ike most youngsters who were a product on the 1940s I was an avid reader of several of the outdoor hunting and fishing magazines of that era. Field and Stream and Outdoor Life were my bedside reading materials. I’d drool over some of the fishing equipment that was advertised in those magazines.

Those were the days of the old spring steel casting rods, direct drive casting reels and cane fishing poles. That didn’t keep me from dreaming about getting one of those newfangled fancy fishing rods called a “fly rod” in my hands however.

Having friends and family in the Raleigh area it became a much-anticipated trip to Wake County each summer. For someone who was raised on the coast, the freshwater ponds and lakes of the mid-state area represented a rare treat.

The big problem was that I had little idea of how to fish in these waters. Luckily my father located a couple of older and wiser fishermen from the Raleigh area that took me under their wing and taught me something about freshwater fishing “upstate.”

It was through two of these anglers named Frank Mecham and Jimmy Brown that I learned to fish with a fly rod and learned how to use one of the very first spinnerbaits I’d ever used.

Lending me one of their old split bamboo fly rods these guys took me to a farm pond near McCullers Crossroads and gave me a few lessons on the art of “upstate fishing.” Bamboo fly rods were about standard issue in those days and the fly line and leader were about as basic as you’d expect. On the end of the four-foot long leader was tied one of those silver bladed Colorado spinners with a snap on one end that allowed you to attach a lure of your choosing. In this case the lure of their choosing was one of those black rubber spiders with white rubber legs.

All of us simply waded out into the water to where it was about crotch deep and then slowly waded along parallel to the shore as we cast and retrieved the lure in front of us. It was summer and the water felt pretty good in the mid-state heat. For me it was nice not to have to worry about stepping on crabs, stingrays or wrapping a stinger-nettle (jelly fish) around my legs.

After many tangles in the line I began to get a little of the knack of casting with the fly rod and could cast maybe 30 feet with it without tangling or catching the lure in some bank side brush. On Mecham and Brown’s suggestions I simply retrieved the lure slowly along the bottom with just enough movement in it to cause the spinner to rotate on its shaft and the spider to wiggle its legs around a little. It was a good choice of lures because we caught an icebox of nice brim that afternoon.

Apparently my benefactors liked my fishing ability and I found myself on the other end of the guest list a few months later when these guys visited my home waters in Beaufort County and rented a cabin from Blainey’s Fishing Camp at Blount’s Creek. They put a cot in the kitchen for me to sleep on and set about enjoying the sportsman’s life down east.

Being considerably younger than these adults from Wake County I was given the privileges of washing dishes and rowing their boat each day. Most of the time I just observed their fishing tactics and listen to their tall tales of how good the fishing was in their “good old days.” Most of these “old timer’s stories” were told to me as the men whiled away the evenings over a lot of liquid refreshment that I wasn’t allowed to share.

That was probably a good thing because one of these guys in particular was prone to wanting to go out night fishing each evening after he’d consumed several of his nerve tonics.

Again it fell my lot in life to paddle and row the skiff while he fished all around the bridge at Blount’s Creek. Actually I spent about as much time getting his hooks out of the gill nets that were set around the bridge each evening.

During one of our midnight fishing trips the angler was tangled up in the gill net a few times too many and said, “Let’s just forget the casting and get us a mess of fish out of this net. Whoever set it here probably doesn’t care anyway.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea” I told my elder but he didn’t listen. I even tried to explain that no matter how they do things like fishing somebody else’s net upstate, it wasn’t done down-east where we were fishing now. “Nobody cares he growled at me as he untangled yet another mullet from the net.”

I nearly jumped overboard when the beam of a powerful spotlight shined on us from the base of the bridge. “What in the H--- do you guys think you’re doing in my net. The man yelled at us. “Come over here to the bank right now or I’ll shoot you. It’s against the law to fish somebody else’s net”

The net belonged to Blainey himself and he was hopping mad at us for our midnight run along his gill net. Luckily he cooled-off when he realized that the adult in the boat was “in his cups” and was also one of his client at the cabins. It probably helped to cool Blainey down a little when he realized that the youngster in the boat was scared to death that we were about to be arrested or, worse yet, shot. It was a good thing that I’d brought along a spare pair of underwear to the Blount’s Creek camp.

After a firm talking-to we were allowed to row back to the dock and I managed to get my fisherman back into the cabin and to bed for the night. Luckily, the next morning Blainey was laughing about the incident and the upstate angler didn’t even remember what had happened.

A few months later one of the men presented me with a gift of a brand new white fiberglass, Shakespeare fly rod and reel. I still have that old rod in my rod locker and whenever I come across it I think of my first lessons at fly rodding up in Wake County.

The collection of fly rods now contains mostly high-tech graphite fly rods and sophisticated fly reels that have adjustable drags and slick lines attached. I wish that I’d had enough foresight to have held onto some of the old split bamboo fly rods like I’d learned to fish with. Those things are collector’s items these days and one, in good condition, is worth a lot of money.