The Season of Reflection
By Joel Anderson
Thinking back over my career as a fly fisherman, fly tier, and more recently as bamboo fly rod maker, there have been many individuals who have influenced my progression. Some of these personalities I’ve known only through their writing. Others I have had the extreme pleasure with which to share a stream. They have all taught me so much, and I am infinitely grateful for their lessons. But no two fishermen have had a more profound affect on my own maturation process as a fly fisherman than the two gentlemen to whom I'd like to pay tribute in this essay. Interestingly, their lessons had less to do with fishing tactics and more to do with their innate ability to inspire, nurture, and encourage others to success. It’s also interesting to note that both fishermen were teachers by trade.
Part I
I met the first fisherman on a well-known Maine river on a bright spring day. He stood out from the crowd because he was the only one consistently hooking fish. I watched in amazement as he landed one fish after another, unceremoniously releasing the salmon, which demonstrated to me that enjoying such success was not an uncommon experience for him. Watching him intently from a distance, it was easy to see that this gentleman exuded pure class. He was obviously nymph fishing, but in the old, short-lining, indicator-free style. I was watching him closely as I passed by his spot, and to my amazement, he waved me over. Most successful fishermen you meet on the stream are reluctant to share their secrets, but not this gentleman. In a very soft spoken, gentlemanly manner, he introduced himself as Dave Ledlie. His handshake was slight due to the effects of arthritis, but he obviously didn’t allow it to stop him from enjoying a day on the river.
Dave enthusiastically offered me his spot, which I refused, but I did asked about his tactics that were so successful. He grabbed his leader and showed me a tiny pheasant tail nymph tethered to the business end a very fine tippet. You have to take into account that this was back in the 80’s and very few Maine fly fishermen employed nymphing tactics in those days. As rare as nymph fisherman were at that time, those that fished tiny size 18-20 patterns that are so commonly used today were practically non-existent.
“But how the hell are you getting that thing down?” I quizzed.
“Well”, he said softly with a wry smile, “I cheat a little bit.” He then showed me a small split shot clamped strategically a few inches above the tiny pheasant tail nymph. Given his last name, I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised.
I learned two of the most important lessons of my young fishing career: the incredible effectiveness of small nymphs, and much more importantly, how to treat other fishermen you encounter on the river.
The next time Dave and I crossed paths was on the same river during a caddis hatch. Dave once again was enjoying his typical success and I just looked on in amazement. Dave again waved me over and shared his tactics with me. This time 18-20” brook trout were feeding actively on caddis pupa in the surface film, and Dave was matching the hatch quite effectively with a simple deer hair pattern, similar to a smaller version of a Devil Bug, sans the chenille underbody. Dave is a rare breed of reluctant fly tier, only doing so out of necessity and typical Maine frugality. His flies, by his own admission, were crude (probably as a result of arthritis), but his fishing technique was flawless. Unfortunately, the deer hair lashed to the size 18 or 20 dry fly hooks filled in the hook gap so Dave missed several huge brookies while I stood there watching, with my jaw hanging in the water. I had never seen such over-sized brook trout! I went home that night and devoured Gary LaFontaine’s “Caddisflies”, and for the first time, I gained an appreciation for the importance of caddis pupa to both trout and fly fisherman.
A real life renaissance man, Dave is a fly fishing historian, a world traveler, a botanist, an entomologist, a wonderful story teller, and above all else, a true gentleman from whom we could all learn a lesson on how to treat others. Each encounter with Dave was a life lesson. Thanks for the education and inspiration, Dave. Your kindness will never be forgotten.
[page_break]
Part II
Joseph Grigely’s world is completely quiet. He lost most of his hearing as an infant, as the result of a high fever. As if fate had been cheated, what little hearing he did have left was taken from him at age 10 when, while playing with friends, a stick punctured his ear. At the time he couldn’t understand why his friends all seemed to be yelling at him, but everything around him was perfectly silent.
Life for a deaf teenage boy growing up in Western Massachusetts trying to attend conventional schools was challenging for Joe, and he often felt isolated. He sought refuge in one of the few venues where hearing didn’t matter: fishing. His parents were indulgent of his need to be streamside. They often allowed him to play hooky from school to go fishing and they fed his insatiable appetite for fishing knowledge with outdoor magazines. Born with an artist’s brain, Joe early on understood the beauty that is fly fishing and quickly immersed himself in the sport. He taught himself to tie flies at about the same time.
