Tackle Box

My love for fishing began when my age was still in single digits. It didn't happen on a whim. It didn't happen by chance. It was sparked when my grandfather on mother's side came to visit us all the way from Wisconsin. He told me he had something for me. It was a small clear tackle box filled with hooks, jigs, and rubber baits. He explained what they were for and told me next time I came to Wisconsin, he'd show me how to use them. Well that time came soon after. 

Like most kids my age who went fishing, I had a closed reel snoopy pole. It was mustard yellow and that was fine with me. One of the days we were visiting, he took me to a lake with the tackle he gave me and some live earthworms we pulled out of the ground. He then showed me how to bait the hook and cast it. It wasn't long before I was pulling in decent size sunfish that my younger self thought were trophy fish. Between me and the fish, I can't tell you who was hooked more that day. 

As the years turned, my fishing days were here and there, but the best ones came in Wisconsin. As I got older, I needed better gear. So I saved allowance money and eventually bought myself a reasonable sized blue tackle box with one fold up tray. I put all my lures, bobbers, hooks, and sinkers in it. But it was still a bit empty for its size. My grandfather on my dad's side, had a bunch of fishing equipment he didn't use anymore and without my asking, gave a lot of it to me one day. I added them to my collection and it wasn't long before I started using them. My favorite was a black and gray minnow swim bait. I'll never forget the moment when a wild young northern pike attacked it. The rush of the swift fight and the thrill that a lure my grandfather had given me bagged a fiery northern was a once in a lifetime moment.

As I aged, my knowledge and passion for fishing grew. I had reached the point where I needed a bigger tackle box. One day while I was doing renovation work on a church property, I was asked if I wanted fishing gear that was left behind and long forgotten years ago. One of the items was a big green tackle box. I didn't need to see it to say yes, but the timing couldn't have been more perfect. As soon as I got it home, I placed all the lures both my grandfathers gave me as well as whatever else I acquired through the years inside. I beamed with pride upon putting the last lure in its place. This is my treasure chest.

Many of these lures have tales to tell. But some also didn't make it as they were lost to fish whose will to live outlasted the strength of the line. While many may look at the above photos and just see a bunch of fancy lures for a hobby that requires patience and time, this box and it's contents mean so much more than that.

Around this time one year ago, I was scrolling through Facebook as I do more than I'd care to admit, and I came across a post from a Luke Bryan page. And in the comments, someone mentioned a song by him that I had heard once before years ago, but didn't really pay attention to the lyrics or even recall it existed. The song is called Tackle Box and it came out in 2007. I gave it a listen. By the time it was over, I must've acquired a rogue allergy because my eyes were no longer dry. Here are the lyrics:

"It was two shades of brown and scratched up plastic

It held extra line, lures, hooks, and matches

And his last name engraved in black

Right there by the handle on the top

I'd slide it out of the back of his station wagon

Lug it down the bank with my arm draggin'

And I could hardly wait for him

To lift the lid on that tackle box

'Cause I'd sail with him across the South Pacific

Stand beside him on the bow of that battle ship

See him kiss the ground and thank the good Lord Jesus

And watch him run to grandma, cryin' on the dock

He opened up, every time he opened up

That old tackle box

He'd bait my hook and keep on tellin' stories

'Bout nickel cokes, girls, and sandlot glories

Pickup trucks and peanut fields

Long before this town knew blacktop

I was almost ridin' with him shotgun down those dirt roads

Takin' turns on a jug of homemade shine

As he raced his buddies down through Mason Holler

Fillin' the sky with dust and kicked up rocks

He opened up, every time he opened up

That old tackle box

He's been gone twenty years tomorrow

And I'm still holdin' on to this one wish

That God above would let me borrow grandpa

For one more afternoon and one more fish

And I'd sail with him across the South Pacific

Stand beside him on the bow of that battle ship

See him kiss the ground and thank the good Lord Jesus

And watch him run to grandma, cryin' on the dock

He opened up, every time he opened up

That old tackle box

Yeah, sure I love

Every time he opened up

That old tackle box"

My grandfather on my dad's side had passed two weeks prior to me hearing this song. And it was all so raw and real. This song not only described him but my grandfather on my mom's side who had passed
14 years prior. As mentioned in a previous post, my dad's dad was in the navy during WWII. My mom's dad drove stock cars way back in the day, right around the time NASCAR was being formed. And both men taught and gave me the love for fishing I possess to this very day. In a way, I'm glad my 16 year old self didn't pay attention to this song because it means so much more to me now than it ever would've at any other time. So whenever I find myself chasing the fish that make for great tales one day, you better believe that tackle box is going to be right beside me. Every time I open it up, the memories of two of the greatest men I've ever known live on.