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Colorado Rod Makers Reunion 2007

July 12-14, 2007 Crystal River Resort, Colorado

Recently I started on the path of learning how to make bamboo fly rods. It's been a long journey just to get to the trailhead but I'm well on my way now and it's time to take a look back at where I came from..

You see, I've been hang gliding for a long time, off and on, the last time I quit was because of the death of a friend and the death of another friend prevented me from getting back into the air so soon. This time I'll quit because of the same problem I had every time I fly, fear, fear of falling, fear of dying, fear overcoming the pleasure of flying.

I've been dealing with fear for too long.

I've always been interested in fly fishing. My interest has waxed and waned yet it has always been in the forefront to some degree. My recent dilemma finally placed me over the edge and I committed to it in full knowledge that I was entering into another change in my life, a good change, and one that I can grow old with, gracefully and without fear.

I am starting to feel older, I'm forty six and have lived a life full of wonderful adventures. Fishing for me has been the constant, the different aspects of it has been like rain falling into a watershed, gathering into a tiny stream high in the mountains. On a good year, there is more rain and the water is high and clear, on a bad year, the water is warm, low and even disappears in places only to come up again further down the draw. But the water continues as life does and it wants to meet up with the ocean where it can become one again, evaporating into the sky, forming clouds, raining. I've fished and continue to enjoy all the moods in the stream of life, all the way to the ocean and back again and I'm simply not through, I'm constantly learning and enjoying the journey on the way...

In Arizona, you have to drive for fishing, you must be motivated. Yes there are urban impoundments, desert rivers complete with a rubber hatch of tube riding party loving types out for some fun in the sun. These are not the places where I long to spend my time. I want solitude and relaxation. In my area, the fifth largest city in the America, Phoenix, Arizona and the temperature is nearly 100 degrees or more for as many days in the year. There is little water to fish near by and there are only a couple of dedicated fly shops in this large metropolitan area so I use the Internet to connect with like minds.

My personal quest for making bamboo fly rods begins with smallstreams.com a small community of which I have been a member for more than ten years. I've come to know both graphite and bamboo rod makers and builders as well as keen fly tiers and everything in between. Most of these contacts have been from somewhere else in the country and around the world.

A couple of years ago, I happened upon the chance of meeting with a bamboo fly rod maker, Mike Shay. He lives in Congress, Arizona having moved here from California. We meet at a small gathering at a small stream in the mountains of central Arizona, particularly the Mogollon Rim. He had traveled alone from Congress. We meet streamside and had a smoke together and talked around a shore lunch fire. Our talk was of bamboo and my longing for it yet having so much trouble with getting started along the path. I went fishing and Mike stayed around the campfire, his demeanor relaxed and comforting while mine determined on fish and fishing...

I believe I caught a couple of fish and came back to the fire where I was offered the opportunity to take a look at the "Lil Debbie" a short little 2-weight he made. I knew it would be excellent on this choked stream. It was beautiful, a rod I would have enjoyed sharing my time with. Our meeting coming to an end as the day did also, our friendship only beginning as we said our good byes.

Later, through e-mail, Mike invited me to his shop to see the process of making bamboo fly rods. This was not out of my ordinary interest as I have also been invited to see the workings of a small graphite rod making outfit in Flagstaff, Arizona, Steffen Brothers Fly Rods. Mike's rod shop was easier to understand. His shop is filled with the common tools of the carpentry trade. I love what I saw, the sparkle in his eyes when he spoke of a particular process was all that it took to know that this place was magic.

Mike offered to help me make a bamboo fly rod.

And I took the first step right there in the shop.

I picked out a culm from the big bundle on the floor and just wondered what I was getting myself into.

I began to purchase planes, a form and tools. The drive to Congress from Phoenix is about an hour and a half one way and I was only able to go once every two weeks straight from work. I would get home very late only to get up very early and off to work. I started ticking off the number of times on my whiteboard in my own shop when I went to Mike's for a session and well, after a couple of groups of five, I stopped counting.

