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The old black Mitchell 300 is a classic, introduced in the late 40s. Like our old Kluge ice auger, which was a blue-green in color though always chipped or faded, and which was heavy screwed together at the top of the shaft. There was the two pieces, the long spiral auger and then the beast’s head of a fat gasoline tank and motor and handles and pull cord. I’d hold the auger shaft upright when my old man set the great head atop and screwed it on. And he pulled and pulled and revved and revved and drilled.
Classic, too, was the old Johnson three-horse outboard motor, in – as the years and designs progressed – either water green (a similar tint as the Kluge auger) or off-white or blood red and white. It shook the little boats – the Jon boats or box-end canoes or rowboats – at a low idle or during a troll, and for backtrolling I believe we turned the whole contraption around on the transom.
These classics are in a league of their own, like the Remington model 870 Wingmaster pump-action shotgun. In 12-gauge, with three-inch shells in 4 shot for ducks or pheasant or two- and three-quarter-inch shells in 6 shot for partridge. And its sister, the Remington Model 760 Gamemaster pump-action chambered for the Springfield 30.06 calibre with 165 grain or 180 grain cartridges. One million were made from 1951 to 1981. Three generations have had them in our family: my great-grandfather (now mine), my grandfather (my brother’s), and my father. With the pump-action and open sights it was the rifle for the big woods of the stillhunters and deerstalkers and trackers, quick to the first shot and quick to the second shot, and to the third when necessary.
Classics now are the Lund Ducker (late 40s) and Alumacraft 12-footer (which I have, and lay in the bed of my truck, although it is heavy getting it in and out, and heavy dragging to the water). With three benches and the wooden transom and oars (mine, by luck and buy gift, are antique aluminum).
I’ve got three Mitchell 300s. One from the thrift store, and two from the recesses of the big tacklebox I was left when my grandfather, who was a classic himself, died.
A primer on fishing reels, from an older man now myself.
Consider first the old over-handed, open-spooled casting, or saltwater, or trolling reel. Like the one Quint used in “Jaws.” Or that George C. Scott used in “Islands in the Stream.” As the handle is turned over forward, the spool turns backward lining straight onto the arbor (the cross piece inside the spool). There is a straight line from the tip of the rod through the guides onto the spool, over the internal driveshaft, oriented perpendicular to the rod, but adjacent to the handle.
Now consider the spin casting reel, the classic white and pine-green Zebco you had when you were a kid, that are ubiquitous up at the lake and at the cabin, that your children or grandchildren use. That my grandfather bought me. Call the Zebco an over-handed, closed-faced (because there’s a screw-on cap hiding the spool) spin casting real. In this case, if you unscrew the face, you can see that the spool is oriented the opposite direction of the earlier real. In the Zebco, as you turn the handle forward, the arbor never turns. Instead, a pin (a “bail”) guides the line onto the spool as the handle turns. As I write, I’m picturing it and I believe the line is wound on the spool in a clockwise direction as you reel in.
To cast the Zebco (or the Daiwa Silvercast, which I matriculated to, or blood red Abu Garcias my grandfather wielded to the end), you press and hold the button with your thumb (more advanced rod-and-reel techniques to come later), locking the line in place, then when you cast and release the thumb button the bail frees the line – letting the line literally fall off the front of the reel. The momentum of the terminal tackle or lure pulls line off the spool in a spiral. Thus, there are no moving parts in the reel during the cast, which eliminates friction in the casting. Distance is gained.
“Spinning” comes from having engaged the bill subsequently (by turning the handle) and the bail spinning around the spool, putting line on the arbor. Go ahead, unscrew the face of the reel, and examine as you’re reeling in, or when you press or press and release the button. You may get a little mess. You can clean it up.
So, the Mitchell 300 is an under-handed, open-faced, left-handed spinning reel. The wire (in this case) bail is turned around the exposed spool. Opening the bail releases the line (with no internal friction). As the handle turns forward by the left hand it engages (closes) the bail, and the handle turns the spindle, turning a gear and a transverse gear which turns the shaft on which the bail is fixed.
My purpose, I guess, in laying out the natural history of the fishing reel is to dispel some complexity, some intimidation in the care for, maintenance of, and repair to an old classic. An old spinning reel. The Mitchell 300.
In my hands it is hefty, heavier than the modern reels. Consider that solidness. Cold to the touch. That’s durability.
To look at it, it is boxy; its streamline comes from its simplicity. It is simple because it is made for functionality.
It lasts because it is tight. Uncorruptible.
There are worse things to be than to be an aged, discarded, forgotten classic. And this short essay is not entirely about things.
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