Class helps angler build perfect fly rod

Resslin' Around by Casey Ressler

Reel seats, graphite blanks, thread, tension devices, guides, tip tops, epoxy, things with weird names like burnishing tools . . . the list never seemed to end.

It was the first night of rod building class at 3 Rivers Fly and Tackle, and staring at the list of materials, I knew I was already way over my head, before I even touched the two sticks that would eventually become a custom rod.

On the roster of mechanical abilities, I am one rung above "trout." And now I was building a tool to catch them. Or at least I had signed up to do that. On the first night, though, my goals shifted from coming up with a gorgeous custom rod that my fishing buddies would be envious of, to simply not embarrassing myself in front of Mike Hudson, the manager of 3 Rivers and High Exalted Ruler of the Valley rod-building world. "Don't worry," he told us. "You won't screw it up on my watch." I was more worried about the time he wasn't watching.

After the first few classes, it became apparent I was actually able to do it. After a few more classes, with Hudson's expert instruction and even more importantly, his patience, my fly rod was complete, and I'll admit, I was proud of my new rod. Four other guys produced great rods as well, and as students, we didn't let Hudson down.

After the class was over, I realized that the class was as much about building a custom fishing rod as it was about being a support group for junkies. We even started out with the usual support group spiel -- "Hi, I'm Casey, and I've got a fishing problem. It's the middle of February and I've got the shakes from a lack of casting."

As the pieces went together on the graphite blank, we all talked about fishing trips of long ago -- whoppers that were landed, even bigger fish that weren't and of disastrous things we've done on fishing trips, such as breaking rods or losing them. Most were believable but a few were not, which is a good ratio when it comes to fishing stories.

The class was held at the fly shop, which is cozy to begin with, before you get four guys, Mike and five rod-building projects in there. Still, there is something about your hometown fly shop that you fall in love with -- fly fishers from Iowa will talk about theirs with as much reverence as a fly fisher from Colorado or Montana will talk about their shop.

Fly shops are unique places. There is something to be said about a fly shop where the workers know the names of 90 percent of the customers who walk through the door -- and even better, they know what rods the customers have and what they are looking for, even before the anglers do.

You can spend five minutes or five hours in a good fly shop and never have a concept of how long you've been there. Gazing at fish mounts, checking the action on an expensive rod you never intend to buy but would love to fish, and sorting through packets of maribou, flashabou and saddle hackle can be timeless for fly fishers.

That's why when I checked my watch during the last night of class, it was time to go, even though it seemed as if I just got there and started my project. Kind of like when you find yourself alone, knee-deep in a creek filled with hungry rainbows, with the sun about to go down. You know it can't possibly be time to leave, but it is.

In both occasions, you have to put your rod in the tube and head for the house. At least now, that rod is a custom rod of my own creation, and I can crack a smile of personal satisfaction on the road home.

Casey Ressler (valleylife@frontiersman.com) is the Valley Life editor.