In the shop, our conversations are all based on building bamboo fly rods but they seem to drift to family, friends and our common interests. We would listen to the Beatles while planing, Mike playing Solitaire on the computer as I made the measurements on my first strips.

Mike and I use smallstreams.com to chit chat with others, it is where we meet as a community and talk of other things but it's where we join together with other anglers. We share the love of a bamboo fly rod and now there are others that are on their own paths.

Out on a shooting clays adventure, Mike talked about a gathering in Colorado, a rod maker’s reunion. It sounded interesting and before I knew it, I had committed to going. Originally, I had planned to attend a streamside meet with some other anglers who do it every year yet I knew that I would garner more knowledge at a rod makers gathering than I would at a stream, heckling each other around a fire, not that I don't enjoy such a thing, I do.

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9pm Tues through Weds evening

My wife is very pregnant, less than a month to go but I had her blessings and had discussed the possibility of having to come home with Mike. He knew that taking me was a risk but he said, "I'll take you home, it will be faster than finding a plane" and I knew then and there where his heart for a friend was.

The days came off the calendar and before I could get my gear ready, it was Tuesday night and Mike was here to pick me up. I had worked all day and we left my home at 9pm, I was already tired. We drove through the night in the windy four corners area of the Southwest. We smoked cigarettes and talked about such things as fishing and religion, our conversation relaxed and without prejudice. Through the night I knew what was to come, an epic adventure...

We rolled into the Gunnison River area and looked for a place to meet Mike's friends. Our search yielded one of those places that look terrible, the road in devoid of anything fishing except a small sign to let you know you were in the right place. I've been to many places like this before and I knew it was going to be a surprise. We dropped into a river canyon from a dusty, grassy plateau, the Gunnison in full swing and she is beautiful! A quick trip to the lodge proved we were in the wrong area so it was on to Paonia.

We found a hotel in Hotchkiss and rented a room, dumped some of our gear, made a drink (nothing like that first drink of the morning on a fishing trip) and got back on the road to Paonia.


The Gnome shop and the Cherry Tree

Arriving at Jeff Hatton's place, I could see what I was in for. There was a weathered old freehand hexagon logo on the shop next to the house. There were signs of a hard-core fisher everywhere. An old Ford pick up with a huge camper, a large sleek pontoon in front and various accoutrements of a bamboo maker here and there, the house of a trout bum.

Jeff's father answered the door with open arms, greeting me in with the same welcome as an old friend. Jeff, Lowell Davis and Ralph Shuey were in the kitchen making good on a meal of Antelope kabobs. I felt at home even though I had been on the road all night and I was at someone’s home that I had never met. There were rods everywhere, funny rods made of dark wood with bamboo bound in on the top half, a tiny brass reel to wind things up. Mike was in his element, I, a student in a museum of wonderment, I knew soon that I would know a lot more about rods and making them.

Jeff handed me a leather fringed package, a rod tube of a different time. He had crafted a block of wood to receive the rods sections, lined the channel's with gorgeous felt, ivory scrimshaw inserts embedded in the wood, I was captured by the holder for quite some time before I saw the rod. It was nothing like I have EVER seen, a rod that had a swelled handle with wood between the bamboo strips, incredible but how would it cast I wondered. The case alone was so many hours in the making, not to mention the rod.

I stood there with the outfit in my hands, sort of paralyzed, Mike looked at me with a sick smile and I handed it to him, happy to not have to sleeve the leather over it or lay it down. I wanted to sit down with that rod and inspect every inch of it but it was not the time to drool over one rod, it was time to go fishing with a few guys and that's what we did.

