Fly-fishing Lessons for Shoppers

“Hi, I’m Derek andI buy stuff I don’t need.”

Sound familiar? You should practise your own version of that introduction because if you keep buying you’re going to need it some day soon, unless you take a lesson from the fish — the stupid ones who end up in the frying pan, that is.

One of my life’s great pleasures is sitting in an inner tube in a lake throwing bits of fabric and metal tied on a long plastic thread out over the water. It’s called fly fishing, and if the terms of description make it seem somewhat crude, well it is. The costs associated with the pastime however are not crude by anyone’s standards. The float tube — originally a used truck inner tube with a rope sling for a seat — now sets one back at least $300. The plastic line is some form of monofilament wound on a finely machined reel which is in turn mounted on a sectional hydrocarbon rod. And you can’t just grab these items and go jump in a float tube and paddle off. No, you need to clothe yourself in lightweight waterproof waders for dryness and warmth and to which you have attached swim fins for propulsion. Oh, and you should be wearing a fishing vest to hold the necessities of a fisher’s life — extra flies, bits of line, hook sharpener and the all-important fishing licence. If you can do all this for under $1000, you’ll be doing well. And the fish are stupid! They don’t care about the cost of the accoutrements. They don’t care about the brand name of the reel or rod. They often don’t even care about the look of the fly. Within reason, they’ll bite. Much like shoppers at a sale, except the shopaholic’s hook is a little softer.

Really! Did you actually need that jigsaw puzzle with (possibly) 1000 pieces? Will another set of glasses make your home-made wine taste any better? Is polka-dot and plaid really your clothing combination? But don’t take my nasty observations to your sensitive heart; check out your storage spaces. You know those spots where you’ve stashed all those things you were sure you couldn’t do without or were such great bargains. Some of us even have off-site storage vaults, the modern shopaholic’s safety deposit box on steroids. And you are not alone. Shopping is a recognized addiction with 12-Step recovery/support groups in cities and towns across the land. If you don't want to spend time in recovery from that compulsion, be aware of some basic considerations.

Never bite on a fancy piece of fluff. Colour alone is not an indication of value and the other aspects of packaging such as plastic display bubble, large print techno-words and the whole vocabulary of “something-for-nothing” do not confer any intrinsic value to the merchandise inside the package. If little trout had learned that lesson, some of my expensive royal coachman and Idaho nymphs with their bright oranges and blacks and

shiny finishes would have been dragged through the water in vain. For you overloaded acquisitive hoarders, the lesson is the same: you will not look like that store mannequin or catalogue model when you put on that new dress or jacket. Terms like “mega, ultra and super” refer to quantity not quality; and if you can’t pronounce the words in the contents paragraph, you probably shouldn’t buy it, a caution that is especially true for items on pharmacy shelves. It’s all fluff and bafflegab. Leave it alone.

There’s a hook in there somewhere. Oh, it’s no doubt subtly and well hidden, but it’s there. And ironically, fishermen (it’s sexist, I know, but accurate) are some of the most easily hooked. There are members of my fraternity who own more fly boxes than they can safely carry in a boat and yes, they graduated to a boat precisely because they needed the space and the buoyancy, and yet these same folk will engage in bidding wars with other fishers at auctions whenever collections of flies come on the block. For some, it will be chironomid collections (you don’t need to know if you’re not an entomologist or a fish) while others will amass hundreds of leech patterns in every colour offered at the fly- tying section of a sporting goods store.

Now there’s a business that feeds on the addiction. They’ll send out glossy booklets proclaiming their latest additions to the fly-tiers palette, and then hire extra staff to deal with the crowd. You thought the garden catalogue business was seductive, but really the two industries rely on the same enticement. They sell to a clientele in mid-winter who can’t do what they want to do, but at least can satisfy the urge by acquiring supplies in anticipation of satisfying that desire come spring.

Finally, don’t bite or shop when you’re hungry. A feeding frenzy on a lake is a fisher’s dream. Any bit of reasonably appropriate wool on a hook will take a fish when the bite is on, and likewise, when shoppers have been held back too long from their favourite pastime, well they’ll jump clear of their normal rational mentality for a piece of the action. There is, unfortunately, no real antidote for this condition. Repress the desire and it invariably leads to excess of behaviour. Whoever called it retail therapy was not speaking entirely in jest.

The only semi-solution to the madness when it strikes is to vow to give away something of equal size or value to the item purchased. The Thrift stores will be your friend and your garage will function as the building it was designed to be. Also, when you’ve cleared out some of the acquisitions, you may find the fishing gear you stowed away at the end of last season and you can go tempt the trout at the nearest lake. Even if they’re not biting, you won’t be buying anything from the middle of a lake.