Dink

I am seeing a sad trend develop, the loss of the “Dinks” of the world. Everything seems to be getting bigger and I’ve been guilty of going right along with it. While they are starting to be eligible for the endangered species list of importance to sportsmen, there still are a few small bait and license dealers tucked away in corners. As far as I’m concerned, they are the best places to seek out when visiting an area or when venturing out for a local fishing and hunting trip. When I was a kid starting out hunting and fishing on my own, I made frequent visits to place called, “Dinks”. In some of my other stories I’ve changed the name of his store to something along the lines of, “Dinks Arms, Ammo, Quiche and Bait”. I admit it, I’ve exaggerated the place somewhat, he didn’t have much bait but he did offer a hell of a quiche. Actually, I’m not sure of the real name. Perhaps we called it Dinks because the owner/operator’s name was Dink, he didn’t have a sign…or a “store”. Dink worked out of the kitchen in his house. He sold anything you needed and did gunsmithing and re-loading on his kitchen table. I remember wondering where, when and if he actually ate. The only sign of culinary accomplishment in his kitchen, other than Quiche, was an ever boiling pot of coffee on the stove, so thick it could have been mistaken for where he kept his night crawlers. I think the lady next door brought the quiche. He didn’t call it “quiche”, he referred to it in a word for excrement; all food stuffs came under this name for Dink.

So, why did we go there? How did a guy with no commercials, no giant parking lot, no lights, no glitz, no combined grocery, hardware, radial tire and bakery sections make a living without offering modern “convenience”? He knew his…. “Quiche”. Plus he was open more hours than any 24 hour convenience store. Dink was in that kitchen, all hours. The difference being that when you got to the kitchen you didn’t have to ring a bell and wait for a “customer service representative”. You had to be a little brave (he smoked…while mixing cordite) and a little bold but if you pulled up a chair and pushed aside a can of black powder and asked any question you’d get an answer. You got a gruff, but correct and detailed, answer. I don’t know what Dink enjoyed more, reminding us that we were snot nosed ignoramuses or just being right all the time. The return on my dollar, while however humbling, was better than dinging a bell, waiting for ten minutes to get a friendly and bubbly, “I don’t know but maybe the manager can help you, he’ll be in tomorrow”.

If you wanted to know where the fish were biting in a specific creek and what specifically they were biting on, in that specific week, then Dink had what you needed. If you wanted to know where the deer were, who you needed to ask for permission and what tone of grunt call the bucks were running to that week, Dink knew that too. If you wondered what torque the screws on your scope should be at, Dink knew and would do it for you while mentioning that you should know it too. If you wanted to know what any new regulations for the year were, how did they come about the idea and what constituency needed greased to get it through…Dink knew. If you needed a cure for a hangover or wondered how you should respond to your fiancé’s suggestion of a Fall or Spring wedding…he knew the answer to that too. By a strange coincidence that kept most of us single into our mid thirties.

Dinks are tough to find these days. Everyplace I go, even though I know how to identify one; I look, mostly in vein, for a Dink. I usually end up waiting for a manager and picking up a few generic lures and calls, available anywhere else and getting statewide available information along with an oil change, a tub of butter and a loaf of bread…but at a very good price. On a recent trip I was happy to have found a reasonable facsimile to a “Dink”. A crusty, grumpy buzzard had a shack along a wharf. It was a commercial shack but you can’t be too picky in your searches for Dinks, they are hard to find by nature. This one’s face was so sun worn; he would have made a better knife sheath than a picture. I wondered how these guys spend time behind a counter and get so much sun… He did some guiding so he made me work for information; but you can learn more from a Dink by what he doesn’t tell you than listening to most people for a day. This Dink was more forthcoming on the very unique and specific lures I could use that things would bite on when they decided to start eating again. I gladly picked up two. When I asked for a license he told me he couldn’t sell licenses, I was shocked. He went on to explain why they made a regulation regarding new licenses and what constituencies got greased to do it. He included that through those regulations, his computer was deemed not good enough to process license sales. I asked where I could get a license and he named and gave directions to two places. The first was a giant convenience store (that I knew wouldn’t have THOSE lures) and a government building. Then, he quickly and easily processed my lure purchase with my credit card.

I promptly, went to that big store and asked for a license. A very friendly, eye batting, bobble head explained to me that licenses could not be sold for an undetermined amount of time because the (highly advanced) state computer system was down…again. I could come back tomorrow when the manager was in… So, the next day not needing any dryer sheets, eggs and coat hangers along with fresh bait and license, I decided to try the second place, the government building. There, I met a refreshingly grumpy government employee who asked for a license transaction. I presented the very small card and waited while she plugged in tons of information into the State computer system. Just as I was wondering how much information is really on that very small ID card, the agent announced that it was time to pay for a license. As I handed her my debt card/credit card she recoiled with, “Oh, sir, our system here doesn’t allow us to accept payment with a card you need to provide cash or a check.” At that point I could see how those high computer standards omitted the local Dink from license sales. Apparently, having a computer system that allowed the seamless transaction with credit cards prevents one from being eligible to sell licenses. Yet, another of the original Dinks prophecies, available free of charge, with the purchase of crappie jigs, “Get the (custom molded by him) extra thin yellow tails, that’s what they like on the West side of Spruce Lake, in September; you idiots”, has come true…

While big stores do provide a valuable friendly and, at times, expert service (and accept any kind of plastic payment) evidenced by their immense success, try to share some of your time and business. Save a Dink, look for them when you travel. Here in Cameron County, while our dealers are not as “crusty” as the original and you can get more than just sporting goods from them, we have some small stores that can provide you with more specific information and equipment for the county than you can find anywhere else. Give them a visit.

See you along the stream.