Getting ready to go, Mike produced a bag of reel seat inserts and Jeff just grinned ear to ear. It seems that Jeff's Mother had planted a Cherry Tree in the front yard. Jeff had lopped off a piece and stuck it in the rafters for 15 years and gave it to Mike last year to make some inserts. Jeff took a couple out and gave the bag back to Mike, Mike gave the bag back to Jeff, Jeff gave the bag back to Mike, I couldn't stand it and started to drool. Mike took one single insert and handed the bag back to Jeff. Jeff reached in the bag and looked a couple over, "Here Adam, you know what that is?" and I looked at the beautiful Cherrywood insert. "No Jeff, I know it's an insert" "Look again" and I could see a place where there was a small knot. "There, it's the big monster in Bugs Bunny" and by goodness, a perfect likeness. I'll take that insert and use it on my first bamboo rod, it's two strips shy of being plane finished on the second tip. Almost ready and I got my Cherry (wood).

So we piled into our trucks and went for a little drive...


Harry Boyd gettin 'er done

There was a little draw, some trailers where it meets the road, you wouldn't have had any idea what was up there but we went and found out. Ok, a little impoundment, a set of ponds, there was a guy throwing a handful of trout chow and the water was boiling like a shark feeding frenzy. A little up the draw, at the higher pond, there was a big bamboo rod bent in half! All I had was a 2/3-weight Cattanach taper 7'9" two piece with a silk line, way under gunned. I didn't know that I was armed for bear with that stick until later. I looked at Mike as serious as I could with my nervous smile, he told me to string it up with a nod, "Go ahead."

Quickly jointing the rod, threading the silk line, I started walking up the hill and the owner looked at me and asked, "How are you doing?"

I told him that I was stoked, thanks for letting me fish his spot as I stopped and started to dig in my bag for a leader.

Actually, I was very road worn and quite tired, the ground was moving, my head was throbbing, I needed sleep but I needed one of these more. The owner told me, "You need 8lb test, no less than that" I thought to myself, if you fish a man's land and he tells you how to fish, that's what you do. I told him that I didn't have any and he reached in behind the seat in his truck and took out an old spool of Berkeley 8lb test mono and said, "have at it" I took a seven foot piece and tied it on my fresh silk line, a hopper on the other end and in short order, splatted it down and the fight began.

Mind you, this is the first fish on this rod and it is tied to a submarine. I gave the fish as much stick as the rod had and started backing up to pull the fish into a gap at the bank. One of the guys came over and released the hook from the trout's mouth then firmly place it deep into my thumb, it sort of felt good to wake up and realize what was going on, maybe you can relate, it didn't phase me one bit. I pressed out the blood and smiled.


...first fish on my 2-weight (Photograph by Yvonne Bauer)

Actually the second one I caught was larger, there were some that approached 30"+

I could have caught as many as I wanted but two was enough, I was tired and I wanted to relax I had already been awake for nearly 36 hours, 8 of it at work, 12 of it on the road, the rest in nirvana. The new little bamboo fly rod had proven its practicality. I had muscled it hard and it took the strain and released it back to straight. That very moment I knew that a bamboo fly rod was up to the task of big fish, really big fish because there were others that were caught much, much larger than this one. Now I know that those tiny little tip ends are capable, I felt much better about making bamboo fly rods now than ever.


Colorado Proving Grounds (Photograph by Yvonne Bauer)

I grabbed my camera and started taking pictures of the others in our group. There was a hill that I decided to climb to get an overview. The few of us there were just buzzing with laughter, it was a site to behold. I made my climb, created the shot and down climbed through a bunch of turkey feathers, which hang in my rod shop now.


An overview of our spot

Soon it was over and we headed to our hotel. We had been awake for so long, starting our odyssey and now it was time to get some sleep so we could begin our adventure. Already the trip was epic and we have not even been to the gathering.

Sleep came quickly.

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early am Thursday through the day

Wait, ahhh, ggg, ahhhhh, gettt awaaayyy!

Whoa!

What's going on?


Where am I?


It was pitch black, I was having a nightmare, sitting bolt upright in the hotel bed but now I was up and the terror was gone, I knew I was in heaven and peacefully, I fell back to sleep.

Sleep deprivation will do strange things to you.

