One of Frosty's old fly boxes with 1920s Monatague rod and Hardy reel. |
This year I went on my first deer hunt. I inherited from my
Father a beautiful Steyr Mannlicher model ‘M’ bolt action with rich wood stock
and fine bluing. He may never have shot it, and it certainly had never seen the
field. I put on dad’s old hunting boots and took along a pair of wonderful
Swarovski binoculars he used for bird watching for many years. After 3 hours of
sitting in the cold on the last evening, the deer season ended without a shot
being fired. I got up with numb legs and made my way down the hillside back to
the cabin. Halfway there I had to step over a series of logs. Since I had
limited feeling in my feet, my right boot caught on the obstruction and I took
a header, putting a scratch in the rifle.
Back at the cabin after a dinner of wild game I showed the
scratch in the rifle to my compatriots. “Good,” one of them exclaimed… “Now it
is used and a real hunting rifle.”
I pondered on that a bit and then began a discussion on
equipment and tackle for hunting and fishing. The theme that was developing was
one of choosing one or two special pieces of gear, using them well, and caring
for them.
Back home, I met with the son of Frosty Stevens, a
fly-fisherman back in the day on the northern Wisconsin streams such as the Wolf
and the Peshtigo. He and his wife made the 3 hour journey from home to make the
gift to me of Frosty’s tackle including framed trout prints, his vest, and his
beautiful hand-made wooden trout net among other things. It was a very special
moment. They wanted the memories to continue with someone who could truly
appreciate it. I was and am grateful and humbled. In the course of discussions,
we discovered that his old fishing partner was Carl Blomberg. Carl’s son was
Ron Blomberg, who married my mother’s cousin. We said at the same time ‘Six
degrees of separation.” A connection had been made.
Frosty's wooden net. Hand made by Harry Baumann |
As I examined the gear, I noticed one thing right away. The
gear was well worn and cared for. The flies were used and little bits of tippet
were still tied to several. They were arranged meticulously in old metal boxes,
and most were hand-tied locally. The rods had dirty grips and sets to them. The
leader wallets were worn at the edges. Frosty owned tackle that was among the
best one could buy back in the day. It told a story of a man who was passionate
about his sport, and the small collection of tackle was well maintained and
well used. He chose his gear carefully, and from examining the knots and
whatnot, I realized that here was a man who knew what he was doing, and did it
very well indeed.
This is why I love old fly-fishing gear. It has a legacy. It
seeps of history and encounters on the river and stream, and its owner’s
personality and soul are part of it now.
Later that day I was looking at used tackle sites online,
and I noticed something. So much gear had been purchased and was now for sale
that was very lightly used and practically new. That led to some reflection on
a bygone era in America and the modern world.
My grandmother owned a Singer sewing machine. A treadle
model of all metal, it was used for years and years converting the older boys
pants into skirts for the girls, sewing dresses, and endlessly patching and
fixing things. For all I know, it most likely is still being used. It was
probably an expensive model, and for a family raising ten children on one
income in rural central Wisconsin, it was an investment. They had bought the
best they could afford, used it well, and cherished it. They oiled it,
tightened the belt, and polished it. It gave back in functionality by clothing
the whole family during the Great Depression. Parallel this to fly-fishing gear
and look at Frosty’s equipment and we see the same themes. Well chosen
equipment, cared for and used. The purpose of the tool was more important than
the quantity owned. Collectors would be laughed at.
If the limitation of owning a few pieces of fine tackle
instead of 20 rods ever occurred to people like Frosty, it would be a foreign
concept. One used what one had. Skill in the outdoors and reading and learning
made up for limitations. If one had a hard time casting, he or she didn’t just
sell the rod and buy a new one hoping that skill could be purchased, instead
they went fishing and learned to use the gear they had.
Trout I caught this fall on Frosty Steven's old H&I Tonka Prince, his CFO reel and his line. |
Contrast that with today. In our consumer-driven world
things are commodities; their souls stripped by mass production, they no longer
mean the same thing to us. They no longer carry the years and the memories in
their dents and scratches, their worn pawls and gears. People buy and sell things
in a never ending quest for the magic bean, buying into the concept that new
equals better. Can’t shoot straight? Better buy a newer gun! On and on it goes.
Maybe it is time to take a trip back in the philosophy of
commodity. There seems to be an emerging movement of downsizing and the craft
movement is giving us special hand-made things that are beautiful and have
character like Frosty’s wooden net. They used to call any of us that showed up
on the stream with battered and well-worn gear “Old Timers.” I think that
should rather refer to the philosophy of use rather than our physical age. “Buy
the best you can afford, and choose it well. Educate yourself on and in the
sport. Take care of and cherish the gear, and hand it down to the next
generation with scratches and memories.”
My dad’s hunting boots which he never used are now muddy and
need to be cleaned. I think I will leave the mud on, but polish them a bit and
treat them with wax. A day one comes home without muddy boots is a day wasted.
We all have to pass through some day. I would like to go in
style, with my boots worn, my vest patched, my reel scarred, and the cork on my
rods well worn with memories of a life well lived.
Outstanding piece. Well conceived. Much appreciated
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