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Bamboo rod building and small steam angling share one salient thing in common, success at either requires one to slow down. When I commenced building, I did just about everything too quickly. With some rods taking north of several hundred hours, this is probably not the kind of thing makers want to hear. How much slower can one work? My expeditious approach was expeditiously met with problems, some of which were easy to solve, while others were permanently embedded in the final product, glaring at me each time I looked at my rod.
When I commenced fly fishing small steams, I had little care about walking softly and slowly. My larger river tactics were ingrained in my habits. Fish face upstream and have no care about what is behind them. My quick, thundering approach resulted in less than successful outings. The world is not supportive of anything slow. We expect emails to be immediately returned and text messages to be swiftly addressed. Amazon deliveries arrive, sometimes, hours after they are placed. Many are technologically bombarded by social media and slaves to screens. But when we do slow down, magical things happen. We place ourselves in the best possible position to achieve our goals. I was reminded about this during recent work on a small stream rod. While dressing nodes with a file, I recalled previously using a sander. Sanders are faster, and they speed up an already long process. My results with sanders were not ideal. I found them to be too aggressive and difficult to handle accurately. I’ve come to prefer sanding with a series of files. It is a much slower process, but the results are worlds apart. During a recent trip to a favorite small stream, my confidence waned as I approached in my truck. It was 19 degrees out, and I had been taught that the metabolism of trout slows as it gets colder. While the water that day was warmer than 19 degrees, it was still very, very cold. Ice was forming on the banks. The water was skinny, and the banks were also covered with dry leaves and stick, which acted as burglar alarms when you approached the water. Not exactly the dog days of summer with eager, hungry trout ready to eat. So, I slowed down. I did not obsessively seek to move from pool to pool. I stopped. I concentrated on a particular stretch of water. I then moved rhythmically toward my planned casting spot. Surely, if anyone were looking, they may have mistaken me for practicing Tai Chi with a fly rod in hand, stream-side. My careful and cautious approach was rewarded with beautiful char after beautiful char. My experience at slowing down while building and fishing has resulted in a deeper, meditative state engaged in these activities. It has contributed to a richer and more authentic experience. My focus has become the process, and the journey has become the goal.
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