I live in an intense world, a huge city, horrible traffic, hot, dry, noisy, crime, nasty city things. I work in a cardiology practice as a technician, Nuclear Medicine, I give people stress tests and here and now, it was time for me to relieve a little stress.

Mike?

Hey Mike.

You drinking?

He already had the King of Beers busted wide open.

Ahh, the clack of glasses early in the morning.

Paonia in the early light of a summer morning is beautiful. I could not even begin to describe in my hack words how wonderful this area of Colorado is. In my youth, I would travel to Silverton, just a short flight at cloud base to the North to get to Paonia. Mt. Kendal in Silverton has a road up its side and in the 80's, I would go every year in September to a hang gliding meet to fly. I knew the mountain terrain very well, I could see how wonderful the fishing was in Colorado but I never had a chance at it, I was preoccupied with flying although I was a fisherman, a flying fisherman.


Mt. Kendal above Silverton, Colorado

Can you imagine?

I can and I'm doing it now.

The mountains around Paonia are gorgeous and there are places to land everywhere, more importantly, there are places to soar and I was doing that with my good friend Mike right here right now. I didn't need a hang glider, I was soaring right there in the truck knowing what was going to happen.

We drove the road to the Colorado Rod Makers Reunion looking at all the water that was available to fish, stunning. My wife at home was using the digital camera so I grabbed the film camera, a Nikon, I enjoy photography.


A beaver pond on the way

On a turn we saw a beaver pond in a valley, "Hey, look at that, pull over would you Mike?" and that's just what he did.

"Well, what do you think?"

"You see those rings?"

"Yeah"

"Can we fish it for a little while?"

So we bought a day pass at the campground and again I strung up the little 2-weight for a spin at some wild fish.

I am a wet wader and all I had with me were Crocs, plastic shoes, surf trunks and a over shirt with my flats cap. I was ill prepared for fishing and had been for some time. I've been away from it for a while, my interest in hang gliding and I had sold off a lot of the nice things that I had in order to purchase nice things to fly with. Fortunately for me, I had held on to the essentials and in my little Hardy Brook bag was my Wheatleys and down the trail I went. Mike wasn't fishing this one, he was fishing through me and I could feel his eyes on me. I found my spot and tied on the Adams I use to start when I am not trying to figure things out, I like simple.

Simple wasn't getting it though.

So I found a smaller simple and that's what it took.

Lightning fast, the little cutthroats slashed at the dry fly and the silk went taught.

I had that one released and another and another.


Colorado Rocky Mountain High (Photograph by Mike Shay)

We sat there at the old picnic table and smoked a cigarette. We talked about how hot it was at home and how cool it was here. We took our fish (catch and release) and it was time to get back on the road and make it to the gathering.

Wow, incredible, water everywhere, a stream up that valley, a small river by the road, a beaver pond up that draw, fishing water and it's everywhere, heaven.

We dropped into the Crystal River Resort area having barely made it without stopping to go fishing (again) and the tent was already set up and makers out in back casting rods.

We parked and immediately the hands went up, Shay knows a lot of people. Handshakes, hugs and introductions, it was cool being in the presence of so many people who made bamboo rods.

The vibe was brilliant with creativity and the love for fly fishing was clearly evident.

We made order with the registration table and had the keys to the cabin, dumped our gear and walked back to the canopy where the gathering was centrally located. There was a big grassy area and a couple of obvious casting lanes and already there were people who were pushing the limits of those lanes. Mind you, this was a bamboo gathering and there were no plastic rods, I didn't see one. I had never seen so much line out on a cast with bamboo. Nothing holding anything back, bamboo fly rods can cast very far. I have seen tournament casters heaving plastic rods using those grunting noises like the women tennis players’ use and some of these casts were that far. Even the guys who couldn't cast were making comparably pretty loops.

