We met at the camp the other day; it was mid-July. There was ample sunshine and a cooling breeze. Not too warm for this time of year. We were four, the last of seven; the other four were gone. We sat round the picnic table, visiting about our old friends, the river, fishing and the lack of fly hatches.
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We met at the camp the other day; it was mid-July. There was ample sunshine and a cooling breeze. Not too warm for this time of year. We were four, the last of seven; the other four were gone. We sat round the picnic table, visiting about our old friends, the river, fishing and the lack of fly hatches.
I asked how many of the other three had smartphones; all said no. Then I asked who was on social media; three more nos. And, of course, I don’t have a smartphone, or indulge myself with any of the social media sites. So here we are, a group of older men, who grew up in another time, who did not need or require any of today’s technology to get along.
How, then, did we manage, all those years ago, to entertain ourselves? You know, to have fun?
First of all, there was no hanging around the house during summer recess. Mom shooed us out the door immediately after breakfast, with orders to be home for dinner. Can you believe that there were no cellphones to keep track of us, for the eight or 10 hours we were gone?
So instead of vegetating on cellphones or iPads and texting friends, we would be off fishing, playing ball, picking berries, making soapbox racers, or chasing minnows in a local brook. All good times, without a single electronic device to aid or distract us.
In some of today’s circles, probably most, we might be considered misfits; perhaps malcontents. We definitely would not fit in with today’s hi-tech, electronics-driven society.
Of all the things that we did as lads to occupy our time, fishing was the number-one priority. Looking back, I believe that all of us became addicted at a very young age. At first we fished for sunnies and bluegills in local ponds, then bass with bobbers in nearby lakes. Eventually we heard about trout fishing, and someone, either our fathers or a family friend, took us to a nearby brook to fish for wild brook trout. Brook trout were pretty easy to catch using worms, though I did not land one, that first season.
At the time we were growing up, Trout Unlimited was just getting started, with the first chapter founded in Michigan in1959. Today there are 387 chapters nationwide. So we did not have that organization to turn to for guidance with fly fishing.
In addition there were few, if any, fly fishing schools around at the time. Perhaps Orvis had one in Vermont. If there were schools, none of us likely would have had the means to attend. Instead there were rod and gun clubs, like the Southern New York Sportsmen, that met in White Plains at the county center, which we turned to for help.
Southern New York had members like Bob Zigsby, Herb Howard, Dave Young and Irv Lacy. All those men were mentors to any young man who showed interest in fly tying and fly fishing. In fact, it was Bob Zigsby who helped me purchase my first fly-tying vise, a Thompson Model B, which I still have. It cost $3.50 at the time, and has a big red knob that is turned to tighten the jaws in order to hold the hook. Bob also helped me purchase my first bamboo fly rod, a seven-and-a-half-foot Orvis Madison. Bob knew Wes Jordan, head bamboo-rod maker at Orvis, so I paid a mere $50 for the rod, which included a new fly line.
That rod served me well for over 30 years. It came with me to Montana, where it fished the Bitterroot, Blackfoot and Clark Fork rivers, along with Lolo and Rock Creeks. And, of course, all the major Catskill rivers. Sadly, it fell from a canoe while I was fishing the main stem Delaware near Bouchoux Brook with a friend several years ago. A heartbreaking and sentimental loss.
All of these men were from the old school. They wore checked wool shirts, L.L. Bean packs and smoked either pipes or cigarettes. Most hunted grouse and deer during the fall. Herb Howard invented a series of hackle pliers in different sizes, which now are very valuable, if one can find a pair. Herb also developed a line of pre-waxed, 6/0 “Herb Howard” thread. I still have several spools, some 60 years later. It’s the best thread ever and the only thread that I use.
Those men were my mentors, and I’m sure that my three friends sitting around camp on that July day with me also had mentors. Folks who took them fishing and exposed them to fly fishing. Bob, Herb, Dave and Irv are long gone now. As is the Southern New York Sportsmen organization. At the time they were the old guard, men of the Theodore Gordon, Rube Cross, Darbee and Dette era. The last to teach their craft to eager young men. Now folks learn about fly fishing from guides, fishing schools and YouTube.
Sadly, they won’t have and cannot have the experiences we had growing up, being tutored by the Zigsbys, Howards, Youngs and Lacys. That’s the way it is, in this hi-tech, high-speed world, where cellphones are in hand even in the middle of the Beaver Kill. There is no escape, even in Mecca. We’re the old guard now.
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