Fly Rod So I uncorked this old fly rod this past summer and started using it at my favorite creek. It's one of those heirloom pieces that was first used by my grandfather when he was a young man. My dad used to rave on and on about the action in this old stick. Most of us thought he was just being his old self, blowing up the reality of whatever was on his mind. Be that as it may, it was his go-to rod in the Eastern Sierra.His best friend shared this gem with me...It took place in the eighties, during a float trip on the Upper Madison. The two of them were spending the day with a mild mannered and very well respected guide who was putting them on the fish. My dad decided to take this rod out and then proceeded to preach about it as though it had been touched by the hand of God himself. One would have to assume that this particular guide was not as impressed with A River Runs Through It as my father was... which led him to say, "Mike, that rod is a piece of shit."Ouch.In hindsight, that was probably the reason why I found it tucked away in my father's garage. Shamed by an elitist fly fishing guide from back in the eighties. I suspect times haven't changed much.So back to the uncorking...It turns out that this old fly rod is everything my father said it was and it has become my go-to rod whenever I fish the smaller streams up here in Montana. No joke.I will say that it brings me a great deal of joy in knowing that my father and his best friend are both watching me from above whenever I uncork this piece of shit.