Bob Swan

Hank left his small desk in the back of his hardware store and met me at the cash register. I paid for the sundries I needed to fix up my new place in Green Bay, Wisconsin, and as he was making change I asked about the fishing pole in the front window.

“Young man, that is a flyrod!” he harrumphed.

”I love fishing, but I’ve never seen one of those. How do you work it? What do you catch?” I sputtered loudly, thoroughly intimidated.

 He led me back to his desk and showed me three photos of huge, gorgeous rainbow trout. He had caught them a few days earlier, shortly after dawn, in 4 degree weather, at Cave Point on the Door County peninsula.

“So what lures did you use?”  I figured I’d gain some footing with the old guy.

After one sad look he showed me these beautiful wispy flies that he had just tied. With colored deer hair so sparse they looked as translucent as the tiny baitfish they were designed to imitate. Wonderful! One half-hour later I owned the Grangers Favorite split bamboo flyrod, a very cheap reel, a line, and some flies Hank donated to the cause. Me.

Weeks later the snow and ice relented. I cast one of Hank’s flies across Reibolts Creek and let it swing downstream. The “boys” all turned their heads to watch this guy with the fancy rig. On my second cast I hooked one of those monsters. I fought it while the crowd watched. So close it was when the hastily tied knot came undone. I lost the fish, but was hooked forever.

Through time my quiver of flyrods has grown to over thirty, but that humble old Granger still holds a special place. Thanks, Hank.