Simple joys: less is more

This past spring I was retying a leader while seated on a grass bank high over a trout stream, when I witnessed another angler making his way toward the run directly upstream. He seemed to be encumbered as he walked. He was not old or infirm; he was just overloaded. Every pocket of his vest bulged with gear. In addition, he had both a chest pack and a waist pack, and each of those seemed full to the breaking point as well. He carried a net suspended from the rear of the vest, which kept tangling in the riverside brambles. He reminded me of myself just a few years ago.


It seems to be a common progression as we advance from novices in the world of fly-fishing, and begin to view ourselves as more advanced, that we buy into all of the goodies and gadgets that the tackle industry offers us. Perhaps it is a quest for that magic bean: the tool that will improve our catch-rate. We purchase nippers and pliers, floatant and knot-tyers, tippet gauges, twelve fly boxes, thermometers, multi-tools, zingers, hook sharpeners, laminated hatch-charts, containers of split-shot, a leader tying kit, three different packages of strike-indicators, a leader straightener, magnifier glasses, fly-threader, leader wallet, line dressing, tape measure, catch and release tool, and a partridge in a pear tree. We then buy various hip and chest packs and a vest to store all of this stuff. We cannot leave home without carrying every last scrap of fishing tackle that we own.


I remember fishing an area trout stream for the first time a number of years back. I had a full vest, a rain jacket over it, also with stuffed pockets, and a large canvas shoulder bag crammed to the brim. I could have outfitted three complete anglers. Why I was carrying an extra reel and an extra fly line I will never know. The canvas bag contained enough food and water to keep a small African village well fed for a week. I was like a reality version of a Dungeons and Dragons adventurer, carrying forty weapons, sixty pounds of gold, a suit of armor or three, a library of magic books, and every other conceivable item around on his back. Speaking of backs, mine began to ache that day on the trout stream. As I fished, I had to drop the canvas shoulder bag off and then come back for it.


Was all this necessary? The answer would be yes if I was backpacking for several days in the mountains, but since this was a stream an hour from home… no.


Then I fished with an acquaintance that was a real veteran, having spent years fishing all over North America for multiple species of fish. He carried in his minimalist vest only the essentials: a nipper and forceps, a spare leader, two tippet spools, one fly box, floatant, a plastic bag containing two strike-indicators, a granola bar, and a small notebook and a pencil. All this was stored in pockets with the exception of the forceps. He traveled light.


I began to notice what other anglers carried on the river, and their experience level. Sure enough, in most cases, the more experienced the fisherman, the more pared-down was his or her gear. The neophyte was always the one saddled like a pack-mule.


I dumped my vest and packs next to the car and proceeded to remove anything that I deemed non-essential to the day’s fishing. I was now around twelve pounds lighter.


So, why do we so encumber ourselves while fishing? I think it has something to do with wanting to look like we know what we are doing. The guy with the ratty plaid shirt and an old fiberglass rod can’t be much of a fisherman; he just doesn’t have enough cool stuff! On the other hand, the guy with all that shiny new equipment who looks like a walking tackle catalogue must know what he is doing…

It also might be due to some latent boy-scout tendencies that whisper to us “If you don’t take it along, you will surely need it.”
Back on that stream, I had finished my recollections and musings as well as the new leader, when I noticed a fly box float past me. That was followed by a package of strike indicators. The source was obvious; it was the other angler upstream of me, who was now seated on a midstream rock, furiously rooting through his various bags, pockets, and packs in search of some item or another. His flotsam still had the price tags attached.


Perhaps less really is more…

The Magic Bean Factor

In our journey as fly anglers, we progress through many stages. At one point or another, many of us fall for the magic bean factor. I define this as a search for a short-cut, usually in equipment, which will give us an advantage or substitute for a lack of skill. The magic bean factor is what often sells expensive high-end fly rods to novices. By purchasing that wonder-rod that costs more than a mortgage payment, we may be able to reach further, be more accurate, or become a better angler.



In some cases where necessary skill-sets and foundations have already been developed, buying that wonder-rod or reel may actually step up our performance. However, in many cases the money may be wasted. Thousands of golfers spend millions of dollars every year buying the very set of clubs that Tiger Woods is using, in hope that they can hit the ball farther or more accurately. In essence, they are attempting to buy a skill advantage.



