Must be an age thing... You know, that point where the latest greatest stuff is cool...and useful...but just doesn't seem to carry any character. "Panache" if you will.
Another trip to the homeland over the weekend has left me in the sole possession of my father's fishing tackle box. This is one of those three tiered boxes that when opened up, splays out on both sides leaving lots of places for (at least) 40 years worth of hooks, red and white round bobbers, plastic worms and all the lead weights a guy could need for fishing (catfish/bullhead/gar) on the mighty Mississippi.
Truth is, some of this fishing gear is just plain cool for no other reason that it was my dad's, is as old as I am, and seems to lend itself to photographing neatly.
As mentioned, most of the gear in it was big river fare, and he didn't really narrow his fishing down to a specific genre the way I have. But, none the less...it is a distinct honor.
On one hand, I couldn't be more flattered that he chose me to be the new guardian of this stuff. On the other hand...uh...what the hell am I going to do with it all? For reference, I also have a 1970's vintage W.T. Grant 3 speed bicycle (complete with dry rotted tires) that ended up at my garage in the exact same manner.
I suppose, after all the crap I put him through when I was growing up...I might have earned this...
Which leads me to my final thought for the evening: When my kids grow up...boy do I have some stuff for them. Muahahahaha!