The Gift

I have a mission. It has been a number of seasons since I whiled away a few hours amid the quiet and serenity of a high mountain stream. Bright water takes many forms and personalities, but the source waters are truly special. Without the high mountain brooks there would be no Beaver Kills, Willowemocs or Delawares.

Broad Run flowed southwesterly between the mountain ridges west of Chambersburg, Pennsylvania. I remember April days with the music of the sparkling waters and the drumming of Ruffed Grouse delighting my senses.

Broad Run was my escape route. Though enthralled by the complexities of the limestone spring creeks, I would steal a warm, calm day in April to wander this tiny mountain stream. I remember those days fondly, the music of the sparkling waters and the drumming of Ruffed grouse delighting my senses as I crouched and climbed over deadfalls, sending quick, darting little casts ahead with a Fox Squirrel Special. A short bamboo rod and a size 16 dry fly from the ancient DeWitt fly box salvaged from the remains of my grandfather’s tackle – I traveled light in those sacred environs. There were days I brought fifty brookies to hand!

A Tom Smithwick one piece bamboo rod adorned with an Orvis CFO I and half a DT4 flyline, posed with one of the nice brookies from those days of mountain escapes.

My old friend Tom Smithwick surprised me last weekend with a very special gift. We had attended the celebration of the life of rodmaker Mike Canazon at the Wulff Gallery, and stole away at the end to talk. He handed me a tiny aluminum tube, saying it contained “an experimental little rod I think you might have some fun with”.

Three pieces of beautifully crafted split cane met my gaze as I slipped the green bag from that tube. Nearly weightless I thought, as I joined the fiberglass ferrules and affixed the tiny CFO reel he handed me! One cast was all I needed to know this was a Smithwick rod. I rolled the line low behind me and then rolled it forward in the cast Lee Wulff called “the oval”, and the cast travelled quick and low beneath some imagined tangle of branches to drop a perfect dry fly where brookies lurk.

I have called my friend Tom “The Taper Wizard” for many years. Cast a Smithwick rod and you will know why!

Suddenly I envisioned another of those long ago escape days. This wonder rod can be slipped in a day pack with a sandwich and water bottle to keep Grandpa Al’s DeWitt box and my CFO I company.

Where in all the Catskills shall I wander? I know the right man to ask!

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