I suppose it's a sign of age when you rummage through your fishing poles and realize the new ones are twenty years old. I don't mind being old, figure the rods feel about the same and I sure don't feel a need to replace or add any rods that don't have the patina of use and decades of good times. Hell, that dirt on those cork handles didn't get there by itself. I like that dirt so much that I've sealed it over with layers on layers of sweat, grease, northern pike slime and a little blood—some fish, some mine. Call it a brotherhood of tool, fisherman and nature.
Some rods are graphite, some are fiberglass and one old fly rod is a six-split bamboo that I'll never use. Simply knowing that after sixty years since I first heard of them, there's one in my rod basket. It's a decent cane rod from around 1950 that I found at an antique store a few years back. One of my pastimes is checking out vintage fly rods, both bamboo and fiberglass, on eBay and then ferreting out their histories and quality. Been doing it long enough to know what's a decent stick and what's trash. This rod was turned out by a bottom of the line company but was one of their best and compares favorably to a middling Heddon. I saw it on the shelf, turned the price tag, drew the rod from its bag, checked the model and quietly mumbled, "Holy crap, they don't know what this is." The spare tip has a crack near the tip top but everything else is fine. But regardless of quality, five years later it sits unfish.
I have ten other fly rods that are a near even split between graphite and fiberglass. Five of the glass rods are from the '60s when they were state of the art. That's the thing about lesser rods, at some time in the past their material was state of the art. Can't say I ever was cutting edge but in my twenties I was a whole lot closer than I am today. So figure my rods and I to be a good match— some were pretty good back when I was also. Four were quality production rods and the fifth is a five buck, garage sale Shakespeare that was too good a deal to pass up. The one I like best is another garage sale find. That rod called for fifty cents up front and then twenty bucks more to strip and rebuild it from someone's bastardized attempt at making a top notch, fly rod blank into an ugly spinning rod. I don't mean to confuse you by writing these words and make it sound like it was an easy process and I'm a regular wizard at fine tuning fishing poles. Truth is it took a while, an internet search, a whole lot of cussing and finally an honest appraisal of "seen worse". My bumble fingers hated most every minute of the rebuild but I'd do it again if I stumbled on another rod of that quality (it's a Fisher fiberglass blank if you care to look it up). Don't ask me why, maybe I don't like myself? Or since I've retired I don't have enough to bitch about.
The graphite fly rods vary from the sweet end to the uncastable. Oddly enough the clunker was built by a top of the line manufacturer and listed for four hundred dollars when new. I found it in the bargain room at Cabelas for forty cents on the dollar (do I ever pay full price?) She's a ten weight I bought to use as a pike rod but it doesn't come close to loading even with a ten weight line, no doubt that was why it was returned. Call it a nine foot pool cue. In the same bargain room I found a ten foot, eight weight that's proven to be great in a canoe. If was a halfway decent caster, all rods would be great canoe rods, but I'm not and doubt I'll ever be. Call me a buggy whipper.
My problem is a lack of patience to properly learn a skill thousands have mastered, or as close to mastering as such a confounding tool will allow. Laying out a length of fly line without so much as a single unnecessary ripple on the water is close to art or at least a craft of the first order (keep in mind you can use craft but can only admire art). Even then it's a slower than molasses way of fishing. I don't spend a lot of time on the water these days and don't have the time to get all zen and accept the act of casting as an end in itself. I guess I've spent all of my life in the back of the boat making sure others have a shot at the fish of a lifetime. Call me an enabler. These days I only pick up the rod when I can put down the paddle or shut off the motor and when I do, there's not much enough to fiddle with a fly rod.
Enough for now; I'll continue in the next entry.
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