Back in my fly-fishing days (long gone), I really got into the gear of the sport. This is another of those last little refuges of no-holds-barred craftsmanship. There were (and I guess still are) a few guys who still built the traditional style of rods, painstakingly crafted from Tonkin cane. Each one is a masterpiece representing long hours of uncompromising work . In the hands of someone who really knows how to handle one, they’re considered the ultimate instrument.
Now, the plain fact is that I had no business owning something like that. I could barely get the most out of the stock rods I was already using. But I really, really wanted one anyway. In retrospect, it was greed/ego that drove that desire. I felt that this beautiful thing would somehow bring me closer to greatness. I would have pride in owning such a thing. It would empower me.
I wouldn’t have acknowledged any of that at the time (we usually don’t acknowledge this kind of thing). I couldn’t really afford such a rod, but I scraped together the money anyway. I actually had to plead my case with the builder for why I should be favored with such a thing (I just made up a bunch of BS). One year later, it was delivered.
Yes, it was beautiful. But after the first couple of uses, I had to admit that it was way beyond me to coax the magic from it. I was still just a mediocre caster. Owning it now felt like a reproach. I put it back in its case and never used it again. I had seen my greed.