I’m not sure James H Phillips can quite make his mind up on the the high price of fishing reels.
“A Pflueger Medalist fly reel costs only $27 and is more than adequate for 98 percent of my stream trout fishing….Moreover, the venerable Medalist probably has accounted for more trout than all of today’s newer designs.
But who among us wants the cheapest reel on the market?
Part of our reason for rejecting cheap is pride of ownership. What I have learned is that the more expensive a reel, the better I treat it. I also find I fish more confidently with the reel of my choice, which generally means more expensive than the median price, but not the exorbitantly high cost of top-of-the-line models.”
Erm, I want the cheapest reel on the market, or at least the cheapest reel that does a perfectly good job.
I have no problem with being the town cheapskate. I took a conscious decision to live five years behind the times a long time ago and not once have I regretted it.
Latest movies? I wait until they come out on TV. And spare me the line about it sounding so much better at the cinema. I can live with the difference.
Video games? My kids were made to wring mileage from their Playstation 1 for so long, it played the Jurassic Park theme when you switched it on. Last Christmas, a colleague’s boyfriend progressed to Playstation 3 and my kids now own his Playstation 2 and a dozen games for the grand price of zippo
Unlike James H Phillips, this is not light that I hide under a bushel. The only time I’m not proud of spending no more than is strictly necessary is when it turns out to be false economy.
“What items have you been eying in this spring’s fishing tackle catalogs? Are you debating whether to pay a little or pay a lot? Whatever you decide, keep in mind this ancient bit of wisdom: The quality will be remembered long after the price is forgotten.“
Not necessarily so. If you’ve worked hard enough at pushing the quality/price correlation to its utmost, the saving is remembered for ever. In a world of maxed-out credit and wanton materialism, I bunker down in the Rorke’s Drift of tight-arsed bastardry and I rejoice, with apologies to no-one.
It’s a line-holder, James. Eighty bucks, tops.