was a lot more interesting than what was inside.
last time i visited the small town was about three lives ago, not having noticed neither the shop nor the little dust-riddled sign in the window stating fly fishing and tying tackle until today.
i hadn’t been planning on doing any shopping but you know, a fly shop is a fly shop and… ya just can’t walk by pretending you’re not hopelessly addicted and always seem to need something you probably already own but forgot about, and, and, and, of course, creaked the old door open, walked in, said bonjour and enquired about the fishy stuff.
’round the back’ grunted the old man.
round the back went this guy only to find what has become the norm in any fly shops within at least a three (perhaps five ?) hour drive from home: mounds of dust on really-really old supplies that where pretty much crappy low-end fluff when they where new ten, twenty, thirty years ago but hey, that’s more than fine.
no expectations means no hurt feelings. in a sense it was like visiting an abandoned museum and i got to breathe in some really nice old-world dust. for free. what a great find.