It’s been nearly nine months since I started building a five-piece fiberglass travel rod at the small work bench in the corner of my office. I called the project Codename Bronco.

When I began last March, I had very little experience building rods. What I did have was a clear vision, enough confidence to get myself into trouble, and the stubborn belief that if I moved slowly and paid attention, the thing would eventually take shape.

I made the project harder by trying to document it as I went: filming, photographing, and writing through each step. Sitting here now, with the rod finished, I’m still not sure which part of the process demanded more patience: building the rod, or learning how to tell its story without getting in the way of the work.

On Waiting

Newer Hookswain readers may not have seen the early updates. The last time I wrote about Codename Bronco was April of last year. At the time, I had chosen the blank for its travel-friendly dimensions; a 7’6” four-weight, broken into five pieces that pack neatly into a 20-inch tube. The plan was to complete the rod in time to take it with me on a trip to Kosovo and Albania, where I hoped to fish for small wild trout in the mountains.

That didn’t happen.

Life intervened. Travel with family took priority. The June heat made fishing impractical anyway. And when I returned home, a long list of house projects filled whatever creative margin remained. I spent the summer racing Vermont’s first snowfall, finishing just in time.

On rainy days when outside work stalled, or late at night when the house was quiet and work emails were answered, I returned to the bench. Completing the rod gnawed at me; taking months to complete, not weeks.

The Shitty First Draft

Writers talk about the “shitty first draft”, the necessary, imperfect version that gets the idea out of your head and onto the page. I’ve always struggled with that concept. I want things to match the picture in my mind immediately. After what feels like a lifetime of writing, I am beginning to appreciate the value of roughness, and how, with patience, it transforms into something you never could have imagined in the first place.

Codename Bronco was an exercise in applying that concept to craft.

At the outset of this build I decided I wanted to try and tough it out on my own as much as possible, stumbling through mistakes without the support of more skilled craftsman to guide me. Thought, I wasn’t totally alone. When I was confused or unsure, I opened the pages of Fiberglass Rod Making leaning on Clemens’ schematics and diagrams to help me along. When I was distraught at my lack of progress, or felt that my work didn’t meet my own standards, Clemens seemed to be leaning over my shoulder, offering wisdom posthumously through the page.

Much like writing a good story, things gradually came together, the spirit of the rod revealed in each swipe of sandpaper, turn of thread, and daub of varnish.

The Work

My previous updates covered the process of turning the reel seat spacer, gluing up the reel seat hardware, and fitting and gluing the cork for the grip. Once that was completed, I turned my attention to placing and wrapping the guides.

Guide spacing is one of those invisible decisions that determines how a rod feels long before it ever sees water. I relied on a spacing diagram from Fiberglass Rod Making by Dale P. Clemens, adapting his measurements to accommodate the ferrules of a five-piece blank. Blue painter’s tape marked each position. Adjustments were made by eye, then adjusted again.

In the end, the rod settled into its shape: two stripping guides, six snake guides, and a tip top. Each was taped in place, aligned, and wrapped.

The design language was lifted from a 1970s Ford Bronco I came across early in the project. Its dark brown panels broken by a tri-colored stripe felt unapologetically of its time and perfect for a funky little fiberglass rod. Translating that motif onto a fly rod meant inlay wraps, stepped carefully and intentionally along the blank.

The stripping guides received the most attention: three inlays—orange, yellow, and cream—nested into brown base wraps. As the rod tapered, the design simplified. Three inlays became two, and then one. The ferrules were wrapped in brown with a single cream accent to keep the visual weight balanced.

By the time I finished, I had completed thirty-five separate inlay wraps.

The further up the blank I went, the harder it became. The tip section, willowy and fragile, demanded steady hands and multiple retries. My fishing buddies like to joke that if there’s a hard way to do something, I’ll find it. Codename Bronco confirmed that suspicion.

The Second Craft

Somewhere along the way, it became clear that I wasn’t just building a rod. I was also learning how to record the work without interrupting it. Those are two different disciplines, and they don’t always cooperate.

When I tried to document everything in real time, the work slowed and my focus fractured. Camera angles mattered. Lighting mattered. Whether I remembered to hit record mattered. The bench stopped being a place of quiet concentration and became a stage, even when no one was watching.

At first, I filmed the build with an iPhone, balanced on a travel tripod or held in place with duct tape. The footage was bad. I blocked the frame with my head. Focus drifted. Important moments were missed entirely.

