, I leave happy, having savoured the pulse-quickening flush of shopaholic adrenaline without the gut-wrenching buyer’s remorse on the journey home. I really don’t need more tackle in the garage.

Astute shop owners encourage social visits, knowing the myriad flavours wafting from the bait department make us highly susceptible to bulk buy special offers. But if they sense it is not a buying visit, the best shop owners will not press the conversation in the direction of rods, reels, bivvies or barrows, understanding that the visit will end badly, with a sense of betrayal; that they have violated an unspoken rule, taken advantage of your weakness. You are unlikely to return to such shops. After all, who likes to revisit the scene of a public loss of his self-control? If you have confidence that your perpetual vulnerability in a shop packed with temptation will not be ruthlessly exploited on social visits, you will return again and again, like a moth to the light, a chunk to the Cell.

An experienced proprietor will confer status upon you, whether deserved or not. They will listen attentively as you recount your modest achievements, convince you they are highly impressed with your prowess, that you are indeed an ANGLER. Nod sagely as you discuss how gaining an extra 20yds on the cast will transform the coming season. And in such moments, sensing a genuine desire to SPEND, will gently and patiently build your confidence and conviction that these reels will transform your ability to hit the island, put those wily carp patrolling that distant lair firmly within your reach. And having outlined the pros and cons of different budget options, will leave you to cogitate, knowing full well that a carp angler’s inner tackle tart invariably chooses the premium product. 

Left to stew, your carp fever takes over, the credit card is slotted, PIN is punched and the sale climaxes. Outside in the fresh air, you skip to the car, excited about loading your shiny new reels with super supple string, imagining the precision engineering as you play your first big scaly of the year, saying quietly to yourself, ‘I love buying carp tackle!’

However, it is not always so. As Ransome observes, there are shops in which fishing-tackle is no more than grocery, stuff to be sold, but these are not shops kept by fishermen and they do not last long. Bad tackle dealers take their chances, rinse your bank balance at every turn. They place no value on building a lasting relationship. Today this mercenary transaction can be, and sadly often is, conducted with the click of a button on your phone or computer. Efficient and cost-effective it may be, but what can never be achieved on the internet is the spiritual role of a local tackle temple, the daily administering of hope, purpose, inspiration and comradery. Experienced tackle shop proprietors are well aware that anglers visit when they need connection with a kindred spirit, a sympathetic ear, to hear a story or three from the bank, to discuss upcoming plans. Poor indeed is a tackle shop that does not provide this pastoral care to its flock of bedraggled bivvy tramps.

Infidels, non-believers in the mighty carp gods of Mount Cypry may be under the impression that a majestic medieval church or imposing Victorian municipal building marks the centre of any English town. Venerable brothers of the Order of Angle know better. Their psychogeography is always centred around the civic tackle temple. These were at one time located mainly on high streets, but have in recent years migrated to peripheral locations on humble industrial estates. But don’t be fooled, they still mark the epicentre of any angling congregation. And weary travelling carpers, unfamiliar with the town, make pilgrimages to these hallowed sites, where they are instantly welcomed and feel at home, comforted by familiar rituals, customs and language. After a short period of communion, reflection and perhaps confession, they are rejuvenated and leave for local lakes as energetic and pure as a leaping leviathan.

So, my last words on the subject are to seek out and support your local tackle shop, save it from the dark forces of the internet, save it from the heathen swords of crass commercialism, save it from extinction. Tell everyone it contains not only tackle but an abundance of enthusiasm, comradery and inspiration. Shout out loud that a local tackle shop has all the joy of a successful day’s fishing!