Often it does not work. I see anglers all the time that have very excellent equipment, and cannot use it. I was and am still guilty of this myself. Some rods I fell out of love with, only to pick them up years later when my skills had matured, and then fell back in love with the rod. The equipment does not make the angler; the angler makes the equipment.



In simplified terms, it is the skill of the angler in conjunction with carefully chosen equipment for the situation that produces the best results. No short-cuts to the top.



When we get frustrated with something in our casting, we must ask the question “Is it me or the limitations of the rod/reel/line?” I would argue that in the majority of cases it is us. Equipment has come a long way in the past two decades. Although there are a few truly bad rods and lines out there, most manufacturers produce fine tackle. They could not stay in business in an increasingly competitive industry if they made junk. Chances are that any modern rod that we own today would cast circles around the rods that anglers such as Walt Johnson, Lee Wulff, Wes Drain, Earnest Schweibert, or Lefty Kreh used back in the day.



A good way to find out what your rod and line are capable of is to hand it to a good caster. Sometimes it is so humbling to watch as he or she tosses out a perfect cast. Harold Blaisdell wrote about his meeting with Wes Jordan in The Philosophical Fisherman. He was humbled to watch Wes pop out hundred foot casts with a small cane rod, while he reached a certain distance and then turned the loop into wild noodles. He discovered his limitations vs. the limitations of the equipment he was using.



This is not to say that one should not go out there and buy the best equipment he or she can afford. By all means, do so. However, if the equipment upgrade is intended to solve issues best worked out through time on the river or in practice, we have the magic-bean factor at work. The equipment will never make us better anglers, only we can do this.

The Lore of Fine Gear

The lore of fine gear

Many of us that fish with flies love nothing more than to touch, discuss, and dream about the fine tackle of our sport. Meet another angler on a stream, and the talk will assuredly turn to gear sooner or later. We ask each other: “What rod is that?” “Which fly are you using?” or state our appreciation of the other’s fine fly reel. In winter when the snow and cold threaten to overwhelm us, conversations around a warm fire in a study discuss the finer points of gear and pawl checks, and the big one that got away. Cognac, a fine cigar, a Leonard rod…

What is it about the equipment of fly-fishing that so appeals to us? Is it something to do with being men? Is it similar to a bunch of guys admiring power tools?

The equipment itself has very few concrete properties: metal, wood, thread, etc. We assign or ascribe the romantic characteristics ourselves. Aesthetics. So, there are inherent properties vs. ascribed properties and human imagination. These work together with our sense of history and adventure to form what we feel when we look at fine tackle. I call this lore. Lore can be defined for our purposes here as the process of ascribing abstract properties and romantic notions, nostalgia and learned history to concrete items.

How would different people or creatures react to viewing a beautifully tied fly? A non-fly fisherman might see a metal hook with feathers and fur attached, and have some slight sense of intended use, but that is all. A space alien might ponder the utility of the object to the human race as an anthropologist would. A cat might wonder if it is worth its time to chase the thing. A fish might see something that triggers a feeding response.
Therefore, the uncarved block views the gear of fly fishing in an innocent and ignorant way. They may recognize some inherent aesthetic beauty, but cannot without extensive experience relate abstract qualities to the equipment. They would be incapable of placing the objects in proper perspective within their lives. Romance could not then be assigned or imagined. Lore would not be felt.

Human beings have a natural sense to appreciate beauty of form. Most people, even having little exposure to art or architecture, would appreciate a sculpture by Michelangelo, a painting by Vermeer, or the classic lines of an ionic column. This might be true of a full dress salmon fly or a Quill Gordon, but most would say “It sure is pretty, but what is it?” Knowing the intended use and the tradition behind it allows us to ascribe romantic properties.

Then comes the act of anthropomorphism, or assigning human-like traits, qualities, or even sex to our equipment. Reels sing, loops sizzle, rods dance, and we refer to our rod as ‘she’ or ‘he.’

We are not alone in our desire to find lore in our equipment. Upland game hunters have fine double guns, bait-casters a myriad of exotic plugs, and fencers their fine foil, epee’ and saber.

