I removed my headset, stowed it,
and turned up the volume on the cockpit speaker. We had just leveled at 35,000 feet and
were on autopilot. I monitored the aircraft radios and cleared the sky before me - my only
tasks for the next three and half-hours. We were on our way to San Diego, heading west
with the setting sun. Our climb out from Detroit had been routine. All of the tasks
associated with flight planning, preflight and takeoff were literally behind us. In fact,
we wouldn't get busy again until about thirty minutes before landing·
I reclined in my seat a bit and
looked over at the first officer. At this point, we usually begin a conversation, but he
had pulled out a book on electrical engineering and began to look it over. Normally, we
don't read in the cockpit but I let it go - you never know when that stuff might come in
handy! Besides, I wanted time to reflect on the past week.
My mind returned to Nettie Bay
Lodge, Hawks, Michigan and a course in bamboo rodmaking. At a long table in a room heated
by a large stone fireplace, I was instructed in the art of splitting and planing cane. By
week's end I had taken a twelve-foot culm of bamboo and turned it into a six-sided rod,
it's action so alive I itched to fish it. I had made graphite rods before, but this was
something quite different, a combination of craft and art that left my mind whirring. I
envisioned other rods that I wanted to make and how I would construct the jigs and
machines to do it.
I also thought about how the
week had become something more than making rods· It was the coming together of eight
students, all good men, and two patient and caring instructors. We worked together, ate
together, and talked late into the night about rodmaking, fly fishing, and life. The
setting was scenic, the lodge comfortable and food outstanding. It was one of those rare
and perfect weeks, measured best by how everyone lingered after the last breakfast, no one
in hurry to leave, no one wanting it to end.
A radio frequency change brought
my mind back to the cockpit. Surrounding me was one of modern technology's finest
machines. I scanned the eight CRT's that display flight and engine parameters. Data-link
connects us to our company's dispatchers, schedulers, and maintenance. We can even print
out the messages. On board are over 100 microprocessors. Not only do we fly by the wire,
but even flush the toilets by computers! DIGITAL with capital letters!
Although I'm comfortable with
this technology, at some deeper level, I long to make fine things with my own hands. And,
in my mind, I put another coat of finish on my new cane rod, and felt it warm to the touch
as I rubbed the slick oil in.
The sun set as we passed over
Alamosa and the San Luis Valley. Any other day, I would think of fly fishers plying the
Rio Grande here for it's best trout. But today, my reverie wanders to the valley's
history. Like the Russian steppes, it cradled civilization. Many cultures of Native
American people prospered on its abundant game and fertile soil. Their populations grew
until they overfilled the valley and moved on ... It was a place of Genesis. Nettie Bay
was the Genesis of my fly rod making. I know, as certain as this setting sun, I will make
many more!
Commentary by David Jankowski
