André Puyans was skilled at observation, devoted to studying the water, weather, wind, and the terrestrial factors, i.e. what was hatching when, which insects were in the air or around certain bushes, trees and in the grass at various spots along the river. Entomology and botany were as important as watching the fish and their habits from day-to-day. Nothing escaped his attention, and he noted every detail.

Sometimes we would watch a fish so long that if it had a particular characteristic or habit, Andy would name it: I recall an Elvis and an Earl were christened during one of our trips together. We spent hours watching fish –close up and through binoculars—drinking coffee in the van, swapping stories, but most importantly, reviewing what we had seen, heard and felt during our tramps along the river, and discussing the implications, how one thing influenced another, and how the interconnectedness of it would influence our next moves.

Eventually the time would come: Time to cast. The bugs were present, the fish were rising; everything was right, and Andy put on his waders and chose a rod, running his fingers down the leader, feeling for unwanted knots or other defects. Slowly, he would tie on a fly, put on his glasses and make sure his wading staff was in place, his pipe lit. Then, rod-down, with an eye on the fish, he quietly stepped into the water. It was amazing to see a man of his bulk and build moving with such elegant stealth. He became invisible, yet completely aware of what was going on around him and beneath the surface of the river. He had accounted for current flows in order to achieve the best drift, and already knew the habits of the fish by this time. Once in position, Andy paused to let the fish get comfortable with his presence. And then it would happen: One or two casts precisely timed to the fishes rises, and bang: Fish on. I know of no man who averaged fewer casts per fish than André Puyans.

Andy changed the way I fished and helped mature my approach to angling. He taught me how to stalk big spring creek trout, how to wait for the right moment to act and how to observe nature. More than that, he showed me how to fish with discipline, how to stop wanting to catch every fish in the river.

Soon, I was working in his shop, and eventually worked as a guide and instructor at his schools in Idaho. The Puyans Fly Fishing Schools attracted the some of the greatest anglers in the world, and the amount of knowledge that was thrown around and discussed was remarkable. Fly-fishermen like Ernie Schweibert and Jimmy Green taught at the Puyans schools, and many of the students who came out of his schools went on to be accomplished and talented anglers.

Early in my twenties I began to take an interest in building rods, and still recall the stick that put the spell on me, filled me with the desire to build. It was a late evening at Creative Sports in Pleasant Hill, California, and Andy had just sold a gorgeous pre-fire Leonard to a friend. I remember how the new owner handled the rod with reverence. He told us about a special piece of water where he wanted to fish it for the first time. AP had a huge black locker in the back of Creative Sports that hid his most prized rods. He gave me free access to mic. and cast any rods that interested me, and this provided a rare opportunity to analyze and begin to understand Payne, Thomas, Powell, Kreider, Carlson and other bamboos made by talented rod-makers. That black locker was like a magic hat; every time I put my hand in it something remarkable came out. I learned a tremendous amount from looking at the numbers and comparing that information against how the rods performed. I read even more books, and interviewed makers like Jim Schaff and Doug Merrick for papers I later wrote in college.

In 1995 I met another master, Per Brandin. John Soininen introduced us at the Golden Gate Angling and Casing Club, and soon thereafter Per and I began to fish together. I already had great interest in building rods, and eventually was lucky enough, skilled enough –or perhaps just enthusiastic and hungry enough—to become Per’s apprentice. Many people don’t understand how rod building was revolutionized in El Cerrito during those years, in no small part because Per Brandin and Mario Wojnicki had a shop together where they shared innovations and ideas that took bamboo rod making to levels that fly fisherman and even rod builders to this day don’t fully appreciate, or perhaps can’t understand.

Working alongside Per for two years was a challenge: He expected perfection, and I became acutely aware of his total mastery of rod-building. Not only is Per an accomplished caster: He understand the dynamics of the cast and how those principles are incorporated into taper designs and, accordingly, how to make rods that magnificently cast and fish.

Per and Mario called me the “NT,” or “node technician,” and that’s what I mostly did for the first few months of my apprenticeship: I split cane, filed nodes and straightened splines. Per is gifted in many ways but what impressed me most was his ability to realize conceived rod actions. Very few rod builders have this gift. He also never stops designing and improving his rods, continually looking toward his next projects and innovations. Many times I watched Per sketch out a taper for me to cut, as if he had the design and finished product memorized. He would explain to me why he chose specific numbers for a given rod and how the finished rod would handle. When the stick was done we would cast it, and Per would ask me what changes I would like to see in the rod. Incredibly, the next rod we made exactly reflected those changes. Certainly Per and Mario’s place in history will be that of great rod builders, their contributions the most accomplished innovations in bamboo rod-building since the 1950s.

I am very fortunate to have had the friendship of my teachers and mentors. I am grateful for their generosity and for sharing their knowledge and time with me. I now offer the sum of my experiences, as an angler and rod-builder, as well as my own evolution in those capacities, to you.

Linnéa Rod Company