Addiction: The Beginnings (another long one)

[Tom]

When I first started I backpacked with the heaviest of packs. It wasn’t necessarily the pack’s weight, but rather the contents. I carried a lot of canvas items, several parts for a Sterno stove, and the Sterno cans. My food was usually fairly fresh and my sleeping bag was a family car camping sack of rocks. Strapped to the outside of my pack was a Garcia freshwater fishing rod. I used short, nylon cord strips to tie the pole to the pack and I had two socks tied to ‘D’ rings near the pole. In one sack I had a small Mitchell spinning reel and in the other I had tackle that included a bottle of Pautzke’s green lidded salmon eggs. I carried a small can of Crisco cooking oil and a small frying pan for the fish I would eat.

After a couple of years I started noticing what other backpackers carried and used. With my part time job money I bought a new White Stag, down sleeping bag. I also found that packs could be lighter and nylon was a magical new material. My first externally framed pack was a Himalayan. The pack had slick brochures attached to it that had smiling people bounding over hills in the Big Sur area. The campaign slogan that still sticks out is: “Our packs will turn your dead weight into live weight”. I fell for the whole slick sales package. I pictured myself floating over the trail with a lighter than air pack full of modern wilderness tools.

The one thing that I lusted after (and needed) was a compact stove. Pico’s Sporting goods in downtown Lompoc had a small corner of their store dedicated to backpacking. In that corner was a Svea stove. This beautiful, exotic, foreign device was calling my name. My 16th birthday was coming up and I left many hints around that the stove would be perfect for a young man that was into wilderness travel. Every time we went downtown I forced a side trip to Pico’s. The people that ran the store became quite familiar with me and my family. My brothers were sick of my obsession. I was the odd brother. Why didn’t I hang out in the baseball area of the store? Was I deranged? Was I a Communist? No, I just enjoyed backpacking and fishing for those funny little trout in those funny little streams. And I couldn’t imagine doing all that without a compact, white gas burning stove.

My birthday finally arrived. The small pile of presents did not show any promise, by shape or size, of being a stove. My dreams were as close to being shattered as any mountain man’s could be shattered. My Dad was almost apologetic as he handed me a flat, semi-soft package. He said that he had gotten it while on a trip to San Francisco earlier in the year. I tried to be enthused as I ripped the wrapping off of the strangely shaped offering.

It was a brown case that contained a backpacker’s fishing rod. The side of the case said, in gold letters, South Bend. I unzipped the case and slid the 6 pieces of fiberglass fishing rod out and onto the table. A new world was opening up and I was having trouble comprehending. It had never crossed my mind that I needed another fishing ‘pole’. This one was completely different than anything I had ever seen. It was dark gold/orange with brown wrapping around the ferrules. The handle was the strangest part. My Dad said that it was set up so that I could put a spinning reel on one part of the handle and a fly reel (“Whatever that was”) on the other part. My mind was spinning with the possibilities of this small set up that could actually break down and fit into my pack. I had forgotten about the stove and my hidden bitterness of not getting the dream machine. I started talking a million miles an hour to anyone that would listen. I knew just how to make this whole thing work. My beat up Herter’s catalogue had fly fishing equipment. The stuff that looked light and, compared to what I had been using, looked exotic.

After a couple of minutes of my exuberance my brothers started making noise about not opening their gift to me. Without showing it, I irritably diverted my attention from the new fishing stuff to the gift that they stuck in front of me. They were grinning and from the size and shape of the crudely (but with love) wrapped boxed I just knew that I was getting a couple of baseballs for my birthday. With the thought that they were in a conspiracy to normalize their older brother bothering me, I ripped the bright red paper off of the gift. Appearing out of the wrapping carnage was my stove. Now I was grinning and, to the disgust of both the younger boys, they got a bear hug each.

Within a couple of weeks I was in possession of, thanks to Grandma’s birthday money, a brand new Pfleuger Medalist fly reel. With the addition of fly line, leaders, tippet material and a few store–bought flies, I was set. I could fill my new pack with food, sleeping bag and fishing gear and be self sufficient for weeks at a time in the Sierra Nevada wilderness areas.

[Dry Fly Rie]

Your post is a great read! I thoroughly enjoyed it and could definitely feel your passion for the outdoors. It reminded me of past birthdays and the special feelings of getting gifts that were much sought after and later appreciated. Thanks for sharing.

[1mocast]

WOW! What a great read. I can't wait for the next chapter.

[flybob]

Tom, that actually brought tears to my eyes!

Thanks for reminding me how it is the simple things in life that really mean the most!

I look forward to your next installment!

bob

[Tom]

Thanks for the feedback. Work is a little rough as we are changing systems over to this century and this seems to be good therapy. In a week I will be in the Sierra with a pack and a rod and that is the best therapy.

[Dry Fly Rie]

Wow, amazing picture!

[stanbery]

Very nice read.

Jon

[Sasha]

Good stuff!

[Artin]

Very good post Tom.

Takes me back to my teenage years!

Artin

[briansII]

Wow, that was good.

Like others, it brought back fond memories of my childhood. My first BB gun at Christmas. Or saving my lawn mowing/car washing money for my first ultralight spinning outfit bought at Western Auto. Thanks for rustling the cobwebs.

briansII

[WanderingBlues]

Tom, your photo's are a fine compliment to your ability to weave a tale. Thanks for jumping on board!