There it was, the rod rack. I was told that there would be a rod rack filled with bamboo rods. If the rack had a rod in it, just consider that the rod was available to yard cast. Incredible. The rack was a two sided affair and for the most part, it was filled with newly made bamboo rods as in having been made recently although there were a couple of classic rods too. The reels varied from Pfluegers to the finest English reels and everything in between. The line up for silk lines was not as I thought, there was plenty of silk loaded yet most of the reels had plastic fly lines. That surprised me.

I just sat there on my heels admiring the rods in the morning sun. The light was good so I began to take pictures and when I thought I had the one I wanted, I slung the old film camera over my shoulder and looked around. Over at the tent, Lowell was giving the low down on the gatherings events and I felt obligated to listen but those rods, I have never seen such a beautiful sight and they were speaking to me. When a rod speaks to me, I listen and these rods were all speaking to me at once, much like a party, the conversation was buzzing with delight!


Antenna to another time...

I looked around for people I could recognize, unfortunately for me, there were none, it was going to be tough (so I thought). I don't buy magazines and most of the time I am writing for my own internet gig so my fly fishing information comes from a homogenized form, our own small internet community.

The attendee list was not like a regular run of the mill fly fishing show, there were not easily recognizable names. For those of you in the know, keep your shirt on, I'll explain. The Bamboo Fly Rod Making world is small, the names in the community are not known to a wide range of fly fishers. I'm pretty sure that most fly fishers know that Orvis makes bamboo rods as well as Winston (most of them probably don't know what happened there). The big convention hall sportsman shows where there are big names (Sage, Thomas & Thomas, St.Croix, Simms, Umpqua and other fly fishing companies) usually have big name anglers giving demonstration casting and or their specialty. Relatively speaking, you would have to know bamboo making to know the who was who list. If you were from that area where someone was from, and the list of names was national in attendance, you might know a maker. But if you knew bamboo, the list of attendees was incredible.

At this gathering of rod makers, there is a program of events that is followed. Lowel K Davis (lkbamboo) is the headmaster of the event. You wouldn't know it by just imagining an MC but he is a humble man, soft spoken yet keeps things progressing through the day. He also puts on the Southern Rod Makers Reunion of which I will attend next year, both events as re-occurring events in my life from this point forward.

There were demonstrations that I wanted to attend, beaver ponds and streams I wanted to fish and the Crystal River was just a stones throw from the tent. If you listened, you could here the rustle of the river through the sounds of summer, the convective wind in the tops of the trees, the birds chirping and the sounds of passionate rod makers speaking about their craft.

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Friday

I enjoy spending time at Mike's rod shop as we go over each different process in the making of a bamboo rod. Although some of the topics at the event where beyond my skill level here, it was enjoyable to listen to the advanced techniques.

Mr. Ralph Moon was cruising around and earlier, Mike told me that he was one of the guys he wanted to introduce me to. I didn't give him a chance. I have a tattoo of a full moon on my right shoulder and I came up with a plan.

"Ahhmm, Mr. Moon, may I talk with you for one moment?"

"Well sure young man!"

"I'm learning to make bamboo rods, Mike Shay is helping me, he told me that I had to have a moon tattooed on my arm in order to meet you."

Now if some guy came up to me and said that, I would look at him like he was crazy.

I took my sleeve and lifted it up and showed Ralph my moon tattoo. He just looked at me and laughed, both of us smiling.

He knew I was joker and he went along with it.

...and Ralph and I chit chatted about children and fly fishing for about 15 or so minutes. He is a very kind soul, I enjoyed the conversation very much. I'm hoping to learn more about Mr. Moon and his fly rod making in the near future, I understand a friend of mine bought one of his rods at the gathering.


Mr. Moon gives his presentation

Under the tent, Ralph gave a fine talk on spiral bamboo fly rods and building. His handout was excellent and I knew that I had a lifetime ahead of me, learning about the different techniques.