Would we have it no other way? What if an object was just that… an object? With no assigned aesthetic qualities, characteristics, romance, or lore? What a boring and sterile world we would live in. A sort of dream-deprived state. All romance dead. An Orwellian world of pseudo sensory deprived autism.

Romance, legend, lore, and tradition all enter our conceptualization of our sporting experiences, both real and imagined. The equipment becomes part of the story. Our story. His story. History.

Ask yourself this: why does it infuriate you when someone refers to your fine early 20th century bamboo trout rod as “That fishing pole?”

Aesthetics

Beauty is truly in the eye of the beholder. Or is it?

Courtesy of the tackle industry. I don't know whether to run away screaming...or just laugh.

The Legacy Rod

I just purchased a new used two-handed rod. The sage 9140-4 graphite IIIe ‘greenie’ is a classic. Some may question my sanity at getting yet another toy, as well as purchasing an older rod when more modern and ‘better’ rods are available. This rod was previously owned by Brandon Luft, an excellent steelhead fisherman. I know it has good karma since I purchased my first spey rod from Brandon years ago, and used it on my first trip to the pacific north west to fish the Klickitat. So, this is the second rod of his that I now own. I kind of like owning a legacy, as well as not purchasing new stuff and adding even more junk to the planet. This rod is the one most described by veterans as the rod that they once owned, sold in search of the magic bean, and later wish they had never sold.

It is a slower rod, and requires a precise and smooth stroke to avoid pretzels in the line. This is why I bought it. I have been practicing my spey casting rather obsessively on the river lately using a longer belly line (65 ft. head) than I am used to. I am trying to develop my single spey along the lines of an underhanded stroke but with more follow-through on the forward cast. While practicing, I have to go through the crazy but inevitable questioning as to what I am fishing for, and whether I am catching anything. Nobody believes I am just practicing. When I show them the fly with the bend and point broken off, they look at me like they are ready to reach for their cell phone and call for the straight jacket and rubber room for me. They often grab their children and tow them away, as if I was some eccentric to be avoided. “Look Jane, there is that crazy guy with the Irish hat in the river again waving that long pole back and forth.” “Should we call the police?” ‘Nah, he is probably just some harmless burnout from the corporate world.” Some people point at me as if they were observing wildlife. “Look Billy, the river habitat restoration is having an effect.” “It has attracted a native hippie fly fisherman.’ “They are rare these days and quite endangered.” “They are often attracted to bagpipes and the sound of running water.”

I practice for a number of reasons. For one, it is joyful. I love putting out long casts with a tight loop. When it is going out effortlessly, it becomes like ballet. Another reason I practice is that I can’t stand casting like crap. When my casting is off, it infuriates me. The inability to cast to exactly where one must place the fly is the one single greatest reason that people struggle. I am not just talking about long casts, but also short and accurate casting as well. Watching someone fish with a fly rod who cannot cast well is like listening to a violin concerto played badly on an out of tune instrument. It is unpleasant and ugly. Thus, I practice, and practice, and practice… and still struggle some times.


A longer limber rod and long dry line is my preferred method of fishing for steelhead, and since I seem to care about tradition, it is also my reaction to the slide of two-handed fly-fishing into the realms of bait casting with its giant ‘lure’ flies and shorter and heavier ‘fly’ lines. Casting a long line just becomes more joyful with the pretty loops unfurling versus the ‘flop and lob’ of the Skagit style. It is also infinitely more difficult. There is more to go wrong with every foot added to the belly of the line.


Casting should be effortless. When I set foot on a steelhead river, the last thing I want to be thinking about and fussing over is my casting. Gear is the same way. Be at one with your rod and line, so that when you are actually fishing, you can enjoy the experience instead of futzing with your equipment or stroke. I watch guys fiddle with their equipment far too much while fishing. Fiddle and futz during practice, not when the fish are cooperative.

For the handfull of readers that are still bored enough to be reading this at this point, here are some casting notes from the legacy rod: Single spey.

Smooth stroke is essential.
Body motion must be increased with the longer line. Body rock must occur. On the beginning of the cast, weight must be primarily on the forward foot, then transferred to the rear foot with the D-loop, then on the forward foot again with the forward stroke.

