I learned fishing as many Midwest kids do, with a bobber, worms and a Zebco rod and reel. Bullheads and bluegill were standard fare, with a big catfish as a rare prize. We had fun, and it got us outdoors and away from parents. In my early adult years, I set aside fishing for other pursuits, and only came back to it after reading Gierach and MacLean. When I did, I came back as a wanna-be fly fisherman, and not long after, as a bamboo fly fisherman.

I've always enjoyed making stuff, be it beer, wine, or bamboo flyrods. For a time, I think it was an antidote to the corporate numbers-and-concepts job I had. Something real, tangible, something that produced something useful. It’s just satisfying to create things (hopefully good things) that didn’t exist before. Of course, as any hobbyist knows, once you get involved in something, levels and levels of nuance and detail appear – it’s usually enough to bore at outsider to tears but it keeps the hobby interesting and challenging.
At the core of bamboo rodmaking though, is tapers. There’s a huge variation in available tapers, from fast to slow, from long to short, and all kinds of permutations in-between. I was lucky to attend a rod-makers gathering early-on in my “career” as a rod-builder. And aside from meeting lots of great people, I learned one very important lesson – there are lots of tapers out there that aren't any good for me. Good for others maybe, or just good in a way I can’t recognize, but no good for me. And if you’re going to spend 50 or 60 hours making a rod, you should have some reasonable expectation that the end result is going to be worth it. This realization led me to conclude that I would try not to build rods based on tapers I hadn’t cast and liked. I’ve made a few exceptions, but for the most part, I’ve stuck with that rule. That means, I think, that my rods have started to represent an identifiable “style.”
I like rods that cast with authority, rods that have the muscle to reach out when you need them to and the backbone to fight a fish if you have to. At the same time, I hate “clubby” rods, fat unresponsive broomsticks that may indeed project a complete flyline, but that do nothing to tell you what is happening on the other end of the fly line, which is one of the very most appealing characteristics of a good bamboo fly rod. Most parabolics and wet-fly rods whatever their inherent casting efficiency, require a deliberate casting stroke that doesn’t match the way I fish. On the lawn I can cast them just fine, but they don’t fit my natural stroke, which is what takes over when you’re standing in a stream thinking about the riser 25 feet above you. Somewhere between the 2 extremes is a class of rods that are light, responsive, delicate, but with power in reserve.
I look for tapers that have something “special” about them (or better, several “something specials” in the same rod): they have a unique springiness to them that adds to the feeling that the rod “casts itself”, or they have smooth power transfer which makes for tight loops and straight casts; or the rod has a reserve of power that will willingly reach out that extra 15 feet to get your fly on top of the rising fish; or it has a soft delicate touch that will drop your leader exactly in the small pocket the fish is holding in… Those are great rods.
I'm an amateur builder who only builds a few rods a year. Unless I am plain experimenting, I want to be confident that each rod I build is likely to have some special magic built into it. Otherwise, it’s not worth the investment of time and thought.
In terms of construction, I want to make every part of the rod myself. It takes much more time that way, but it makes for a very personal rod, a unique expression of my efforts, which is what I want. I can afford to do this only because I don't make rods professionally. - most of the guys who are making rods for a living have to turn out more rods than that in a year, in order to squeak out a living. These days, the only purchased items I put on my rods are Snake-brand guides and tiptops.
I hand-split my culms, and although I have made blond, flamed and brown-tone rods, I really like the mottled flamed look found on many Paul Young rods. I plane the old-fashioned way, with a Stanley 9-1/2 over steel forms. I have never used any glue but Urac 185 or Resorcinol, both of which have stood the test of time, and which contribute an extra little “punch” to the rods they hold together.
Silk wraps hold the guides on, always a main color complemented with one or 2 tipping colors. These days I prefer color-preserved wraps, although I have done it both ways. I use Snake brand bronzed guides, which in my view are the only color guides to look right on bamboo. Snake brand agate strippers are functional and beautiful, so I usually include them.
A dark Snake brand agate stripper for a flamed rod:
A pretty red agate stripper to match red wraps. The frame is bronzed to match the guides and rod hardware.

I make my own ferrules out of nickel-silver tubing, which, in my opinion are commonly better than machined ferrules. Making your own ferrules allows a maker to match ferrules to tapers, matching what the old masters did. For example, Lyle Dickerson commonly used step-down ferrules of his own making, and I have discovered it makes a perceptible difference in casting if you use some other style of ferrule.

I make my own reelseats, including an unusual hex-shaped bamboo reelseat that features hex-shaped nickel-silver components and a bamboo insert that matches the rod. These days I am finishing most of my rods with a catalyzed urethane clear-coat that makes for an even, tough, durable finish. Otherwise, it’s classic dipped spar varnish.

If you're interested in having me make you a fly rod, use the contact page to call or e-mail me. Since I only make a few rods a year, you can count on waiting 6 months or more for me to build a new rod. For instant gratification, see the "Shop Rods" page for rods available for immediate sale.