A Maine land trust to which fishnbanjo belongs recently acquired access rights to a stretch of a trout stream that otherwise is quite difficult to reach. This
past weekend, the trust sponsored a Saturday morning trip to the stream. Since I was driving to southern Maine to lead a Saturday evening folk dancing event,
it became possible for me to meet up with banjo early on Saturday morning.
At the appointed hour I wheeled into the parking lot of the land trust's office, and there was banjo to greet me with a cup of coffee. He looks exactly like his avatar picture, without the formal attire of course, since we were about to go fishing. But first, banjo opened a rear door of his Honda, revealing a massive pile of aluminum tubes. He told me that this heap of rods represented only a third of the contents of "Pandora's Box." Banjo started pulling rods and reels out of their cases, setting them up, and inviting me to cast each one in turn. Naturally, for this Paul Young enthusiast, the highlight of the group was the Perfectionist built by Mr. Young in 1955 for his wife, Martha Marie Young.
It was quite a special moment when I made my first casts with Mrs. Young's rod. It has a strong easy stroke that is pure poetry. The rod is very comfortable in the hand, even though the grip is quite small for hands the size of banjo's, or mine. The thumb indentation orients your hand in the right place, and the spaces between the corks help improve your hold on the grip, much like tire treads improve a car's hold on the road. Banjo explained that in 1955 there were length limit rules in the Michigan fish laws that specifically pertained to trout of seven inches, ten inches, and twelve inches. So Paul Young put thread wraps on the butt of the rod, at these marked intervals, so his wife wouldn't have to carry a ruler with her.
Of course it was no surprise to me that I would fall in love with Mrs. Young's Perfectionist, or that my heart would skip a beat when I first saw, and then cast, the Morris Kushner "Formula B" rod. The real surprise swoon came when I cast an eight-foot Gillum. Its casting stroke was elegant simplicity, pared to its absolute essentials: effortlessly move the rod tip backward, effortlessly move the rod tip forward, and watch the fly line come pouring off the rod in a smooth sweet flow, landing the fly wherever you wish.
Other participants in the land trust's outing soon joined us, and before long we were on our way to the stream. Here is a photo of banjo guiding a fly through a pool, using a Payne 100H.
Here is a brookie from that little river, taken with a caddis imitation using my Paul Young Midge. The fish was in a deep run lined with sunken logs and branches. He hit the fly hard and immediately dove for the wood with enough strength and speed that at first I felt sure that he must have been a brown trout measuring a few inches longer than he turned out to be.
After the fishing, we had another look at some of the Pandoran treasures, including rare Hardys like a Houghton Club Dry Fly model. Then banjo treated me to pizza and great conversation about fishing and all sorts of other topics, before he sent me on my way to the folk dancing gig. The evening dance went very well, and the fellow who organizes this monthly event asked, "When can you come back?" "Anytime in fishing season," I replied, thinking of banjo and hoping I'd have the chance to see him again soon.
Thank you, banjo. What a great joy it was to spend time with you.
At the appointed hour I wheeled into the parking lot of the land trust's office, and there was banjo to greet me with a cup of coffee. He looks exactly like his avatar picture, without the formal attire of course, since we were about to go fishing. But first, banjo opened a rear door of his Honda, revealing a massive pile of aluminum tubes. He told me that this heap of rods represented only a third of the contents of "Pandora's Box." Banjo started pulling rods and reels out of their cases, setting them up, and inviting me to cast each one in turn. Naturally, for this Paul Young enthusiast, the highlight of the group was the Perfectionist built by Mr. Young in 1955 for his wife, Martha Marie Young.
It was quite a special moment when I made my first casts with Mrs. Young's rod. It has a strong easy stroke that is pure poetry. The rod is very comfortable in the hand, even though the grip is quite small for hands the size of banjo's, or mine. The thumb indentation orients your hand in the right place, and the spaces between the corks help improve your hold on the grip, much like tire treads improve a car's hold on the road. Banjo explained that in 1955 there were length limit rules in the Michigan fish laws that specifically pertained to trout of seven inches, ten inches, and twelve inches. So Paul Young put thread wraps on the butt of the rod, at these marked intervals, so his wife wouldn't have to carry a ruler with her.
Of course it was no surprise to me that I would fall in love with Mrs. Young's Perfectionist, or that my heart would skip a beat when I first saw, and then cast, the Morris Kushner "Formula B" rod. The real surprise swoon came when I cast an eight-foot Gillum. Its casting stroke was elegant simplicity, pared to its absolute essentials: effortlessly move the rod tip backward, effortlessly move the rod tip forward, and watch the fly line come pouring off the rod in a smooth sweet flow, landing the fly wherever you wish.
Other participants in the land trust's outing soon joined us, and before long we were on our way to the stream. Here is a photo of banjo guiding a fly through a pool, using a Payne 100H.
Here is a brookie from that little river, taken with a caddis imitation using my Paul Young Midge. The fish was in a deep run lined with sunken logs and branches. He hit the fly hard and immediately dove for the wood with enough strength and speed that at first I felt sure that he must have been a brown trout measuring a few inches longer than he turned out to be.
After the fishing, we had another look at some of the Pandoran treasures, including rare Hardys like a Houghton Club Dry Fly model. Then banjo treated me to pizza and great conversation about fishing and all sorts of other topics, before he sent me on my way to the folk dancing gig. The evening dance went very well, and the fellow who organizes this monthly event asked, "When can you come back?" "Anytime in fishing season," I replied, thinking of banjo and hoping I'd have the chance to see him again soon.
Thank you, banjo. What a great joy it was to spend time with you.