I took a break afterwards and picked out a couple of rods to cast, very pretty rods that looked quite different in the Colorado bright sunlight. Those mortised rods impressed me so much after casting. The mortised rods by Jeff Hatton had a look and feel that are nearly ineffable, it was hard to not "want one" so much to just go into Carbondale and pull the money from a credit card and buy the stock rod on the spot. Good things are worth the wait and well, I'll have one of his rods soon enough, one with my name on it and with that one, many fish will have my name on them.

Jeff's class on mortising put the process in perspective. His thought process is advanced yet easy to understand. There were impressive questions from the audience of rod makers, advanced questions and Jeff handled each one with a relaxed form. I believe his talk produced the most notebooks, pens and head scratching at the event. I know I want to make a mortised rod but that will be way in the future and I'm not in a hurry.

There was another pretty little rod that looked a bit odd in the middle. Wait, the ferrule is a hexagon shape, no way, the ferrule is made of bamboo! Someone did it here. That someone's name is Harry Boyd. On the way up, Mike told me that there was another guy who he had been friends with for a long time yet he had never meet him in person. I knew exactly what he was talking about and there was Mike talking to him like they were old friends. I threaded the little rod and switched a little line, slowing my tempo on the backstroke, forward, shoot. I couldn't feel a difference in the rod with that bamboo ferrule. The rod cast like a streamside dream, fluid is the word I would place on it. I was introduced to Harry Boyd and a friendly exchange was made, not small talk but interested in my story. I spoke briefly with Harry about my knowing Mike and in a few minutes, I knew I would be seeing Harry again next year.


Barry Bauer's Bait Casting Rod

The next rod I cast was one of my favorites, a newly made bamboo bait-casting rod! I love fishing, although I am a fly angler, I do have a performance bait casting rod and reel by Shimano that I can send lead over ninety yards looking for bonefish or sea trout in Mexican waters. I took the bait caster and with respect, gave it a whip and kept my thumb in place, I didn't want to backlash the vintage spool. End of the cast, thumb down, hey, not bad. Wind it up, do it again, this time farther. Within a couple of casts, I was already sending it out as far as I had seen anyone cast a fly. I was conservative as well. Looking at the butt section, Barry Bauer, I had meet him earlier and it was his name on the rod. I'll be talking with Barry about making my own bait-casting rod in bamboo to go for those long distance fish fights South of the Border.

The sound of the Crystal River was in the background of all of our conversations, the river was pulling me hard, it was time to go fishing. I walked back to the cabin and jointed the rod, stringing up, opening the Wheatley, picking out a Caddis and giving it a dab of goo. I walked a short distance downstream to a bolder and lit the fly in the middle of the calm behind it, skating the fly, wham, fish on. The English reel singing as the trout raced into the current pulling line downstream. I could feel the magic of the time, the fish, the place where bamboo was honored, winding, wetting my hand, cradling the trout upside down, tucking the rod under my arm and releasing the hook, yeah, Ritual de Habitual. I took another and walked back the few yards to the cabin, tired, relaxed.

Not much was left of the day. Rick Crenshaw stopped by the table outside of our cabin, we talked a bit, he is from Memphis, Tennessee and my family farm is just North of him by an hour and a half. Rick and I are going to be fishing a lot in Tennessee in a decade or so.


Andy Royer

It was about time to go to the tent, dinner was already served and Andy Royer, the Bamboo Broker, one of the major suppliers of Tonkin Bamboo was going to show the movie that he produced, "Trout Grass" and I was really looking forward to relaxing to that.


click on the image to go to the site

The movie was a perfect way to cap the day.

It generated a great "feel" for fly fishing bamboo.

...and that's all I have to say about it, seek it out and watch it.

Mike and I walked back to the cabin, the day was over.

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Saturday

Coffee!

Mike already had a pot of Kona going, it smells terrific in the morning. I poured a cup and walked outside in my surf trunks. Mike was already gone, he was down at the tent helping Jeff set up the display. I went back in the cabin and cradled my cup thinking about the day.

This was going to be a big day.

