Of joy and fly fishing

This past July, just before Kristin and I headed to Montana, I spent a day sitting in the shop of one of my heroes.

I didn’t expect that to ever happen.

His name is Wayne. He builds guitars — quietly, carefully, and almost entirely on his own terms. He’s built instruments for people like Doc Watson, Eric Clapton, Gillian Welch, Peter Rowan, and Tommy Emmanuel … but fame isn’t really the point. Wayne builds guitars for people he wants to build them for. He wants them to be loved, played, and lived with.

I once had a dream of becoming a luthier, studying the craft and becoming adept at repairs and modifications, but was never able to devote the time to master an entire instrument. But my love for music, and for the guitar in particular, never died.

I’ve wanted to play one of Wayne’s guitars for years. He’s built fewer than 1,000 in his lifetime. Getting on his list often involves letters, visits, baked goods, patience, and still — no guarantees. His guitars sell on the secondary market for absurd sums, but he keeps his prices modest because access matters to him. Integrity matters. Joy matters.

What I didn’t know, until recently, was that I had a connection.

Many of my closest friends started as customers. Rob was one of them. We met on Facebook, I think, and I built him a rod. Over time we became real friends — the kind who loan you their car, share meals during hard seasons, and show up without fanfare. It turns out Rob also is close friends with Wayne.

One day, while talking about a rod I planned to build for him, Rob asked if I’d be willing to use a piece of wood from Wayne’s guitar shop. I said sure — and then asked, “Wayne who?”

When he told me, I pretty much wet my pants.

A few weeks later Rob showed up with armfuls of Honduran mahogany cutoffs from Wayne’s guitar necks. Then he asked, very casually, if I’d consider building Wayne a few fly rods in exchange for a guitar.

I wet my pants again. I now keep an extra pair at the shop for conversations like this.

So in July, Rob took me to Wayne’s shop in southwest Virginia. We talked about fly rods, guitars, fishing, and life while I sat in a chair re-caned years ago by Doc Watson himself. It was one of those rare days that recalibrates you.

There’s a saying that it’s dangerous to meet your heroes because they rarely live up to expectations. Wayne exceeded mine. His humility, kindness, and quiet commitment to doing good work — joyfully — was exactly what I needed at that moment in my life and work.

It didn’t matter whether I ever got the guitar. The relationship mattered.

But then, just after Thanksgiving, Kristin and I delivered Wayne a few fly rods. He held them, studied them, appreciated them. I used Brazilian rosewood he gave me. We talked about fishing mountain brookies and pond bluegill come spring. I set him up with a box of flies and an old Hardy reel. He’s ready.

He sent me home with more mahogany, koa, and rosewood cutoffs — enough for this year’s rods. If you want a rod with guitar wood on it, just ask.

A few weeks later, he called and said my guitar was ready.

Kristin and I dropped everything and drove up that night. When we walked into the shop, I could hear him playing it. “It sounds pretty good,” he said. We stayed for hours talking and playing music.

I’ve had the guitar for about a month now. I play it almost every day. I bring it to the rod shop so I can have a musical interlude whenever I need one. It’s the best-sounding, best-playing instrument I’ve ever experienced — but that’s not the point.

The point is the story. The joy. The reminder that wild dreams sometimes come true in quiet, unexpected ways.

Thief of Joy

My stepdaughter Emma said something recently that stopped me cold: “Comparison is the thief of joy.”

Sit with that.

Every time you open social media. Every time you measure your life against someone else’s highlight reel.

What role does joy play in your life? Do you seek it intentionally, or do you compare yourself into dissatisfaction?

Here are a few things that bring me joy: gravel roads, compassion, loving and being loved without fear, wild backcountry, sharing joy through someone else’s eyes, good food made simply, a fine casting fly rod, wild fish, slowness, deep friendships. Doing honest work that makes some kind of difference to people.

Fourteen Years of Fly Rods

I built my first fly rod in 2011. At the time, there was a real lack of suppliers and other resources, which forced creativity.

These rods started as a way to fish better gear at a DIY price. Then people asked to buy them. Then I developed my own tapers and fiberglass blanks. Designs and offerings changed as my competence increased and requests for bespoke actions suited to far-flung local waters came in. Parabolic, progressive, semi-parabolic … 2-weights to 8-weights, fished from coast to coast in North America and on at least four other continents. 

I have been so blessed by the support of my customers over the years – many now my friends, and humbled that they trust me with one of the tools – instruments – that bring them joy.

The pandemic brought more orders than I could fill. Other seasons required stepping away entirely.

The past couple of years have been a particularly crooked piece of time, as the late, great John Prine sang: a three-steps-forward, two-steps-back kind of time. 

Steps forward: I was able to secure a lease on a sweet little brick-and-mortar shop on the coolest street in Winston-Salem. Cool because there is both a guitar shop and a cocktail bar upstairs, a fishmonger next door. Sweet because my daughter Maren made the art on the walls, and I have a dedicated clean workspace as well as retail and sittin’/sippin’/strummin’ space. My boy Graeme is frequently in attendance.

Late last year I got married to the smartest, most supportive, most beautiful kindred soul I never thought I would meet. It would give the wrong impression (and probably have other, more personal consequences) to call her “ballast,” but in addition to bringing me immeasurable joy, Kristin steadies this ship of life for me, helps me stay on track, and adopts my dreams as her own (a CPA by trade, she makes sure I think through the practicalities).

Steps back: Tariffs, shipping delays and increased costs, suppliers who are facing their own health and business challenges … it got to the point in the past several months where it looked like every single component of my rods – from the hand-rolled fiberglass blanks to the reel seat hardware – would be unavailable this year. The outlook in the first week of the new year was bleak, and it looked like this thing that I do, that brings me (and, I truly believe, others) so much joy, was no longer going to be possible.

And then: a phone call, a relationship rebuilt and a partnership reforged. Suddenly it all seems possible again. There is still a lot to figure out, still challenges, but it all looks doable now.

But not if I keep doing what I’ve been doing.

What’s Changing

I’m narrowing my offerings. Going forward, I’ll offer a small, focused lineup of what I consider to be my very best, most useful rod designs. I’ll be updating the offerings here and on socials very soon. Also, know that while I am focusing and standardizing my lineup, I’m still happy to work with each client to make your rod unique and meaningful for you (don’t forget about all that fancy guitar wood!).

To make room for the new lineup, I’m offering all available rods right now at a deeper discount than I ever have.

Meeting Wayne reminded me that it’s okay to do what you do well at your own pace, and that success doesn’t have to be loud.

Thanks for reading, friends.

p.s. read this article for a fuller picture of Wayne. It’s fantastic.