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Split-bamboo fly rods are better than they’ve ever been.
I first heard this observation from rodmaker John
Bradford, a man not known for hyperbole, and it’s hard
to argue. Today’s craftsmen have more than 150 years’
worth of collective experience to draw on, plus the
advantages of 21st century glues and varnishes. For
once, tradition meets high tech with a happy outcome.
As the name implies, a split-bamboo rod is made
from strips of bamboo, called “splines,” that are
cut from a stalk, or “culm,” of bamboo. The joints
themselves are called nodes. The strips are then
tapered using either a milling machine or, if you want
it to take longer, a hand plane and an adjustable form.
Afterward, the segments are glued together into a six-
sided shaft.
This method was developed in the mid-1800s and
gives a craftsman control over the rod’s taper, which
determines the way the rod imparts energy to the fly
line during the cast. And in fly-casting, that action is
everything. Rodmakers work to tolerances of a few thou-
sandths of an inch on each spline, and a few thousandths
one way or the other can mean the difference between a
magnificent casting instrument and a broomstick.
For the better part of a century, split bamboo was the
benchmark for fly rods. In many cases, aficionados can
trace an apostolic succession from one shop to the next
as apprentices left to start their own companies. Think
of Hiram Leonard, who began producing split-bamboo
rods shortly after the Civil War. He taught Edward Payne,
who then opened his own business, E.F. Payne Rod Co.,
where he passed on the craft to his son Jim, who then took
over and continued to build bamboo rods until 1968. The
lineage of others, such as F.E. Thomas, Goodwin Granger,
Pinky Gillum, and Everett Garrison, can be followed in a
similar way.
By the 1960s, bamboo’s popularity had faded with
the advent of fiberglass and, later, graphite materials
that are lighter, more durable, and easier to manufac-
ture. But the obituaries for split bamboo were as pre-
mature as those for vinyl records. Collectors honed
in on the period from about 1920 to 1950, a stretch
known as the “Golden Age,” and they began to sense
a fortune in those classics that could still sometimes be
found cheap at yard sales and flea markets as “old fishin’
poles.” Some of these rods can sell for $3,000 to $5,000.
I’ve seen extremely rare ones priced at $10,000 or more.
Meanwhile, those who continued to fish bamboo, as well
as the craftsmen who made their rods, remained a small
but vital fishing subculture.
When you consider the daunting amount of time
and painstaking handwork that goes into a bam-
boo rod (South Creek Ltd.’s Mike Clark once told
me it takes him 40 hours to make one, and he bangs
them out as quickly as anyone I know), it’s not sur-
prising that bamboo fly rods have become luxury
items. Some rodmakers even find themselves in the
awkward position of their wares becoming collect-
ible while the craftsmen themselves are still alive and
working. Hoagy Carmichael, one of the authors of
A Master’s Guide to Building a Bamboo Fly Rod, was
annoyed when he saw his rods go straight from the
shop into a glass case without ever being fished.
Others took it in stride. When Michigan rodmaker
Bob Summers learned a client had bought a rod
at the going rate only to turn around and sell it for
considerably more to a collector, he shrugged and
raised his prices.
The price tag is inevitably part of any discussion
of bamboo fly rods, and often it’s the opening salvo.
Fishermen usually ask me, “Why go to R.L. Winston,
Thomas & Thomas, Tom Morgan Rodsmiths, or Tellico
River Rods for bamboo costing thousands when I can
get a serviceable graphite rod starting around $300
or $400?”
It’s a fair question with a vague answer. Part of it is
the way we value the Yankee Workshop-like tradition
of fine handwork done with what we now consider to
be primitive tools, as well as the antique virtues of skill
and patience.
But there’s also some unapologetic nostalgia at work
here. Bamboo fly rods can recall a time when life was sim-
pler, fish bigger (and more numerous), and fishermen
fewer and farther between. Or so we like to imagine.
For others, it’s the material itself. Bamboo is a speciesThe nostalgic, quasi-religious,
near-irrational appeal
of the most expensive cane you
can cast. By John GierachSome
Fishermen
Prefer
Bamboo
A 4-weight
bamboo
rod from
Tom
Morgan
RodsmithsCOURTESY TOM MORGAN RODSMITHSGOODS Bloomberg Pursuits August 12, 2019