I got dressed, this time of year, surf trunks, a long sleeve t-shirt (for sun and bug protection) flip-flops and a hat are perfect. An over shirt in the morning keeps the chill off. Colorado is so beautiful, the weather is perfect. Back home, it is already 90 degrees, it's probably in the 60's here and I was loving it. I grabbed my camera and headed down to the tent where the display was. Quickly, I took the camera out and snapped my pictures. Jeff was putting the final touches on it and I knew the place was going to get crowded. After I took my pictures, I stood back and admired the work that was put into it. The display boxes alone were fantastic, the trimmings to hold in the rods, the fabric, then my mind started to drift to the actual collecting process, research and the book. The book alone was fantastic and now to actually see the display of what the book represented, it all made sense before and now?

Jeff Hatton's History of Rod Crafting Display



The display is a priceless piece of angling history.

I touched the oldest rod, one of the oldest rods known in America...

Mike and I walked back to the cabin, my head was filled with wonderful ideas of fishing.

We drove into town for some supplies and on the way back I told Mike I wanted to go fishing up in the higher reaches. We got back to the gathering and I went over to Jeff who was in the audience, listening to a presentation.

Whispering.

"Jeff, where are you sending us?"

"Go up the valley and park next to the beaver pond, walk past the airstrip and start fishing"

"Thanks"

Quickly we walked back to the truck and got moving. I got the GPS out and scanned the chip for the area in question. Mike already knew about where to go and I keyed into the final directions vectoring us to the beaver pond and airstrip.

A small plane had crashed recently. There was a couple of cars around it and people milling about, when we turned around, there was a fire truck going by but no lights and all the people left. For me, this was an easy decision.

No more flying, lot's more fishing.

I look for meaning in everything that I do and here I am finding myself in the mountains of Colorado, a flying fisherman turned fly fisher.

I'm decided right there, no more hang gliding, a huge weight lifted off of my shoulders. Jeff Hatton, you don't know it, you could have changed the course of many lives with your simple instructions.


A devil in the details

We caught fish and back at the gathering, I caught up with Jeff. He doesn't even know what was going on in my mind about hang gliding and living a fishing life but he will now.

He made these beautiful prints of a drawing he did for the Colorado Rod Makers Reunion for 2007. On the leaves of the vine, all the attendees of all gatherings until then have the individual's name. There were blank leaves and Jeff asked me if I had a pen. I have a Sage pen, it's made from a graphite piece with a Bic insert. I looked at Jeff and said, "Check it out, this is the best use for graphite!" and we both laughed. Jeff took my Sage pen and wrote my name on one of the leaves.


Gnomewerks

Later the casting contest was in full swing and we gathered around to watch the finals. After seeing so many casts and the river just beyond, I figured, I would need a drink and a little fishing so I headed back to the cabin. I looked at myself in the mirror and yikes, I was grubby, the fishing, day drinking and all, I was a mess. I took a shower, dried off and put on a pair of clean trunks, grabbed, "Angler's Bamboo" and tried to read it but fell asleep on the futon.

The nap was good, time to go fishing. Looking around in the truck, I couldn’t find my tube so I walked back to the tent and there was Mike talking with John Channer. Earlier, John had extended his hand and with a sarcastic grin said, "Hey, aren't you Mike Shay's grasshopper?" and we chit chatted a bit about the process of learning. We talked about the Stanley 9 1/2 plane and rod making.

Standing around with John and Mike, John had one of his rods in hand, I think it was the one that a panel of selected judges had critiqued. There was a panel of makers that took rods and yard cast them at different distances. They all had a paper that detailed what it was they were going to critique. The rod information was covered up, no one knew what taper it was or who made it. I asked John if I could see it and he handed it to me. The rod was very simple but quite beautiful. The work was fantastic, no blemishes, nothing out of the ordinary, just a wonderfully made bamboo fly rod. I think it was a Dickerson 8012. I stood in awe, it was another rod I wanted to own, one of John's rods, they are outstanding.

