So, you’ve just purchased a brand new fly rod. Congratulations!
You’re probably holding the tube right now. It feels good, doesn’t it? But go ahead, open it up. Take the butt section out of the sock. Remove the plastic from the cork. Okay, now you can’t return it. Maybe that is for the best. Because right about now the reality that you’ve paid five hundred dollars for a graphite fishing pole is setting in.
Oh I’m not judging you. In fact, I’m a little jealous. But this isn’t about feelings or emotions or anything qualitative like that. We’re going to engage in a little cost analysis. Nothing complicated, mind you. No spreadsheets or graphs. No fancy words like amortization or… well, I don’t know a whole lot of fancy money-words.
The purpose of this conversation is to establish when your fly rod has paid for itself. That might sound awfully un-fly fishy. Not romantic at all. Still, if you need to justify this (or the next) purchase you need to be an informed consumer. You need to realize what that money is actually going towards. Ready? Get out your graph paper and slide rule. The following guide will explain how to know that every penny of that $500 was well spent:
1. Have you assembled the fly rod in your house and shaken it around?
No? What are you waiting for? That should be the first thing you do with a brand new fly rod. We all know that engaging in such behavior brings a level of satisfaction that is unparalleled. You’re not fishing with it, but it sure is nice to wiggle. $100
2. Have you shared images of your fly rod on social media and/or in texts with your friends?
I take back the part about wiggling it being unparalleled. Having other people fawn over your new toy brings a lot of satisfaction, too. $50 (If you are particularly petty, switch the values of #1 and #2.)
3. Have you spent at least $250 on a new reel and line?
You can’t put new wine in old wineskins, and you can’t put a beaten up reel on a new fly rod. Head back to the fly shop and do your new investment justice. $50 (You’ve got to spend money to make money.)
4. Have you cast it on your lawn?
Isn’t that smooth? Sure, you’ve got some kinks to work out. But you already had kinks in your cast. You didn’t think $500 was going to fix that, did you? Still, the sensation you’re experiencing is at the very least a placebo of casting pleasure. $100
5. Have you taken it fishing?
This is basically the same thing as #1. Only now you’re doing it in the woods. You’re all dressed up; its all dressed up. Make sure everything is just perfect as you close the rear hatch and head off to the water. Admire the fresh cork, observe how the sunlight dances on the epoxy, pat yourself on the back for choosing a line color that complements the thread wraps on the guides. You were an angler before. Now? You’re an angler with a(nother) new fly rod. $100
6. Have you caught a fish?
Let’s hope so. Because that is a $100 fish. (The rest of the $500 had to go somewhere.)
Do you know what grade of sushi is worth shelling out $100 for? I’m here to tell you that the eight-inch stocked rainbow that hardly bent your rod is less than grade-A. One hundred dollars. Oof. Better catch another. Now a complex formula comes into play. Not every fish is weighted the same from an economic perspective. If you really didn’t have to cast for a fish, the rod isn’t truly earning back its purchase price. If the fish doesn’t fight much, you only were paying for the cast. If you get a big snag and the rod gets a bend in it that looks impressive and tricks you into thinking it is a nice fish? You actually owe money.
Like I said: complicated.
Perhaps you just wanted/needed the new rod and none of the aforementioned data matters. I get it. Not everyone likes science. If that is you, I guess you’ll just have to live with the fact that you’re making an informed purchase, using the rod to catch fish every once in a while, and being content with all of that normalcy.
Still… you’ve got to admit that you put it together in your living room and wiggled it.