I Scratch Rod Butts (and I can not lie)

A quick flip through a tackle catalog or a scroll through Instragram will clearly demonstrate the charm that aesthetically pleasing fly rods have for fly fishers. Detailed graphics, bright colors, and custom cork designs on handles are “in.” Obviously fish are lining up to be caught by anglers who use prettier gear, so it makes sense.

Well, that last sentiment might not be true. But having a visually attractive fly rod isn’t intrinsically wrong, either. I imagine that the only point at which a good-looking rod becomes an issue is when the form inhibits function. And honestly, I can’t think of a real example of that.

The other point of contention is what may very well happen to your beautiful personalized fishing rod. Some of my tackle, through the unfortunate result of lack of opportunity, are display pieces. However, the point is that fly rods get taken outdoors, strained under the weight of fish, and get cast aside to deal with said fish. In short, they get used.

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Not Alone for a Moment

Part of the outdoors experience includes the unforeseen encounters out in nature. Coming down the path to see a black bear retreating into the woods. Stumbling upon the ruins of an old moonshine still in the Carolina mountains. Watching an osprey dive from the canopy to take the rising trout you’d been watching. You could plan for days, pouring over research and asking people in the know, and there is the very good chance that you couldn’t coordinate such an experience.

The fear of such experiences actually keeps people away from nature; the unfamiliarity and unpredictability of rivers, woods, and anything off the beaten path is frightening. Sensationalized mountain lion attacks or lost hiker horror stories do a number on a culture’s fragile psyche. Add to that the seemingly increasing chances of encountering an unhinged human, and the mystique that wild places have carried for millennia becomes much more menacing.

For hikers, hunters, and anglers, the moments that surprise in a pleasant manner comingle with a knowledge of the outdoors to easily dissuade any sort of debilitating fear. A healthy fear should be present; fear that breeds an intrepid respect.

That kind of tension was very present for me when I took some of those first solo drives into Appalachia to go fly fishing. Heading into the woods alone there was always the weight of that healthy fear, even as a confident and headstrong teenager. For the first few years of my angling career I was dependent upon my mother, friends’ parents, and then friends to drive me to a place where I could pursue trout. Upon securing my driver’s license and a car, a whole new world opened up for me. More opportunities to get out meant more time on the water. More fish to be caught. More of the outdoors to experience. More moments.

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Fish have to Eat; So do Fly Fishers

Recently I wrote about how, even in the winter, fish have to eat. That is all fine and good. It means that we can be out on the water all year. However, there are conditions that need to be met for us to go fishing. Conditions that transcend temperature, vacation time, and permission from a spouse. Whether it be winter, summer, or the seasons that are worth being outdoors in-between, fly fishers have to eat too.

I love food. If I’m not looking for a trout stream, I’m looking for a barbecue restaurant. (The finer points of that particular subject, I am afraid, will have to wait for another day.) Food is important, for a lot of reasons. If I have to tell you that eating is about more than fueling biomechanical processes, then I fear for your humanity.

Inasmuch as I plan out where I’m going to fish, where I’m going to sleep, and where I can buy any gear I might need while I’m out; I look for food. “Come on,” you say. “Are you here for fine dining, or are you here to fish?!?” Well, I am here to fish. But if I can, instead of eating a cold beef stroganoff MRE I’m going to find something satisfying. If, after a day of wading, being in the elements, and (potentially) catching fish, I can sit down and have a real meal, I am going to do that.

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Tenkara Gadgets: The Ties that Bind

I’m sure I’d trigger the plagiarism-detecting software if I ran an article that began with the sentence: “fly fishermen love their gadgets!” But it is true. Anglers that prefer to pursue fish with fly tackle have a special affinity for specialized apparatuses. (That one cleared.) Even the facet of our sport that is simplest, purest, and most unencumbered by the trappings of the materialism of the western world produces a gadget from time to time.

Tenkara has existed for centuries in Japan, but the surge in popularity in the United States can be traced back to 2009. That is when Tenkara USA was founded by Daniel Galhardo. Galhardo had developed a love for “streamlined fly-fishing” a few years prior, and then launched the first tenkara tackle company outside of Japan.

Back in 2002, Daniel personally evangelized me on the merits of this angle at a fly fishing show. I picked up a rod a few months later, and it has become my go-to for my backyard stream and hiking trips. In all honesty, I’m not a Tenkara loyalist or purist. I use the gear when I need something light or convenient, and I usually use western flies. But I love it, and am peering down the rabbit hole more every year.

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The Pros and Cons of Camping

“Number… four!” he said, with a delight unseen up until this point in the conversation.

Number four, as it would have it, was the campsite furthest from where we requested to spend the night. We paid our twenty bucks and quietly left the office. Driving past more desirable tent sites, heading further and further away from the stream, I swear I could hear that old man laughing.

Friends and I had patronized this particular campground numerous times. The gruffness of the proprietor was usually mitigated by the low cost and close proximity to the creek. The creek was filled with trout, so these excursions were purely about fly fishing. The wild brown trout made for a challenge, and the stocked rainbows kept things pretty busy. Every once in a while, a brook trout of unknown origin would pop up.

We were ideal campers. Early to bed, so as to be early to rise. No fireworks, booze, or fisticuffs. In and out; the campsite was the means to an end. You’ve probably seen campers who bring chili-pepper lights to decorate their site. Usually such festooning is the pièce de résistance to other varied and sundry decidedly un-camping items. Mini-fridges on generators, boom boxes, and dogs that can’t shut up being some of my favorites.

