A few years ago, I started looking for a new saltwater rod. Here in New England, I do a fair amount of salt water fishing. That means a lot of long nights, a lot of punching into the wind, and a lot of trying to huck a big fly a long ways with a backcast hampered by rock, estuary grass, or sand.
There's one guarantee in fishing: you're going to be near and, often, in the water. Even if you're not wading, conditions change quickly, bringing water from above as well as below. When I was a kid, my grandfather used to joke that there was one guarantee for our annual canoeing and fishing trip in Maine: It was going to rain. Hard.
Click...Click...Click click click... "Dammit!" We've all been there: clippers that have been dulled by the elements. The only thing that is worse is pliers that have been rusted by use that they're hard to close or open. The scenario when you have a fish at the boat, or in the net, and your pliers don't work? A nightmare.
Fads sweep sports like blight to a crop, or like rain to a field. The pattern is one we've all seen many times: early adopters become evangelicals that spread their enthusiasm with infectious energy, good cheer, and the promise of something new. For mountain biking, it was, briefly, single speeds, for skiing telemark and, for beer, the taste of hops.
In preparing for my trip to the Gaspé Peninsula, I was planning on searching for two types of tail: Atlantic salmon, and striped bass. I needed a reel whose drag system was strong enough to stop a Gaspe salmon, and durable enough to withstand nights in the surf and hours on dirt roads. Moreover, I wanted something that looked good: something a bit classic, and bit modern, but not custom.