"Casting a Spell": History of fishing's perfect fly rod

"Casting a Spell: The Bamboo

Fly Rod and the American Pursuit of Perfection"

by George Black

Random House, 244 pp., $23.95

George Black did not pick up a fly rod until after his 40th birthday. Born in Scotland in 1949, he studied modern languages at Oxford University, then was a journalist and editor in the United States for more than 25 years. His first three books were histories of contemporary issues. But his fourth, "The Trout Pool Paradox: The American Lives of Three Rivers," and now his fifth book turn toward rivers, fishing and the passion of people who revere them.

At first glance, it seems unlikely anyone could write an entire book about bamboo fly rods. His isn't the first, however, so I was curious to learn what might fill so many pages. Like John McPhee, who travels far and wide to visit places and people and sends back fascinating reports, Black hits the road from Maine to Montana while tracing the history and tradition of angling with expensive sticks and fake bugs.

His training in language and literature, his eye for detail as an editor and journalist, not to mention his thorough delight in "a useful thing, beautifully made" all stand him in good stead as he fishes and consults with rod makers in New England and other locales.

He begins his tale about the time of the English Civil War, when well-to-do British gentlemen "began to develop the modern concept of organized leisure." They were making bamboo rods by 1800, and by the 1860s, Americans were, too.

First came Hiram Lewis Leonard of Maine, and from the start the conflicting demands of a rod's strength and delicacy required exacting workmanship, a pursuit of perfection. Black describes the series of men who guardedly passed along their skills to apprentices (to this day, women don't seem to be involved with rod building — or at least Black doesn't mention any, although a few are noted as expert fly casters). He also considers beveling equipment, bumpy business partnerships, steps of producing rods, and sources for bamboo (called "cane") as he traces the history of the bamboo fly rod up to the present.

A single economic conundrum has always plagued the craft: No matter how much a rod costs, its price rarely reaps its maker a profit. After World War II, fiberglass and an embargo of the world's best Chinese cane threatened to wipe out the tiny American industry. A few die-hards hung on, however, using old and/or circuitously acquired bamboo. Surprisingly, when cheap graphite rods seemed to answer a need for affordable entry-level equipment in the 1960s, they also "helped to spark a traditionalist backlash from bamboo addicts."

Now there's a huge secondary market as collectors and people with more money than sense pay thousands of dollars for both antique and new rods. And the Chinese, who still control the trade in Sui River Valley cane (the world's best, according to Black) may join other makers worldwide in competition with Americans. Bring 'em on, Black says, welcoming progress.

"In the final analysis," he writes, "my rod was only a tool for catching fish — although that was something you could also say of dynamite."