Bottom hand is essential. The Dec Hogan style crescent lift aids in feeling the lower hand early in the stroke. Bottom hand plays the key in the D-loop formation as well as the forward stroke. I played with the traditional style of extending the upper hand and arm at the end of the forward stroke, and it helped, but I don’t like the wear and tear on my arm, so lower hand power it is. The rod should do most of the work. I found that when my casts were really good, that I was putting very little effort into it. I could feel the rod load during the lift and progressively load all the way through the formation of the D-loop.

The body rock back during the D-loop formation is also very helpful at allowing a longer forward stroke to occur. It also aids in allowing a higher angle of delivery.

Line turnover is a problem. The Mach 2 plus 8 wt line I am using weighs 570 grains, but has a really long noodle-like front section of seemingly level line. After playing with the line for the past month, changing to a much lighter leader, and changing my casting stroke, I am going to begin to chop the front of the line carefully in one-foot increments. This is common on long tapered lines. The turnover now has squiggles in it that I am at a loss to control. The turnover problem occurs at both short and long distances, and with a forward spey, snake roll, double spey, single spey, Perry poke, circle spey, etc. Some of it is my stroke, but now I am certain that some of it is the line as well. Otherwise, I like this line. Turnover is essential. A hundred foot cast that does not turn over completely could be better handled by an 80 foot cast that does turn over.

I learned from watching my D-loop form that I commonly had a downward trajectory, and this caused the line to pile into the water a bit and increase line stick. I still do this from time to time, but in general the trajectory of the D-loop is now much better.

This rod is easy to over power. If I put some muscle in it and place too much emphasis on my right arm, then I get a secondary power robbing downward hinge in the outward-bound loop. I am notorious for this. I need to back off the power, slow down, and let the rod and line do the work.

Getting this rod matched up with line and stroke may be a lot of work, but the glory is in the end game, when and if it travels with me a to a mist filled steelhead river at dawn, and deep in the canyon and cradled in my arms, watches me with vibrating anticipation as I tie on a size 3 dunt and offer it to the steelhead gods with a hope and a prayer.

Is there a soul in this rod? Or, is it just anthropomorphism? Only time will tell.

Update: August 23rd 2009. The rod has soul...

A wee rant on dumb gear

New fly fishing gear designers; meet Moe, Larry, and Curly Joe inventing the edible celery panfish flyrod. Yours for only $900 bucks.


Perusing the new Cabelas and Orvis catalogues, I am reminded of how much I dislike all the superfluous gear out there which is toted as the ‘must-have’ for the angler. So, without hold, I give you some views on junk. Please read this with a tongue in cheek mood, as this is how it is written. I don’t want to get comments back full of contention. After all, this is the classic angler not the contentious angler;)

You may wish to read my blog post on equipment first; located here.


Pre-packaged leaders.
You know the ones. When I ran a flyshop, these were my top seller, and I pitied all the poor souls that bought them. Why, you ask? No matter what you do, they will never lie completely straight. They are coiled in the package, and will retain those slinky-like coils forever no matter what you do. Go ahead, stretch them between two nails on a hot day, use a useless leather leader straightening tool, have a buddy pull and stretch them, tie them to your dog and throw a ball, it matters not. Those coils will drive you nuts! The only way to prevent this is to buy leaders tied with a stretchy butt material like maxima, or tie your own.

Reels that look like abstract art or an engineer’s high school project and sporting wild colors.
This speaks for itself. Just look at the reels offered in the Cabelas catalogue. They all look like they are trying to outdo each other for the most complicated CNC project award. The classic looking reels are usually the cheap ones. I don’t really hate these things, but they have become so ubiquitous that real consumer choice has lessened.

Reels that sport ultra large arbor designs that take no backing.
Hello…Orvis? A perfect example of this was the first generation Orvis Battenkill large arbor reel. When someone bought one of these, there was much alchemy performed in the back room. I often had to cut the flyline back by one quarter in order to fit it on the spool, and that still only allowed twenty feet of backing. It is a myth that large arbor flyreels always prevent coiling and increase the retrieve ratio. When they are wider than conventional reels this can be true, but in general, a conventional reel with the proper amount of backing achieves the same thing. It is only when deep into the backing that a large arbor design aids retrieval. This is not to say that I dislike large arbor reels, instead, what I dislike is that they are touted as the only way to go. As if anglers such as Zane Gray couldn’t land fish on conventional reels.