As he grew older, he learned to take advantage of the lack of audio distractions in his life. As a result of his loss of hearing, Joe developed a sense of concentration and visual acuity that most of us will never approach. He views everything as art. Naturally, as both an artist and a fisherman, he developed a love affair with one of the most beautiful and useful items the sporting world has ever known, the bamboo fly rod.
He pursued an education in art and eventually became a professor of visual arts and an internationally known artist. Although he speaks very well, his communications with the world of the hearing usually takes place on scraps of paper and Joe often turns these "conversations" into a form of art.
Joe views the world much differently than most people. Most interestingly, he doesn’t view his lack of hearing as a handicap, but instead he believes that his silient world has eliminated many of the distractions with which the hearing world must contend. He truly believes that his deafness has enabled him to concentrate on his chosen disciplines at a level that most will never achieve. During a candid communication one day, he told me that if given a choice, he would choose to remain deaf.
Joe changed my own world in a profound way when we met in 2006. Joe had made a pilgrimage from Chicago to the Rangeley region with a loftier purpose than simply pursuing brook trout and landlocked salmon with a fly rod. As an aficionado of Ken Crocker bamboo fly rods, Joe had it in his mind to fish these beautiful cane rods in their place of origin, the Kennebago region
When the camp owner approached my group that fall and asked that we provide a little guidance to one of his out of state guests, we were naturally a little reluctant. When he further explained he was also deaf, well, how would you have reacted? But Joe quickly became integral part of our group. Naturally inquisitive, Joe’s questions were incessant. He has a innate need to get know individuals much deeper than the superficial level that satisfies most people. He seems to be on a constant mission to try to discern what it is that makes each person tick, to discover their true escense.
My first experience with well-made bamboo fly rods was with the arsenal of cane Joe had brought with him from Chicago, safely tucked in a gun case. He had no fewer than 20 rods in tow, and that was only “part” of his vast collection. His rod collection spans a variety of makers, including Paul Young, Bob Sumners, Orvis and John Pickard. Prior to this opportunity, my only experience with bamboo was with a piece of junk that left me uninspired. Thanks to Joe, I had the opportunity to cast original cane rods by makers of historical importance, such as Young and Sumners. I was blown away by the Paul Young Perfectionist and Martha Marie tapers. Suddenly, after never given a second thought about the prospect of owning a cane rod, I too was bitten by the bamboo bug. I had to have one.
That winter I began my search online for an affordable cane rod. I came across a course offered in Falmouth by Lon Blauvelt and Kelley Baker where you could make your own bamboo rod for about the same cost of a secondhand, second-rate bamboo rod. I thought, “What the heck?” and I quickly enrolled. I figured even if I didn’t want to pursue rod making after the class, I’d still have a rod with my name on it as the maker, and wouldn’t Joe be impressed?
Building that first rod was an incredibly rewarding experience and rod making has quickly became ingrained in my way of life. That class was in the summer of 2007 and I’m now on rod #40. Looking back, I can now acknowledge that first rod was a cosmetic mess. But the only one more proud than myself was Joe when I finally got the opportunity to show him the rod that fall. I’m sure he too could see the cosmetic flaws, but he could not have been more encouraging with his praise. Since that day he has been one of my biggest fans and it was with an strong sense of pride that in the fall of 2009 I presented him with a rod I had made.
Joe has an incredible ability to inspire and nurture others. One day we shared a spot wading at the inlet to a famous Rangeley pond. I was fortunate that evening to enjoy some success, landing a couple of sizeable brook trout. As we walked together through the mud at the end of the evening back to shore, with darkness growing around us, he patted me on the back and said, “You did good out there tonight, Joel!” Simple words. Huge impact.
On another day he said to me, “You know, Joel, I’ve known some fine fly casters, some great fly tiers, and some wonderful rod builders in my day, but no one puts it all together like you do.” Coming from a man who was friends with and fished with Fran Betters, those words were easily the nicest compliment I've ever received as a fly fisherman.
Thank you for your kind words and inspiration, Joseph. You have no idea how much your influence has affected my life. I strive everyday to live up to both your example and my own expectations, and perhaps, in some small way, pay it forward.