Last week brought an unexpected gift to my hands. My roommates father came to visit and brought with him his grandfather's fly fishing gear. He handed me an old ragged cloth bag and from within its tattered compartments came a bamboo fly rod. My first. Shocked, I carefully put the 3-pieces of cane together and held her out for a wiggle. He brought me over a map where he had carefully highlighted where his grandfather grew up and fished. I didn't have to turn the map around to recognize the highlighted area. The Catskills. The old man apparently practiced his craft along the fabled waters of the Beaverkill and Delaware rivers. That wasn't all. He had another bag and out came two reels, a leather fly wallet full of flies, some old Cortland leaders, and some more flies from a small plastic container. My Friday night plans went out the window and instead I spent my evening examining my new toys. The flies, rod, and reels offered me a window into the past, a past that I hardly understand.
He had only one request from me in return for his graciousness, travel to the Catskills, catch some fish, and take a bunch of photos for him. Until that moment, the bamboo rod will not come out. It has not been used in 49 years and won't be used until I set foot in the waters from whence it came.
I cannot wait.
Catskills, Here I Come.
I think it may be a low grade Heddon rod. If you have any idea, let me know. I would like to ID the rod.