Shakespeare & Modern Nymphing Savs I find myself on the horns of an unfamiliar dilemma. Furrows are etched deeply into my brow. Dark rings below my eyes are evidence of sleepless nights. This is no ordinary situation in which I find myself. But let me start at the beginning. market for a new fly rod.
together. I took an immediate shine to it and after some friendly persuasion he parted with it for what turned out to be a very fair price. He’s chastising himself over his bad judgement, but I like to think that I taught a young man something of the ways of the world. Disappointment and regret are ubiquitous to the lived experience and he got a large dose of both. How he manages his resentment toward me will be a reflection of his maturity. Not that I’m going to judge him, it’s a great rod and I’ll just avoid eye contact until he resolves his angst and settles down.
I’m in the
It is my style to know what I want. It’s usually not too much, as it happens, and I simply scour the used tackle sites until I find something close enough. I’m pretty easy to please and what pleases me are rods made not more than three but not less than two decades ago. Sure, they’re a little heavier and a little less responsive than modern rods but there was a sweet spot back then that rod designers hit dead centre. With a few notable exceptions they haven’t got close to it since.
The four weight has proven to be a harder proposition. I found one that feels great, but it’s really a mislabelled three weight and is too close to what I already have. Another three weight that has been recommended to me as a four weight has that instantly unmistakable feel of an industrial tyre iron. There’s a remarkable five weight (that’s actually a four weight) available now, but it’s way out of my fiscal reach. How they decide on the weights of rods these days is entirely beyond comprehension. Do they stand in the factory, have a scantily clad assistant cover the blank with a cloth, turn to the mark and say “give me a number, any number, between one and seven”?
Obviously we’re talking here about graphite sticks. Bamboo is a subject that can fill a book and is best left to the lovers of the arcane and the eccentric. Fibreglass is, to not put too fine a point on it, crap. With bamboo you want something either very old or very new and with fibreglass it has to be just good enough to keep your tomato plants upright.
A penpal (an archaic term, we use our thumbs now) told me a story recently of his first rod and reel. He started out in the stream that runs past his alma mater, Stellenbosch University, with a Diawa rod, a knock-off Hardy reel, a fast sinking line and a half dozen wet flies. The rod was fibreglass wrapped around a mandrel of steel. While it’s hard to imagine that a fibreglass rod would be improved by having a ferrous endoskeleton I honestly don’t think that there’s a lot you can do to make them any worse. It may even increase your tomato yield.
What is most frustrating about this particular purchase is that for once in my life it comes as a component of a meticulously strategised system. Whereas I advise other people to buy a three weight and to split the difference between small stream and larger river requirements I decided on my foray into nymph angling to purchase a two weight and a four weight so as to be optimally prepared for each occasion. I mean, if you’re going to try to run along the cutting edge of modern flyfishing you want to at least look the part.
He went on to tell me - in a charming story that includes a former lover, his current wife, two different foresters and graphic descriptions of seasickness - of the world that it opened up to him.
The acquisition of the two weight I accomplished with remarkable ease. Bramble Boy recently had one made to his specifications and he trotted it out on a stream that we fished
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