Sage bass fly rods.
I cast these for the first time in October, and I must say they perform beautifully. I was able to throw the entire line with ease. They were designed to allow fly anglers to fish in bass tournaments, thus the length is under 8 feet. The rods, which are stiff as a corpse, get their zing from an especially heavy weight forward taper flyline made by Sage. So why does this bother me? Simply because new anglers may purchase these rods to fish for bass thinking that they are superior to conventional nine foot 5-8 weight rods. They are not superior. Perhaps at close range in brushy streams they might excel, but for much of the bass fishing I do, (casting in big rivers with pinpoint accuracy at 80 feet) they have no superiority to my rods. In fact, trying to cast at that distance consistently with these rods one would be in the backing, as the flyline is only 80 feet long. They also remind me of a bait-casting rod. The line is so heavy that it carries out from the rod tip like a spoon taking the mono for a free ride. Another thing I dislike is being limited to this specific line from Sage. What if I want to try something else? Sorry buddy.

Knot tying tools.
With an exception for people with eyesight problems, twitches, or hangovers, I dislike knot tying tools.
One becomes reliant on them and never learns to tie knots the proper way. Enough said.

Dumb gadgets that get in the way.
You know those necklace lanyards made of beads and alligator clips that enjoy so much popularity? One sees pictures of guides out west wearing them while floating the Madison. The reason guides like them is;

1. Everything is handy, so that the guides can locate it after a night of drinking moonshine.
2. It makes them look like they know what they are doing.
3. They are not fishing, just guiding.

Number three holds the clue. The damn things get in the way of everything; your hair, the flyline, tippet material, the spinning reel handle while playing a fish, etc. They even get tangled in your wader suspenders when you desperately have to relieve yourself. Fine for guides, anglers should give them a pass.

Unnecessary and overpriced stuff
Hello… Simms? Simms makes some of the finest waders, boots and jackets on the market. Several years ago they expanded their product line to include pretty much everything. Now anglers can wander around the river as walking advertisements. Much of this expanded selection is horribly overpriced as well, making it the necessary purchase for doctors and lawyers looking for that Brad Pitt look. I even saw a miniature cigar humidor shaped like a little rod tube and sporting the logo of a famous rod company. I guess some people feel that if they pay the top dollar, then they get the best.

$500.00 waders that leak after 6 months.
We can send a man to the moon, but can’t produce breathable waders that are durable. Enough said.

Any product promising that you will catch more fish.
Look in the mirror. The person staring back at you is the only one who can improve your fishing through time on the water, study, reading, thinking, and practice. There are no magic beans, even if fishing companies have gotten rich by selling us those beans.

