One thought on “Ernest Hemingway Signature T30 #(001)

  1. Tried to post the following here the other here, but the spam filter caught a certain world (the name of an old Redditch, Englsnd, tackle firm) and rejected it.

    For what it’s worth (not much), let’s try again

    Sold? As such “weird and wonderful” Repros of no possible modern picatorial use usually are…..

    I took a Classic Tackle Collector Fiend fishing once, just once, nearly 20 years ago now.

    He’d been fishing for a day out / meeting with me for a few years, as he knew (don’t know how) that I owned a few of the things that this life, indeed whole identity, revolved around – namely British Aerial centrepin reels from the early 20th Century (especially the beautful, watch-like Metal-Backed and Vulcanite-Spooled late 19thy / very early 20th Century and all-metal 1915 models) to 1939 (when some bellicose failed Austrian painter’s European activities totally halted production).

    So I took said Tackle Fiend to my local river, a British Coarse Fish-only one (its pike and perch, you’d know about but probably not its British / European dace, roach, chub , barbel etc), for a day of fishing light (3lb nylon mainline) float tackle off modern, super-light 13-foot light graphite rods fitted with elderly Classic Aerial centrepins (I’m spelling your “center” my way, BTW).

    When I fitted a 4-inch diameter by 7/8 inch-wide drummed, original Allcxxk of Redditch 1915 model Aerial to my own rod, my companion gazed at it and fairly purred out a “Fantastic, Paul…If I had one of those it would never see a riverbank….” He might even have simultaneously drooled horribly, but this might be my normally excellent memory playing up.

    The late autumn – early winter day that followed went well – we caught goodish number of chub of 1.5 to 4.or so pounds, plus plenty of obliging little silvery dace and a few, small, brightly and cheerily red-finned roach.

    As we took our tackle down by the river in the 4.00pm dusk, with he watching my every move as I removed from my rod the reel that had always lusted after, I played my long-planned Dr Evil / Joker masterstroke, taking the reel off the rod and substituting by deft sleight of hand for a 4 inch dull gre(a)y metal disc that I had had in fishing bag all day, which I promptly, apparently absentmindedly, backhanded straight into the river with a resounding, they’re only fishing reels after all, Plop of Doom.

    The man nearly had a coronary on the spot.

    He managed to see the funny side of things as we had a pint of beer or two in a nearby pub later.

    I never heard from him again, though……

    Boote out.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *