Some years ago, I came into possession of my grandfather’s tackle box: a well-seasoned Bakelite affair containing dozens of tangled lures. Some were modern, made of colorful plastic. Others were metal, rusted from years of casting for stripers in the salt waters of the Massachusetts Bay. Then there were a few hand-carved wooden lures complete with glass eyes. As a woodworker, it was these that really caught my eye.
Being no great shakes at carving, I wondered whether I might get a nibble
