EVERY FLY FISHERMAN has an unreasoning view of fly rods; and I am no different. Generally, we are united in the belief that all rod design has been progressive and that the ideas about fly rods in the past were so bad as to make it amazing that people were able to fish at all. This is based in good American fashion on the belief that angling is progressive and is chiefly concerned with efficiency. "I stepped into the water," a fly fisherman was recently heard to say, "and proceeded to empty the pool." We, his listeners, were bowled over by the picture of efficiency. The trout stream as modern toilet. Now I understand that this sort of hyperbole is part of the fun; but its humor is based on the idea that we are trying to be efficient.

Aren't we? I don't think bamboo rods, for example, are as efficient as glass and graphite. But I like the smell of varnish when I open the rod tube! I had a graphite tarpon rod whose hook keeper wouldn't take anything larger than a #10 dry fly hook, an understandable mistake when you realize it wasn't made by a fisherman but someone who looked with equal interest upon golf shafts, riding crops and umbrella handles. Yet I dearly love graphite for helping me put some poetry in my loop and for relieving the tennis elbow I acquired, not from tennis, but from steer roping.

Anglers have begun to crave conformity. This has not always been the case. Now some of us crave leadership, someone to tell us whether we should have a fast action rod or one that loads with less line. Fast was it until recently; but slower, softer rods have claimed the moral high ground.

The evaluation of rods is completely subjective. The dream is of the perfect rod but there is no such thing. A fly rod has to meet too many criteria and many are contradictory. Think of a rod for western rivers that must make delicate presentations in high wind. Is the rod matched to the fish, the fly being cast or the atmospheric conditions? The rod needed for casting large streamers on western rivers in the fall is as big as some people use for tarpon. But the fish haven't gotten any bigger since August. A five weight easily handles the sparsely dressed flies we use on bright sand bottoms for tarpon but it would never land the fish. The perfect distance for a trout rod to load is probably around twenty-five feet. But who wants to try out a rod down at the fly shop with twenty-five feet of line? And no rod casts nicely with split shot, though some tolerate it better than others. In a perfect world, fishing with split shot on the leader wouldn't be fly fishing at all. Neither would monofilament nymphing and maybe even shooting heads. Lee Wulff said that the fish is entitled to the sanctuary of deep water. That's where most of us used to set the bar in trout fishing. We fished on top and tried to devise ways of catching big fish that way, fishing at night, fishing with greater stealth, hunting remote places that rarely saw an angler.

So many rods are now designed for micro-niches, extreme line sizes, weird lengths. It is a great pleasure to use some of these rods when the conditions for which they were designed are perfect. It would be useful to remember that conditions are rarely perfect in angling. Long ago, when I started fly fishing, the standard trout rod was an HCH, a six weight, eight to eight­and-a-half feet long. After four decades of evolution in material and ideas, I have concluded that that is still the case, especially when you consider what it takes to make an all-day rod in most places. The rod might have grown to nine feet. A full day in one of my local rivers might require the angler to go through five sizes of dry flies and three of wet. The wind will range from zero to forty. A five weight rod is not enough and a seven is too much.

In my view, fly rods have some mysterious ergonometric range of length that is hard to explain. The same is true of hammer handles, oars, tennis racquets, golf clubs: the variations in length are surprisingly small. A trout rod significantly under eight feet is too short, and significantly over nine, too long. If it is too short, it leaves too much line on the water for good drag control and speeds up the casting cycle. Too long and the rod becomes a handful in the wind and helps produce tailing loops. I had a ten foot summer steelhead rod that I loved until the wind came up; and then I wanted to swap it to someone unsuspecting enough to daydream too much about line control, just as I had. A rod better have a great reason for being over nine feet or under eight. Nine is a wonderful length for a trout, tarpon, or billfish rod. It's a length the human body likes. Just today I got out an old favorite, a seven-and-a-half foot trout rod, and fished half a day with it. I hadn't used anything shorter than eight-and-a-half for so long that I was unpleasantly surprised to discover the extra drag problems the lower angle between rod, line and water produced, not to mention the hurried casting cycle. The speeding technology of fly rods has finally just emphasized some basic truths. Even in the days when bamboo was king, light and fast were the ideals, sometimes called "dry fly action." Describing a rod as having a "wet fly action" was tantamount to admitting that it was a clunker.

I know that I'm not going to stop anyone out there from acquiring a bunch of overly specific niche rods. I'm probably not even going to stop myself. I haven't so far. The dream of fly fishing is one of simplicity; and most pursue it in the same way: acquire a blizzard of flies and gear in the belief that you are casting a wide net and that, at some point, you will get rid of all but the few perfect items and angle with the dreamed-of simplicity. For most, the pile grows until death brings it to a stop. If fly fishing weren't still more or less esoteric, yard sales would never recover from this epidemic.

The biggest problem with fly rods is that you must not only meet all the physical criteria for the fishing you do but that you must also "love" the rod. For example, I have a six weight rod that is far and away the best trout rod I have ever owned. It is fast, light, and has the quickest damping stroke imaginable. It was designed by probably the greatest fly caster of all time. It is also cheesily built with porous cork in the handles, disco guide wraps and decal graphics that give the codes that distinguish this product from the other recreational products from the same company. I'm going to have to work at loving this, the best trout rod I've ever had. I'm going to have to almost wear it out. Its ultra modern decor is going to have to sink into history and become sort of campy. I may have to break it. I may have to defend myself with it during a holdup or use it to stand off a bear. Right now it's a kind of yuppie artifact with less soul than a paper clip. It casts a thousand times better than the beautiful old Garrison I have which takes the same line.

I think we can work it out. But this great new rod is made of materials that are part of a rapidly evolving technology. My rod may be obsolete by Thanksgiving. I may be given cause to worry that the modulus of elasticity of my new rod may be trailing others. I'm actually capable of thinking about crap like that. I kind of like it. The other day, I put this soulless wand away for the day and, instead, fished with that fine old bamboo I've had for several decades. By comparison, this beautiful wooden shaft with highly individualized handwork and matchless esthetics, was a dog to cast. Someone compared the classic action of a bamboo rod to a cow pulling its foot out of deep mud. This one was better than that; but compared to the disco rod with the cheesy graphics and porous grip, it was pretty much of a dog.

Gough Thomas, the English gun writer, warns against the vice of "poly gunning," which means using too many guns and becoming master of none. I could point out that this same malady afflicts anglers; but what's the use? We'll always have too many rods; but back to my topic: a trout fisherman can do it all with a nine foot for a six line.

A nine foot for an eight weight line will cover most of the rest. If the angler is a fisher of riverine salmonids, those two rods will cover it all. The eight will do perfectly for bonefishing and for small tarpon. I have seen tarpon over one hundred twenty­five pounds landed on eight weights. It's an ideal snook and redfish rod. For repetitive casting as demanded in steelhead and salmon fishing, it's as much as most of us want to cast all day long. Plenty of people use their six weight rods for steelhead.

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