Jim Dorr

Every summer in the ‘50s we would head to Brainerd, Minnesota, for a fishing vacation. You know Brainerd - at least you do if you have seen Fargo, except then there was also a statue of Babe the Blue Ox as well as Paul Bunyan.

Baitcasting for bass with wooden surface plugs on summer evenings with my father and grandfather is among my fondest memories. For many years after, I did not fish. Then I became passionate about fly fishing, which I attributed to the drama of the explosion of a bass taking one of those wooden plugs. But I had moved on from that kind of tackle until the turn of the millennium when I discovered Dad’s tackle box in the basement. There, calling to me, was one of my favorite plugs. I would cast it to the edge of a weed bed and, following Dad’s instructions, “Let it sit for long enough to light a cigarette.” Then give it a pop – and the world would frequently erupt with a bass leaping out of the still water.

I realized that I didn’t even know what it was called. So I researched and discovered two things: It was a Creek Chub Plunker—and there was a whole world out there of fishing tackle collectors. That old lure hooked me. I have been collecting old tackle since then - buying, selling, trading and writing about it. It has brought joy through nine years of retirement and sanity to the last few months of lockdown.

That old Plunker is what collectors call a “beater” - of no value, chipped to the wood by the bass it caught decades ago. I have many great pieces in my collection, but none more valuable than that beater.