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Casting cane . . .

By Steven J. Meyers

Found in: | Outside | Fishing | Fly Fishing |

A good friend is coming out next week. It will be the height of summer when he gets here, and every piece of fishable water in the area will be full of trout looking up for dry flies. I've already told everyone I know not to come looking for me. I'll be out fishing.

Jon and I have covered a lot of western water together over the years. We've tossed tiny black midges at picky rainbows in the San Juan, cast russet-yellow sparkle duns to big cutts on the Dolores. I can't count the number of days we've spent blissed out on the Florida River. We've sometimes struggled on the Animas and we've been very fortunate there. We've laughed as we hooked dozens of foolish mountain trout in Cascade Creek. For years our annual fishing together has included a magical trip down into the Black Canyon of the Gunnison. Once, we flew over to the dirt strip at Dutch John, Utah where we fished the limpid water of the Green in Flaming Gorge. I don't think it would be possible for me to count all the days we've spent on a stream in each other's company, but in all that time we've never fished bamboo together. Which is odd.

Jon and I share a number of passions. We both love angling books, angling lore, and angling history. A part of that passion is a love of fine tackle, and any passion for tackle and angling history inevitably includes cane rods.

The history of fly rods is familiar to most who fish for trout. The fly rod likely began as a branch cut from a nearby shrub. The branch soon became a long wooden pole. In the early years, artificial flies were fished with a fixed length of line and there was nothing we would now call casting involved in getting the fly to the fish. Lines and flies were blown toward the water we wanted to fish by the wind or the fly was simply touched to the water with a technique known as dapping. Once fishing tackle came to include reels that could lengthen and shorten line and guides that would allow the lengthening and shortening line to slide along the length of the rod - once we began to cast flies instead of just dipping them in the water - rods needed to become lighter, stronger and more flexible. The next evolution of the fly rod involved tapered, jointed sections more carefully shaped from solid wood. And, as any fisherman who knows his angling history is aware, fly rods were finally fashioned from sections of split and planed bamboo, carefully glued together to form strong, lively casting tools.

It is generally agreed that Samuel Phillipe, a gun maker from Pennsylvania , made the first split cane rod in 1845. It was a square rod fashioned from four strips of split and planed bamboo. Five and six strip rods followed, and the hexagonal split bamboo rod soon became the standard. It is not a coincidence that the golden age of angling, the explosion of ingenuity and understanding that included the refinement of casting technique, the growth of angling theory, the growing sophistication of angling entomology and fly presentation occurred after the invention of the split cane rod. With it, artificial flies could be presented to fish in dozens of ways that accurately imitate the behavior of living insects.

Subsequent to the invention of the split cane rod, fly rod development continued. Some new approaches were simply attempts to duplicate the properties of cane (at first, not too successfully) with other, less expensive materials. Cane rods took time and expertise to build. They could not be mass-produced. Tubular steel, solid fiberglass, and tubular fiberglass followed. Eventually, materials developed for other purposes found their way into rod making. Today, most high quality fly rods are made with materials we call "composites." Composites were initially developed for the aerospace industry but are now found in everything from shotgun stocks to tennis racquets. Composite rod construction involves the use of very light, high-strength fabrics (primarily composed of carbon fibers) wrapped over solid steel mandrels, infused with resins and baked. The tapered composite blanks are removed from the mandrels, given reel seats, cork handles and line guides - and the best of them are quite beautiful. Modern composite rods are the indisputable champions of the fly-casting world. With them, anglers can achieve feats of control, power and distance unheard of in pre-composite days. They are a far cry from the split-cane rod fashioned by a craftsman in a glue-stained apron wielding a knife and a plane.

I am not among those fans of split bamboo who would argue that the cane rod is technically superior to the modern composite rod. But I will argue that there is something inescapably appealing in the way a good bamboo rod feels in your hand. When the sun warms an old bamboo rod it gives off the scent of both varnish and memory. Rare is the old cane rod that was not owned by an angler who came before you. If the rod belonged to a family member you will not be able to hold it without thinking of them. If you bought it used from a rod dealer, you will occasionally stop to wonder where it might have been before it came to you. The rod will require thoughtfulness in its use. When you net a heavy fish, you will turn it so that it bows opposite to the way it bends when playing that fish so as not to give it a set prematurely. You will wipe and dry it before putting it away after a day of fishing. You will rub a bit of wax onto the ferrules to keep them lubricated. Every now and then you will put a touch of varnish where it might have been nicked by a streamside boulder or branch.

When you fish, it will catch harsh sunlight and reflect it back to you in softer golden ambers. The pace of its stroke will be slower than your composite rods, and its use will cause you to slow your fishing to the pace of an earlier time.

A fine cane rod contains qualities that are the physical embodiment of a long angling friendship.

When Jon and I spoke over the phone about this year's upcoming trip we discussed the possibilities. We'll have access to private water on the Florida , the Animas and the Pine. We are going to make a trip over to the Dolores where I hope some pale morning duns will still be coming off in that lovely sandstone canyon. Jon had a very specific request, one I am very happy to oblige.

"One day this year," he said, "let's fish cane."

"Absolutely," I eagerly agreed.

Absolutely.