Story by Ken Duke | Photos by Tanner & Travis Lyons
At a 2002 press conference, then-U.S. Secretary of Defense Donald Rumsfeld answered a question by saying
… there are known knowns; there are things we know we know. We also know there are known unknowns; that is to say we know there are some things we do not know. But there are also unknown unknowns—the ones we don’t know we don’t know.
I’ve never watched the entire press conference, and I have no information regarding the context of the question or answer, but I assume Rumsfeld was an angler and that he was describing the retail shopping experience.
To paraphrase the late Secretary, there’s the known-known—the gear we already have. Then there’s the known-unknown—the stuff we’ve heard about but don’t have yet because it’s on back order from Tackle Warehouse. And finally, there’s the unknown-unknown—the things we do not have because we’ve never seen them, never heard of them, and don’t anticipate their existence … but we probably need them.
For the unknown-unknown, think back to before you heard of fuzzy dice baits. You didn’t have any, couldn’t conceive of any, but when you found out about them, you ordered half a dozen.
The unfortunate thing about internet shopping—and I do it all the time because it’s almost all we have—is that it practically eliminates the joy of the unknown-unknown.
The unknown-unknown is the siren song that calls me to visit nearly every retail tackle shop I see in my travels—foreign and domestic, old and new, brick and mortar.
When I walk into a retail tackle shop, I do so without rhyme or reason, with no agenda, no goal, and (ideally) no schedule. I am not looking for anything. I am looking at everything.
The clerk or proprietor will usually ask, “Can I help you?”
“Just lookin’,” I say … or “Just wandering aimlessly” if I’m being extra honest.
I’m not so much looking for crankbaits, spinnerbaits, or jigs as I am for unfamiliar labels, unusual designs, or dust. Those things stop me in my tracks.
The unfamiliar labels are usually local manufacturers. Their stuff is mostly knock-offs of the big brands, but sometimes there’s an interesting new twist in the mix. It’s easy to find the “good” one because it’s either wildly overstocked or woefully understocked.
The unusual designs come from some regional Dr. Frankenstein who believes in his creature no matter what the rest of the world might think. I often buy one of these baits … before the good doctor goes out of business or gets knocked off by a big company — 99% the former, 1% the latter.
Finally, there’s the dust. Show me a dusty offering on a remote peg and I’ll show you a long-lost gem or a piece of junk that never sold. The former are treasures. The latter are curiosities—snapshots of another time and some designer’s folly.
It’s the unknown-unknowns that send me down each and every aisle of a brick-and-mortar shop. No corner is too dark and dingy. No rack is to tall or short. I must see it all.
Maybe the best description of what I’m looking for when exploring for the unknown-unknown was how Justice Potter Stewart defined obscenity in a 1964 Supreme Court decision: “I know it when I see it.”
Ditto.
And when I see the unknown-unknown, I almost always buy it.
Online shopping has all but eliminated the unknown-unknown — we traded it for convenience and better selection.
Was it worth it? Some days yes and other days no. If I need something specific but I don’t need it right away, the online option can’t be beat. Otherwise, I love brick and mortar.
So when I’m in search of the unknown-unknown, I’ll take the road less traveled by, turn left at the dilapidated Esso station, drive over the covered bridge, and hope that Bubba’s Bait & Tackle is open. He doesn’t keep regular hours anymore, but he stocks all the stuff I need, a lot of the stuff I want, and he understands the joy of discovery.
Sometimes that makes all the difference.