Over time, I learned that progress sometimes meant not filming at all. That some steps were better done in silence. Benchcraft isn’t meant to be exhaustive or instructional. It surfaces when there’s something worth sharing—after the work has had room to happen on its own.

Spending time on this project gave me a deeper respect for the creators who manage to build, record, edit, and publish consistently without burning out the work itself.

Codename Bronco

After nearly nine months, Codename Bronco is finished.

Like most of my projects, it took longer than planned, required more labor than expected, and cost more than I’d budgeted. Looking over my notes, it seems I spent roughly 100 hours on the build and about five hundred dollars on materials, tools, and consumables including the blank and hardware. The rod isn’t perfect. But that’s the point. The imperfections feel honest, evidence of time, attention, and hands learning as they went.

The funny part? I haven’t cast it yet. I haven’t strung it up or fished it. For all I know, it won’t throw a line worth a damn.

But sitting here now, looking at the finished rod, I’m not sure that even matters. The work exists. The object is real. And whatever happens on the water will be both a continuation and a beginning.

Beyond the Bench

Codename Bronco may be built, but the work needed to bring it to the water isn’t complete.

I’ve had a specific reel in mind for much of this build, one that feels authentic to its styling, mechanically honest, and well-suited to the caliber of fish it will some day land.

More importantly, I’ll need to pair this rod with a suitable line. This rod is designated as a 4wt, but finding the right taper and grain weight to complement it will be more of an art than a science. Those details matter, and they’ll be approached with the same patience that shaped the build itself.

These decisions mark the transition from object to instrument. And as Codename Bronco moves closer to the water, the next build will take its place.

After all, Benchcraft isn’t about projects. It’s a practice. One build simply gives way to the next.

Previous Codename Bronco Installments:

Building a custom fly rod is not a terribly complex process, but it does require precision and attention to deta…

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Know how to do it better? Have recommendations? Let me know in the comments!

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Notice something I got wrong? Have recommendations for how to do it better? Let me know in the comments!

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Notice something I got wrong? Have recommendations for how to do it better? Let me know in the comments!

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Though not a terribly complex process, it required patience and attention to detail to ensure a clean, mess-free glue up.

Notice something I got wrong? Have recommendations for how to do it better? Let me know in …

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At its core, a fly rod is elegantly simple: casting a fly line and controlling a hooked fish. Structurally, it's a tapered spring that stores and releases energy with every cast, then gracefully shifts into a lever once you’ve hooked your quarry. Whether graphite, fiberglass, or bamboo, the mechanics remain unchanged.

I’ve always viewed fly rods as purely functional tools. But working on this rod has altered my perception entirely. Factory rods, efficient but often soulless, prioritize economies-of-scale over aesthetics and individuality. As I dove into the nuances of thread wrapping, a rich history emerged; one filled with meticulous craftsmanship, thoughtful design, and undeniable beauty.

Here were intricate color theories, material compatibilities, and painstaking handcraft that demands incredible patience. The kind of dedication that leaves you sore-necked, eyes straining, the true appreciation of which is earned only by those who've hunched over a wrapping jig themselves. Is this a lost art? An esoteric expression relegated to the past?

As I go deeper down the rabbit hole, dropping a grand on a mass-produced rod seems increasingly absurd. Almost dystopian.Have I been conditioned to overlook the "blanding" that's creeping through art, design, and architecture? Is it happening to fly fishing?

Possibly. But this realization has energized me to push further, to create something intentional, and genuinely unique.

Finding My Inspiration

With this renewed mindset, I returned to my original muse: late 1970s and early '80s American SUVs. The rich honey brown of my rod blank naturally drew me toward brown-bodied Broncos and Blazers.

A deep dive on Bring a Trailer led me to a gorgeous 1978 Ford Bronco adorned with striking tri-color striping known affectionately as "Montana Bronco Striping."

I knew instantly this was the aesthetic I wanted for the rod. Translating this striping into thread wraps would be challenging, requiring patience and finesse.

Guide & Ferrule Wraps

I’ve selected a deep, chocolate-brown thread as the base wrap, which will darken beautifully once varnished, contrasting nicely with the blank. To capture that Montana Bronco spirit, I’ll incorporate inlaid tri-color stripes. After some tentative practice wraps, I’m cautiously optimistic that I can achieve the look.

