The other evening I found myself in the depths of The Overstory by Richard Powers. When I say the depths, despite it being a collection of short stories, I do mean the depths. Thinking that doesn’t just graze the shallow surfaces of your mind, rather it weaves it’s way into the very recesses of your soul. Hence, the Pulitzer.
I’ve often told this tale in rather short, slightly humorous way, but I think it’s finally time to tell it in greater detail.
At the very beginning of my fly-fishing journey while once again, reading a book, I discovered the illusive bamboo fly rod. To say the thought of owning, or building one of these works of art consumed my mind is a slight understatement. I wanted so badly to be the master artist, the creator, and wielder of one of these fine weapons. It took some time to understand that as much as I desired this, it simply wasn’t my path. Rather, I was not meant to be the protagonist in this tale.
I remember very clearly the day that I mentioned my desire to the old curmudgeon, Charlie, at the local fly shop. A seasoned builder of these fine creations he seemed less than impressed that I had set my sights on his craft. However, it did spark a conversation between he and Jacob. A conversation, as it turns out, that has lasted a decade.
It began in a way that most mentor/mentee relationships begin. A nudge here and there, sometimes a word of encouragement, but more often than not a “son, you’ve just got to do it for yourself.” I suppose the do it for yourself worked out best of all. At least for Charlie and Jacob. For me, not so much, as I was often subjected to the emotional aftermath of a failed experiment.
One Christmas I scraped some money together to buy Jacob a Grainger bamboo rod, his first. I realized that the obsession had not consumed him much more than it ever had me. It was too heavy, probably a bit too long, and in retrospect I’ve come to understand terribly overpriced. In my mind, I determined that it was better to join in than to fight it. What a terrible enabler I turned out to be. Jacob still fishes with it to this day, despite the drawbacks. I’d like to think that counts for something.
A couple years into this building journey Charlie moved back home to Kentucky. A few years after that Jacob and I began our journey out to Colorado. As many miles were placed between the two, the conversation continued.
There’s a corner of Jacob’s workshop filled with all sorts of rod building paraphernalia; everything from partly finished rods to fabric (which I believe may have made its way here via the Mayflower). It all came from Charlie. The rods are being worked on, final touches added, completed in the best way Jacob knows how. Some other things wait; tucked away until the right project comes along, not to be wasted on anything subpar.
Last fall Jacob decided that for all the lessons and conversations and stuff, it was time to pay it back, in the only way he knew how, a bamboo rod.
I’m not quite sure how the conversation went when the rod finally made its way across the country. That’s okay. Like I said, I’m not the protagonist in this tale, just an observer. Because perhaps my job is to simply tell this story, in the best way I can.
I think I just heard the phone ding in the living room. It’s probably a text from Charlie.
