Memories rather than a story.....
When my burgeoning fishing career started, the local ‘tackle’ outlet was a corner of a saddlery shop. You opened the door and almost had to push you way through the smell of leather as you made your way past any amount of bridles and saddles, and gents wearing white aprons beavering away on various bits of tack to the back of the shop.
Here was everything the tyro angler could possibly need, bunches of brightly coloured floats hung up on wire rings, shiny new reels in glass cabinets, every type of rod (well about six, anyway) on a revolving stand, spools of Pescalon and Black Seal line on a dispenser by a window (Didn’t seem to worry too much about sunlight damaging the line, as 6lb Pescalon could easily double as trace wire, as anyone trying to attach it to a spade end hook would testify)
Then there were the wooden drawers in front of the till. Each one filled with individual compartments and each compartment containing its own treasure. Leger weights, (bored bullets and coffin leads were the two choices) split shot, pots of Mucilin, and dozens of cigar tins containing hooks, some loose (3d each) others in packets, and (seemingly incredibly expensive) packets of hooks to nylon, usually tied to Kroic nylon.
The ‘pike’ drawer had treble hooks, swivels; vicious looking gaffs, and all the pike lures you would ever need, being a selection of both kidney and Colorado spoons. Again, the distinctive rattling sound of those drawers being slid open is etched on the memory to be vividly recall if another noise comes close to it
And here, at the back of that shop, the seemingly overpowering leather smell had to give way to that unmistakable linseed oil aroma of knotted keep nets that seemed compulsory to tackle shops in those days.