The wraps at the rod’s finer tip (S5) will feature a single, delicate inlaid stripe, subtly increasing in complexity toward the butt section. By the time I reach the stripping guide on the S2 section, I aim to include all three stripes, a kind of crescendo in the rod’s visual journey.

Ferrule wraps offer a slightly easier canvas, allowing me to consistently carry the triple-stripe motif throughout. If successful, it’ll deliver a cohesive, vintage look while stretching my skills just beyond their comfort zone.

Here’s a rough schematic of how it’ll look:

Signature Wraps

The area above the grip is often the rod builder’s true showcase. Historically, it's a space for creativity, intricate patterns, and personalized touches that elevate a rod from functional tool to cherished artifact.

I'm not entirely sure yet how I’ll use this space, and I think that’s okay. Perhaps I'll let the rod’s personality reveal itself as the build progresses.

In the meantime, I'd genuinely love your input. Fellow builders, artists, and design enthusiasts: what do you do to make your signature wraps special? What am I missing? Am I forcing the concept?

Drop a comment below; your ideas might just inspire the finishing touches on Codename Bronco.

First and foremost I want to thank all the paid subscribers for your ongoing support. This build project is funded directly by your membership to Hookswain and would not be possibl…

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A while ago I bought a hardcover book simply entitled Fiberglass Rod Making. It came home with an armload of others and found a home on the shelves in my office next to other fishing-related books I told myself I’d read someday. If buying this fiberglass rod blank was a spur of the moment indulgence, recalling that I had already accumulated reference material to help me build it felt like a deft piece of forethought.

Turns out the author, Dale P. Clemens, who passed away in 2014, was something of a fiberglass rod-building legend. Fiberglass Rod Making was his first of several influential books on the subject, and the start of a successful mail-order rod-building business he built from scratch and ran alongside his day job as an insurance salesman in Allentown, Pennsylvania. He later founded America’s first rod-building guild and traveled the country speaking about the craft.

Now that I’ve actually cracked Clemens’ book, I’m discovering what a treasure it is — not just for technical instructions, but also for his grounded observations about the craft itself. In Chapter One, “Why Build Your Own?,” he writes:

“The real thrill of fishing comes from outwitting the fish. It is something that you and you alone do...Many a fisherman has learned that his fishing thrill is enhanced when the fish is conquered on a fly that he tied. It is much better than on a fly he bought. Capturing your fish with a rod that you alone made provides an even greater thrill.”

Clemens goes on to discuss the pragmatic reasons to build your own rod, not least of which for him was the lack of access to the types of rods he wanted to fish; you couldn’t outfit yourself for a tarpon trip at your average Pennsylvania sporting goods shop in the mid 1970s.

Unlike Clemens, I was able to purchase all the parts required to build a custom fly rod in a matter of minutes, online, and have them shipped directly to my house. I wonder what he’s think about this project?

While you can buy premade reel seats, and hardware with integrated reel seats, I knew I wanted this piece of the rod to be custom. A reel seat is just a short cylinder, about four inches long, with a hole drilled down the middle. At one end, you attach a fixed hood to hold one side of your reel. At the other end, there's a threaded section with rings that tighten down to secure the reel foot in place. This ensemble is then glued to the butt section of your rod and becomes the base for your cork grip.

Not only did I want the creative control over such a visual part of the rod, but I wanted to construct it to the rod and hardware’s actual dimensions. But doing so would require some help. Lucky for me, my brother Reuben is a master furniture builder and a talented rod builder; and his shop is a short drive down the road.

There are many things I love about my brother, but his penchant for spotting and saving pieces of incredible wood is a kind of superpower that I truly admire. Tucked around his shop are piles of offcuts from previous projects, pieces of firewood that were too beautiful to burn, burls at various stages of drying and collecting sawdust. A project like this is catnip for him, and I love watching him bop around the shop retelling the stories of each piece like an excited museum curator.

When I briefed him on this project and explained what I was looking for, he disappeared into the annex and came back moments later with a piece of figured maple he’s been gifted years prior by a fellow woodworker and saved precisely for making reel seats.

Figuring is a deviation of the straight-grained cell structure of a tree caused by stress. We can’t see the cells themselves, but the figuring is readable as changes in luster or color. These striations are unique and when applied correctly by a craftsman can produce the type of stunning results that you might associate with a priceless Les Paul or Stradivarius.

We made our selection and nipped it from the source with a few passes through the bandsaw, cutting it first into a rectangle and then an octagon by trimming off the corners.

