One does not simply stumble into Finn’s Tackle Shop; one arrives there by a sort of geographic destiny. Located where the pavement of Nashville begins to surrender to the pull of Percy Priest Lake, the shop stands as a sanctuary for the patient, the hopeful, and the slightly eccentric.

It is owned by a husband and wife who have mastered the art of the "peaceful contradiction." He is a man who knows the precise weight of a jig required to reach a depth of twenty feet in a crosswind. She is a vegan with a penchant for baking store bought cookies and an unwavering respect for the outdoors. Together, they have built a place where the coffee is as strong as the line, and the cookies are distributed with a generosity rarely seen in modern commerce.

They are people of the water, certainly. But they are also people of the woods. They understand that when one spends enough time in the Tennessee timber, the line between "tall tale" and "observed fact" begins to blur. They don’t scoff at the stories of large, bipedal shadows or footprints that defy conventional biology. They simply hand you a ginger snap and ask if you noticed which direction the shadow was moving.