But I never broke them in the usual ways. One rod tip burned off when it fell in the fire. One broke actually fighting a fish. Fenwick had a hard time believing that one, since that was the reason I always used. The more memorable ones were the strike set on a "hog" deep in under the trees where there wasn't room to set, much less cast. But I had, so I tried. Shortened the rod by about three feet. Didn't hurt the branch a bit. Climbing a screebank out of a hole, with poor footing, turned one 9' 5 wt rod into an 8 foot 7 9/32's inch 5-6 weight. If you haven't noticed, the Deschutes does not by nature have rounded or blunted rocks. One sweet little three weight had the misfortune to be held firmly in my had as I fell forward. The dunk-saving boulder caught it just below my palm, taking the reel seat and reel off cleanly below the cork. At least I could still cast, after pocketing the loose reel. Fenwick wanted to know if I had permanently shifted to butt sections. Too bad it wasn't the automatic. Even now that the blanks I buy are already sectioned by the factory, I rarely take a rod apart. Assembled rods are stored on the wall in my garage, in a rod holder in my VW van, in case I'm attacked by a fishing thing, and in full length PVC tubes in my sled. They come apart literally, only when I have to fly on an airplane. The VW van, as you might expect, has accounted for the largest number of tips. The rods are along the driver side window pointed toward the rear. Nine feet back is the storage area, loaded through the rear window. It's that simple. You never lose the fractured tip section if you keep the line rigged with a fly on the hookkeeper. It just dangles loosely on the line until it catches your eye. Just this year I was taking a friend, a novice fly fisherman, out on the Deschutes. He had the inevitable cheap, heavy, unbending fiberglass mutant thing for a rod, and was struggling with the casting mostly as a result of the rod. He was recently married, scrimping, and in good conscience had to make to most of the rod indefinitely. We were to sleep overnight in the van, so I confidently put it into the rod rack rigged. He was delighted by the convenience of the rod rack. Sure enough, in the morning, a three piece rod. I can't even remember who slept on that side. In the morning he moaned and groaned in fear and misery, but perked up when I pointed out he would have to use my spare, which he loved using anyway. He had a great trip, casting well and confidently. "What will I tell Kelley", he asked. "Tell her the truth, it broke by accident." He did, apparently, because the next week when I saw him I asked him what his wife said. "She says you did it on purpose!" Who, me,....MOI?
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