Reuben fixed the piece in lathe and in no time I was turning.

Clemens calls the reel seat the “heart of the handle section of a rod” and it quickly became apparent why. Precision is key here. The ends of the reel seat should fit inside the hardware with little to no wiggle room. The central bore should be as close to the diameter of your rod blank so that it rests snugly inside the seat. Turning the reel seat myself ensures that I get the aesthetic that I want in tight tolerances that I desire.

It took me a couple hours to turn the reel seat down to the correct dimensions. Another hour to carefully bore the central hole for the blank to slide through. None of this would have been possible without my brother, his experience, or the tools and materials he’s accumulated over decades of woodworking.

Up until this build, it has been really easy for me to disassociate the manufacturing process of a fly rod from the rod itself, an occurrence all too common in our modern consumer existences. For us, a product’s life begins when it arrives on our doorstep. We rarely stop to ponder how it got there.

This rod changes that. Years from now, someone picking it up might never guess the hours, mistakes, or conversations behind it. But I’ll know. And every cast will remind me of the story it carries, the story that’s only beginning to unfold.

But these things tend to take on a life of their own. One day you’re planning a trip and wishing you had a rod you could toss in a carry-on. The next, you’re thumbing through Instagram, see a 7-foot 5-piece fiberglass blank at a reasonable price, and click ‘buy.’ Pretty soon, you’ve got yourself a project.

To think that all that stands between me and a new rod is tens of hours of planning, designing, gluing, turning, measuring, wrapping, burnishing, finishing, and trying not to screw it up along the way.

Full disclosure: I barely know what I'm doing. That means, like most of my projects, I'll be learning on the fly, figuring things out as I go. And because I'm apparently a masochist, I thought it'd be fun to document the entire messy process and share it with you. I’ll be learning there too, unpacking Substack’s tools and features to bring you multi-media updates as the build progresses.

Why this Rod?

I’ve been wanting to fish fiberglass for a long time. There's something undeniably comfortable about it — like shearling slippers, jeans and flannel, a cigar on the porch, flipping the record, the temptation of another beer when you know you shouldn’t. Easy, indulgent, nostalgic.

A 7-foot, 4-weight rod won’t win any power contests, especially in fiberglass. But it’ll pack down into a tube less that’s about 20 inches long and, if my hunch is right, should beautifully deliver dry flies to little wild trout. I’m already picturing noodly casts, splashy takes, and flickering fingerlings putting gentle bends in the fiberglass before shaking off the hook. This is not a rod for trophies; it’s one for the memories.

To understand where my head is at you have to know that a whole other piece of my brain has been completely consumed with the idea of purchasing an original American SUV. I’m talking about a boxy, springy, velour-filled mid-era Bronco or Blazer. Something with a bench seat and a column shifter and big analog gauges, stainless steel bumpers and chrome mirrors.

It’s a silly obsession at the moment. One made laughable by the fact that these trucks have skyrocketed in value. The likelihood of owning one is low. But you can’t stop a man from dreaming.

In the meantime, this brown fiberglass blank is scratching the retro itch. And I’ve decided to lean into it. I’m going retro on this build, stealing design cues from the heyday of Motor City, building the fly rod version of my dream rig. Hence: Codename Bronco.

Where I plan to Fish It

In June, my wife and I will travel to Kosovo and Albania to visit family and friends. Her family lives in Gjakova, near Albania’s mountainous border. From her parents’ kitchen window, you can see jagged Alps rising above forested valleys threaded with tiny streams.

I still think about our last visit, when my in-laws generously spent a day helping me scout the banks of the Valbona River for trout. We barely scratched the surface. This rod feels perfect for exploring those small streams beneath snowy peaks — casting dry flies into unknown pools, never knowing exactly what's swimming below. And that's precisely the appeal.

We also plan to travel south into Albania, to Vlorë. Vlorë is a fascinating city with an incredible history of its own. But it’s also well-positioned to access to all manner of incredible-looking rivers, the most famous of which is Vjosë, which is currently one of the last un-dammed wild rivers in Europe. Vjosë is big water and probably won’t be on the menu this go ‘round. But from what I can tell from Google Maps scouting, there are lots of little spring-fed streams that drain into it.

Word on the digital street is that there are trout here. The internet is suggesting they’d be West Balkan Trout (Salmo farioides), but it’s impossible to know what’s there unless I wet a line. I can’t wait to start sleuthing and figure it out.