Things were just about winding down and the buzz of the last couple of days was replaced with quiet and relaxed conversations.

Dennis Higham gave a eulogy for Harold Demarest and a bottle of 25-year-old Highland Park was consumed in his memory. Harold Demarest was the pioneer for our Tonkin Bamboo imported into America. Andy had talked of his meeting with Mr. Demarest and it was very interesting for me to understand the process of importing our bamboo.

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Sunday

Time to go.

Mike and I drove to the tent to say our good byes. I found Lowell and chatted with him about web sites and forum software. I told him it was time for us to go and gave him a hug, it was sort of odd giving a guy a hug you don't really know but it just sort of felt right in an awkward way.

I said my good byes to the others and we got in the truck, hit the GPS to start the trip navigation numbers and drove off.

We quickly got out of the familiar mountains and back into journey mode.

Our conversation in the truck, nearly the same as it was on the way up, bamboo fly rod making.


A picture of me, taking a picture (Photography by Mike Shay)

Mike took a couple of small detours to check out Moab on the way as well as through Monument Valley. We were traveling through the same vista as we did on Tuesday night except this time, we could see.

The hours peeled off and we stopped in Flagstaff for a Thai dinner where it started to rain, a welcome respite before we dropped into the Valley of the Sun, a place that we have appropriately been calling hell due to the intense heat of summer.

As we drove into my neighborhood, I looked up at the GPS, 665 miles from the gathering, uhh ohh, 666 all the way in front of the house! No, too creepy, Mike pulls in the drive, 667, phew.

Welcome to hell? No, I was home. My own rod shop and my own bamboo gathering. It's just funny the way things work out.


Yikes!

Dedication

This story is dedicated to our wives, Lily Vagil, Lowel Davis, Jeff Hatton and Mike Shay.

[Bamboo Addict]

That is a great story Adam,
I will let Mike tell about the Great Western Ungathering we just got done with. He is still up here in Oregon fish yesterday and will be heading out again somewhere this morning.
David

[Zanko]

Phew let me take a breather for a sec. Ok, I feel better now. Great story, seemed like the trip was really enlightening, and a lot of fun.

[Brook Trout]

bummer...i wish we could have hooked up. that looked like fun.
_________________
"your eyeballs feel like pinballs
your tongue feels like a fish..."

[lestrout]

When is this next event? Bender'n I are planning a CO grand tour in late July and were thinking this might be a nice interlude, especially if Channer and Shay are going to be there.

tl
les

[adam]

July 10-12, 2008
Chair Mountain Ranch
Marble Colorado

Click on the first image to goto the CRR 08 web site.

I'm trying to get Shay to go, Channer is one of the guys I want to meet again too. This time, I'll have a couple of rods to show him that I made myself.

Hope to see you there too.

[aguafria]

I wanna go to dunsmuir.
and hop a train to do it.

http://www.northbankfred.com/stories.html
you can spend hours here...

[adam]

[CLICK] image, care of North Bank Fred's website and it will take you to one of my favorite stories there.

Thank you for that MGJ.

I got lost in that site, a good tramp story is liberating. The movie, "Into the Wild" touched on a taste of that life, but it was minor compared to the stories at North Bank Fred's spot.

The other day, I brought Shaymaker a little something on the jump drive, "FTRA" a two disc album. Freight Train Riders of America is awesome bluegrass, I love bluegrass, hoboes, trampin and here I sit in my lovely little bario home, lovin life...

But if you look further into FTRA, you will find something not related to the band, a little darker look at a band of men who ride the rails. I think it's urban legend, punk rock on the line.

I rode the "Sunset Limited" on one of her last runs from Phoenix to Tucson then on to New Orleans. We rode Coach and it was magnificent, I love drinking on the rails, the staccato of the rail joints, the gentle swaying from side to side and the crossing horns, it's music and Americana.

I am a dreamer indeed and twoshoes, you fueled my dreams of hobo life with that one.