©2005 By Matt Alibozek

My step-grandfather Ellwood started taking me fishing when I was about twelve years old. He would pick me up at 6:00 a.m. sharp and we would be off to one of our favorite local small streams to see if we could catch some trout. In those days, we both used bait (small garden worms or angleworms), which Ellwood dug from his garden with a pitchfork because he didn’t want to cut them in half with a spade.

He taught me to fish bait with a fly rod the way he was taught many years ago as a child in central Maine. Fish upstream to the seam; let it drift back down past you until the bait was hanging downstream. Flip the whole rig back upstream and follow the drift again and again. If it stopped in mid-drift, you gently set the hook.

We caught countless trout using this method, and later, when I started using flies, I applied the lessons I learned on those early mornings to my own nymph fishing.

Ellwood always used an old, nameless nine-foot bamboo fly rod that I thought was way too heavy to hold all day long and old-fashioned, too. I wanted the latest and greatest space-age tackle, and in those days (mid-1970’s) the best rods were fiberglass. Graphite hadn’t made its way to the Berkshires yet.

I ended up with an 8 ½ foot 5/6-weight Garcia Conolon Two-Star, which was finished entirely in a light cobalt blue. Reel seat and all. A hideous, loud cobalt blue. That rod felt great though, I admit. I loved it and fished it virtually every day in season.

One morning we were fishing the cold, clear upper reaches of Dry Brook in Cheshire and we split up as usual to fish different parts of the brook. I started down the bank and lost my footing, tumbled down the hill and into the creek. When I pulled myself up and out of the water I realized I was left holding the butt of a shattered fly rod! A great big lump formed in my throat. My favorite (and only) rod was gone! I started off to find Ellwood with tears blurring my vision. How was I going to fish that day? We had just started.

Ellwood calmly told me not to worry, the glass rod could be repaired and he had a spare that I could use for the morning. Out of his trunk he produced another nine-foot bamboo rod (a Montague) and handed it to me. I was afraid I was going to break it because I was under the impression that old bamboo rods were brittle. I had seen the evidence many times at tag sales and at used sporting goods shops. All the bamboo rods had broken tips or clumsy repairs.
Ellwood put me at ease right away.

“Most rods are broken by slamming them in trunks or car doors, or by stepping on them,” he said. “A fish won’t break a rod. Just be careful.”

So off we went back to the brook.

The first thing I noticed about the rod was the weight. It felt tip-heavy and much different than my glass rod. It was much more sensitive, though. I could feel the lead ticking bottom much better, and when the first trout bit I felt that, too. Playing the fish was a revelation. It seems I could sense every move the fish made. In the sunlight, the varnished bamboo gleamed with a warm, natural aura. It looked just right beside a sun-dappled mountain stream. I wanted a bamboo fly rod of my own someday.

Even at the age of or twelve I could feel the sense of tradition and elegance associated with bamboo. When I held an old rod, I was fishing with something that was made by hand and lovingly used by someone for many years before me. That’s a lot of karma built into the rod, and it’s another one of the reasons I still use good old bamboo rods. I feel a connection to the previous owner, the maker and to the traditions of fly fishing itself.

When I was old enough to afford nice equipment, I searched everywhere for reasonably priced cane rods that would cast the way I liked. There weren’t too many out there. I knew enough to stay away from cheap domestic production models and those from “Occupied Japan.” They were useless as fishing tools because they simply could not cast. I tried a few and learned a lot. Those cheap old rods were heavy and “whippy.” Many fishermans’ impressions of bamboo being floppy and easily broken were based on their experiences with these clubs, but I quickly learned better.

My favorites, and the ones I was always looking for were the mid-range rods from reputable tackle companies: Orvis, Heddon, F.E. Thomas, Granger, Phillipson, DeBell, and certain South Bend rods. These were the ones that I liked to cast, and they fit my budget. Most of them were under $500.00. I know it sounds like a lot, but have you seen the prices of top-of-the-line graphite rods lately?

Every once in a while I would hear about a rod for sale or the local tackle shop would have one on consignment. I cast them and learned what I liked. Sometimes I learned a little bit of the history of the rod, and sometimes I would have to wonder.

At times I feel like I’ve rescued an old rod from obscurity or neglect and have given it a new life. I still cherish an old restored 8-foot Heddon that once belonged to the owner of a local funeral parlor. He was said to be a real “stuffed shirt” kind of guy, pompous and self-important. I was told he fancied himself an elite expert fly fisherman, but those who saw him fish said he was inept and foul-tempered. Nowadays, you would probably refer to him as a “poser.” He often fished with bait when he thought no one was looking.

“The Undertaker’s Rod” lay in storage for over 60 years before it was sold to me. I like to think that old Heddon is finally happy to be out fishing again with a new owner who appreciates it after all these years. I can almost feel a reciprocal admiration between the rod and myself every time I fish it. It turns out the undertaker didn’t ruin it with his bad temper because it casts and fishes beautifully. It likes me.

I noticed another benefit of bamboo rods when I came down with a painful case of tennis elbow recently. I honestly didn’t know if I was going to be able to cast, but the easy, swinging motion and the fact that with cane, you use your wrist more instead of your entire arm to cast made it possible. The rod does most of the work for you. Sure, it’s heavier than graphite, but it’s also more forgiving.

Graphite rods will cast farther and with more authority sometimes, but bamboo will lay down a dry fly as lightly as a dandelion seed. If you fish the Housatonic, Deerfield, Swift or Farmington Rivers this is a feature that will come in handy when fishing dries over picky fish.

Where bamboo really shines, though, is in the shorter lengths and lighter weights. There is simply no better tool to fish a small stream with than a 6 ½ to 7 foot, 3 or 4 weight. It loads easier on those essential short casts and with less line. You can make an effective 6-foot cast with a little bamboo. A cane rod will do that because the supple tip will flex more and the weight of the cane builds a little momentum allowing you to cast just the leader. I’ve always had a hard time casting in close with graphite.

The short bamboo rod has totally revolutionized my fly fishing. I used to dream about big-name rivers like the Madison or the Delaware, but now when I think about trout fishing, I’m more apt to picture a small mountain stream in a deep forest tumbling over moss-covered stones. The relaxed pace of bamboo has slowed me down enough so that I can appreciate my surroundings and realize that it’s not all about the “body count,” or about how many huge fish you’re lip-ripping. The fishing itself has its own rewards.

I will warn you about bamboo: Once you start fishing it, and buying rods, you will become addicted. You will want to learn more about it, and the more you learn, the more fascinating it becomes. There’s a cane rod for every purpose and for every casting style out there, and you will no doubt be compelled to try them all and see for yourself what you like. There is no cure.