What to Expect From this Series

This series is an experiment for me and Hookswain. I’m not really a "content creator," and usually lack the patience to document projects step-by-step. But I've discovered there aren’t enough straightforward resources out there for building a rod like this. The few existing resources leave too many gaps and unanswered questions. I want to change that.

You’ll get supply lists, honest costs, wins, losses, experiments, and plenty of candid mistakes. Videos aren’t my natural habitat, but I'll invite you into my workshop anyway—showing exactly how this rod gets made. Expect lots of photos, quick videos, and step-by-step details.

Most of this stuff will live on the ‘Benchcraft’ channel. When you subscribe you’ll be automatically enrolled to receive updates. But you can always navigate to the homepage and navigate to the section to catch up on everything related to the project.

To keep things easy to follow, each update related to this build will be tagged [4wt Fiberglass Travel Rod Build]. Drop in, dip out, catch up anytime.

I'll also be asking for your help along the way. Experienced rod builders, I’m counting on you to point out when I’m about to screw something up. Everyone else, expect some polls and opportunities to weigh in on design choices as the rod takes shape.

Last but not least, I’ll take you with me to Kosovo and Albania so you can see the rivers first-hand and watch how the rod performs.

Next Steps: How to Follow Along

No part of this project is sponsored or underwritten by a brand. I’ve laid out the money to buy everything and have picked the materials and parts based on what was available online, what I liked, and what I think would make a cool build.

I'll be sharing plenty publicly, but deeper dives, detailed step-by-steps, and behind-the-scenes extras will be exclusive to paid subscribers. If you're into rod-building, retro projects, or just enjoy seeing someone else’s DIY adventures—missteps included—consider becoming a paid subscriber. It’ll help me do more of this kind of thing in the future. Subscriptions start at $5 a month.

If you’re not ready to bypass the paywall, consider subscribing as a free reader. There will be plenty of free stuff to enjoy too.

I’ll also be using Substack’s Chat feature to post quick hits, updates, short form stuff, surveys etc. Joining the Hookswain Chat will be a great way to follow along.

Looking forward to building this thing together.

Keep Reading:

Fancher is the founder of Oak & Oscar, an independent watch brand based in Chicago. It’s been a decade since Fancher left a corporate career to pursue his passion, and in that time, Oak & Oscar has become a central figure in the rebirth of American watchmaking with a dedicated following of collectors and enthusiasts.

Now, he’s working on a special project that merges his love of watches with his love of fly fishing—capturing the experience of the river on the wrist. In this Q&A, Fancher reflects on the craft of making things that last, his passion for fly fishing, and why patience is the key to making both a beautiful and meaningful practice.

Tell us about Oak & Oscar; what's the story behind the company and the brand?

I quit a corporate gig, a job with a big four accounting firm; great company, great team, all of that. But, I wasn't passionate about it and I was working a tremendous number of hours every week and just didn't have the work-life balance I wanted. I wanted to do something I was passionate about, something I really cared about.

I absolutely love watches. I also love design and branding and marketing and strategy. I wanted to put it all together. I wanted the challenge. I wanted to make my own mark on horology. And it's been pretty crazy. It's the best thing I've ever done, the hardest thing I've ever done, the most stressful, the most amazing, most fulfilling, all of it.

This is actually our 10th year, which is pretty crazy.

Your company motto is ‘Make No Little Plans.’ How does it apply to what you do at Oak & Oscar, and how might people apply it in their own lives?

It's part of a quote by Daniel Burnham, who was a city planner and architect extraordinaire. He designed the layout of Chicago and Washington D.C., along with the Flat Iron Building in New York.

The full quote is “Make no little plans or they have no magic to stir men's blood.” I think it speaks to the idea of dreaming big because otherwise, what's the point? That's something we think about often.

I hear stories from our Owners all the time — we don’t like to call them customers — where they've taken my story of Oak & Oscar, starting it from scratch, quitting a day job, and have gone about doing the same thing in their own lives. It’s amazing to hear how the choices that I've made for myself have inspired others to do the same. That's something that you can't buy. And that's pretty darn cool.

What do you see as the role of mechanical sport watches like yours in the modern era?

Most of us check our time on our phone. But a watch is so much more than just a way to tell time. Watches can be how we identify with the world, or a way to celebrate a milestone, or a major life event like a marriage or having a kid.

