Beginnings

Photo by Phil Rispin
On the Bighorn, Photo by Phil Rispin (see note below)

Guest Blogger: Phil Rispin, Fly Fisher & Photographer

The first fly rod I ever saw belonged to my father. It was a long telescoping metal rod that had a huge amount of flex to it and by today’s standards weighed a ton. Attached to that rod was a spring loaded reel that would reel in line that had been pulled out simply by touching a lever that stuck out from the reel. The fly line itself was a rusty orange color. I have no idea whether it was a floating line, sinking line, shooting head or double taper, I had no knowledge of such things. I just remember wishing that I had a rod just like Dad.

That rod lived in my parent’s bedroom closet along with Dad’s old Remington pump shotgun. Depending upon the season either one or the other would come out of the closet to be used. While I remember Dad shooting many birds with his shotgun using me, as the designated retriever, (we had a rough time training our various dogs) I haven’t got a single memory of him ever casting that fly rod for a fish or for that matter any memory of seeing my Dad ever catch a fish.

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