Equipment

I really appreciate good equipment. When I started fly fishing I was so poor that I built my own flyrod, as I was unable to afford a commercial model. (O.K., so it also might have been a craft project as well)
I bought a pair of nylon bootfoot waders from Cabelas, and used these for the first two years or so. I owned no polypropylene, it was too expensive. Instead, I utilized an old pair of cotton pajama bottoms and an old pair of sweat pants with worn-out elastic. I kept them up with rope. Once when fishing in cold water with ice still flowing, (I should not have been doing that) my less than adequate waders and insulation left my legs literally blue. My reel was from Cabelas too. I still have it. It was an early Okuma model. The line I bought came from LL Bean on close-out. It set me back eight dollars. With this outfit I taught myself to cast and fish. My first acquisition of good equipment was a Hardy Marquis Disc reel I picked up on Ebay for $100.00. I ate peanut butter and jelly for a month after that. I would argue that people like me who save up to acquire good equipment appreciate it more. When I was able to afford it, I obtained an Orvis 5 wt T3, and a matching 6 wt. I still love those rods. Then I went on a Sage craze. I now own around 15 fly rods. Some see no use at all, and others are favorites. Every one of them fills a niche or purpose.
Working at a flyshop allowed me to purchase goods at a discount, else I would not own all the fine rods and reels I do.
So, I appreciate and treasure the ability to own and fish with good stuff. Maybe that is why it irritates me to no end to see some rich guy buy a new $700 Sage as his first rod. Match that with a new Ross reel and Simms waders and boots, Simms underwear, Simms bandanna, Simms suppositories, a $200.00 felt hat, vest with a thousand pockets, three fly lines, and twelve flyboxes, and the poor bastard is out fifteen grand and has the privilege of standing in the middle of my steelhead run flailing around while he tries to figure out what all the gadgets in the pockets of the vest are really for. Don't get me wrong, I welcome new participants to the sport, but I just wish they had to put in their time before they deck themselves out like they are ready for an Orvis endorsed vacation destination.
I probably lost a lot of sales potential at my flyshop. I always believed in easing the customer into the sport. Sell him or her a decent rod and reel, a box of flies, a nipper and forceps, and provide them with a casting lesson. Then send them off to fish for bluegill on a pond somewhere. Several weeks later they would return to the shop with a gleam in their eye, and a story for my ears. "I caught over 30 fish!" "None of the guys with worms were catching anything, but I did just what you told me, and I did it, I did it, I am a fly fisherman!!" Now was the time for the wader and boot sale. I think that by being honest I actually gained customer loyalty rather than taking advantage of a customer by drooling over the fleecing I could give his or her wallet. I always told them "You don't want this to end up in your closet with the karate uniform and soloflex."
I wish every shop would take that approach.

You can tell a fly fisherman anywhere. They have special hats and shirts that help establish their view of their own identity. The shirts are usually nylon ones designed for fly fishing, or one of those annoying cotton print shirts with old flies and bamboo creels pictured everywhere. They are often walking billboards for their favorite tackle company. I am guilty here too. I own a dozen ballcaps given to me by various tackle manufacturers, but they are full of sweat and slightly chewed and rusty flies. When I teach flytying classes somebody inevitably shows up like they are going fishing; sporting a Sage ballcap, Simms flats shirt, and nylon zip-off pants. I don't get this until I realize that these poor guys spend all week dressing like corporate America tells them they must, and this is just their little way of daring to express themselves. I always fantasize about showing up for one of my casting clinics or tying classes dressed in a "Kiss my Bass" T-shirt, and a Coors hat. I really am that deviant.

Getting back to hard goods. I enjoy comparing tackle as much as the next guy, but I also enjoy using it. I can only tolerate so much gear talk before my mind wanders off to the river. The exception is in the middle of a Midwest winter. Here I will gladly drive through snowdrifts to meet in a coffee house and chat about flies, reels, and other junk. Some people however, seem to do mostly talking and little fishing. That is O.K. if you are elderly and have spent the last fifty years crawling around the Trinity wilderness fishing and kill rattlesnakes by biting their heads off, but more and more I see younger people that seem to enjoy the equipment talk as much as or more than the fishing. You know who these guys are. They own a closet of 35 spey rods and plan on purchasing twenty more. I refer to them as 'Gear Nazis'.

The fly fishing industry doesn't help. They are like a ten thousand pound vulture getting the scent of blood. Just as the post-movie boom was dieing off, and the boomers went back to their golf courses, the fly fishing industry expanded ten fold. Instead of five or six reputable rod companies, there were now hundreds pouring both awesome and pathetic products on the market. One needs a seeing eye dog just to navigate it all. I feel sorry for the people taking up the sport. That is why I never stocked anything in my shop that I had not personally approved. When Orvis apparently decided to hire the three stooges as rod designers, I dropped half their rod lineup. I was the first dealer in Wisconsin to stock the excellent and affordable Echo series of rods from Tim Rajeff. I saw it as my job to navigate through the sea of product bullshit and guide the customer to the other side.

So, now when I look down at my Hardy Bougle' and boxes full of fine flies, I can be proud of owning good equipment. I deserve it. Its what I do...

BTW, the photo at the top of this post is of my old flyshop at Laacke and Joys. Bill Schreiber built the business, and I carried it on. When I left, the owners turned it into a clearance room. Alas, a requiem for a fine flyshop. Laacke and Joys flyshop 1979-2007. Rest in peace old friend. I left a piece of myself with you.