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Fly Fishing at Fourteen

I began fly fishing at the age of fourteen. When I turned 30 a few years back it struck me that not only had I been involved in the sport in one way or another for over half my life, but that I’d been fly fishing for longer than I’d known my wife or lived in any one place.

There were a number of pros and cons to being a flourishing angler as an early teenager. There were a lot of trade-offs. I couldn’t drive myself anywhere, but I could also fish without buying a license for those first years. Living in northern Virginia, that meant that I could fish in-state as well as nearby Maryland, DC, West Virginia, and Pennsylvania for free. Today, buying a license in all of those states would cost $221.70 – just for freshwater. Which would have been a problem, as I didn’t make a whole lot of money. But what I did make was completely unspoken for and able to be spent on gear.

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Fish have to Eat: Fly Fishing in the Winter

“Fish have to eat.”

If I had a dollar for every time I’ve said that. If you’re a fly fisher, and you’ve gone out in the winter in pursuit of fish, you may have offered that same phrase as part of your explanation to a skeptic. Friends, family members, and concerned passersby might be puzzled at best and, potentially, concerned for your mental and physical well-being.

Why would any reasonable person go outside in the winter and stand in water? If you’ve read the survival stories in Outdoor Life or watched Bear Grylls eat weird stuff, you know that getting wet in frigid conditions is not the best idea. In fact, they say it is, and I quote, “a bad idea.”

So even though you know that you’re all bundled up with the warmest and most waterproof gear, you have to be empathetic. Some sweet old lady, minding her business, drives by a creek and sees an adult walk headlong into a river. The situation could be a little distressing on her part. She could call the police. Or worry about you all day. Or pull over and ask if you’re okay (like, in the head).

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Somerset Fly Fishing Show: The Load-Out

After a couple of fly fishing shows, I feel like the audience that Jackson Browne sings about in “The Load-Out.” For those of you missing out on a quintessential piece of music, I’ll bring you up to speed: Browne sings about the daily grind of the touring musician, while each city’s crowd experiences the spectacle for just one night. You might know it for the track that follows it, which is Browne’s cover of Maurice Williams’ “Stay.” Brilliant fishing music, that album.

If you’ve never been to the Somerset Fly Fishing Show in New Jersey, you ought to make plans to do so. I attended the Marlborough, Massachusetts show the week before, but this was different enough in so many ways to warrant the drive. It is enormous. Any one facet of exhibitors (vendors, tyers, lodges/expeditions, manufacturers) would be enough to satisfy a fly fisher for the better part of the day. Add them all up, and it is almost overwhelming. Looking at pictures and posts on social media this week, I keep thinking to myself: “I didn’t even know that booth was there!” or “How did I miss seeing (insert person)?”

But while I am left pondering conversations I didn’t have and money I couldn’t spend, most exhibitors are off to North Carolina. And then they’ll be on their way to Washington, and California, and back to Pennsylvania. Sure, they are either drumming up business or raising awareness for a cause. But it is still travel, and you have to hand it to them for that. I get to stick around home, and they’re “scheduled to appear / a thousand miles away from here.”

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Fly Fishing a New Trail

I’m always amazed by the places that trout live. With conservation being part and parcel with fly fishing for the past few generations, there is almost a subconscious assumption that salmonids are fragile. This isn’t to downplay the reality of the situation. Deforestation, pollution, and overfishing have ravaged rivers and lakes to the point that they’ll never be the same. And trout have, relatively speaking, a narrower threshold than other species in which they thrive. But they aren’t helpless.

All that said, it is somewhat of a surprise to stumble upon a stream that is filled with fish. Water like this that isn’t spoken of as anything special can be an anomaly. Being from the east coast, that strikes me as odd. Almost like we’ve been here long enough, and there are enough of us, that everybody should know everything.

I found a stream like this while hiking. Prominent trails in the Appalachians tend to follow old or contemporary roads. These tend to follow moving water. The Native Americans and early settlers didn’t need a survival guide to tell them that all you needed to do to find civilization is head downstream.

This stream was about 20-30 feet wide, shallow, and rocky. Not a typical waterfall and plunge pool sequence, but more like gentle tumbling. A canter rather than a gallop. The water was clear, the banks were undercut, and the tree cover was adequate. I was back, rod in hand, within a week.

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The Fly Shop on the Lake

Mention Southcentral Pennsylvania to a fly fisher, and chances are they will understand exactly where you’re talking about. In the angling world, it isn’t just the middle third of the commonwealth’s bottom half. Within this portion there is a valley that is bordered by the ridges of North and South Mountains, and in it lie a number of spring creeks and limestone influenced streams. Names like Letort, Falling Springs, and Yellow Breeches are famous in this region and far beyond. Native brook trout live on the gentle slopes, and selective browns and rainbows fill the waters below. Fly patterns, fishing techniques, and prose spread the world over were created in this valley. The streams, the trout, and the history come together to create a rich culture.

And every community needs a general store.

The History of the Shop on the Lake

Since the late 1800’s, there has been a structure on the northern end of Children’s Lake in Boiling Springs. It has functioned as a dance pavilion, a church meeting place, a motorcycle shop, and even an agricultural auction house. In the 19th and early 20th centuries, folks from towns like nearby Carlisle would take the trolley to enjoy the amusements in and around the spring-fed pond. “It was part of the park,” said Chris Frangiosa, “there were things like shooting galleries, boats to rent, all sorts of stuff for families.”

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