There is a romanticism of that little engine in that watch with the gears, springs and levers — not to mention physics — working together to tell you the time. It tells a story. And then our stories become ingrained in them as patina and scratches. The stories that these watches become a part of is just as important as the time they tell.

Your watches are also extremely well-designed. Can you talk about the role that design plays in your process?

I appreciate that very much.

First of all, we have some good designers that we work with to help keep me in check. But I love little Easter eggs. I love little hidden details. I think they're charming. All of our watches have small details that maybe you don't notice for a year or two. It's just really an amazing way to make that product, whatever it may be, have some charm and personality. And for me, it's about that personal touch. Knowing that I've put a little bit of myself in there. It's an important thing.

Where does fly fishing fit in?

It’s become part of the DNA of the brand. We love getting out there. We love being in nature. Whether it's camping, fly fishing, hiking, whatever it may be, it's something that's important to us.

Fly fishing is not only a great hobby, a great sport, a great pastime, but it also carries so much craftsmanship, so many stories. I like the adventure of it. Getting out in the middle of nowhere, standing hip deep — sometimes chest deep if you've gone too far — listening to the birds, that trickle of water that just reminds you that you're in a really peaceful place. Even if you just had a wind knot take you out for that next 10 minutes…

It's also a phenomenal way to have a great adventure while experiencing new places. Something that I like to do whenever I'm traveling is to try to find a way to learn a little bit more about that area through fly fishing. Whether it’s a family trip out to Sedona or a business trip to Switzerland, it's really amazing to get out and experience fly fishing in such beautiful places. To see the world through a completely different lens, a different way. And the people you meet are just amazing.

Fly fishing in Switzerland; do tell.

The first time was amazing. I got my bags together at four in the morning from my hotel room, walked to the train, and took it to this little mountain town where the guide picked me up. I'd never taken a train to go fly fishing. That alone was completely unique.

So the guide picked me up and it was maybe a 20 minute drive to the spot. It was this beautiful area in a ravine. Unfortunately, the water was completely blown out from a storm the night before. And he was like, "There's no way we're fishing." And I basically said, "Look, I flew all the way from Chicago. I've spent a week in rooms looking at tiny watch parts. Let me just wet a line." I didn't catch a single thing, but it was still one of the best fly fishing experiences I’ve ever had.

I went back and fished with the same guide a second time. I showed up and he's like, "Here's your two-weight." I was like, "What the eff?" We fished these little blue lines like I've done out in the Carolinas, which was surprising to me. It was very windy and with the two-weight the dry fly presentation was pretty challenging but we did it. We caught these tiny little wild brown trout, a couple little rainbows. It was a different fishing experience.

You and your team like to fish The Driftless. What about this area stands out in your mind as being a special fly fishing destination?

I almost regret telling people as much as I am about it because it keeps getting busier and busier; people have discovered how much of a gem it is. The area is this really remarkable area that time kind of forgot. It's called The Driftless because the glaciers didn't cut through it and make it flat. There are a ton of springs that pop up with cold water that are great for fish.

It's a great area and especially Viroqua, Wisconsin in particular. It's this community of people who genuinely care about each other and there's this great little fly shop and great food and cafes. It's got some of the best coffee I've ever had. It's just this amazing place that I like to go to as much as I possibly can.

We have an annual Owners trip out there. It's a weekend of fly fishing, eating good food, and drinking good booze. It’s such an amazingly fun time in a beautiful area. It really is one of my favorite places.

Has fly fishing shifted your outlook on your business or your personal life?

You can't get into fly fishing in a small way. Or at least maybe I'm learning that about myself. It is probably my biggest hobby now. And calling it a hobby is an insult to how much I love it. And it's not just the activity of fly fishing itself, it's the camaraderie.

I caught my first brook trout, my favorite fish, with a really good buddy of mine. I had tried different flies and then he was like, “I got a fly.” And he took it out of his box that I know he tied himself, and second cast I hooked my first brookie. We had that big, high five moment in the water holding the fish.

Later on I took my family up to the same stream where I caught that fish. I wanted my boys to have that experience. And so, a couple casts in, I hook a brookie. I reeled it in. And my oldest, for the first time ever in his life, got to pick up the fish and release it. And I have a photo that I took of him and I, kind of mid high five. It's one of my favorite photos ever because his face just had this look of total amazement.

The world really does come around…

It sounds as though there's deep connective tissue between watches and fly fishing for you. How do watches fit into your angling life?

We actually did a presentation at a local Orvis fly shop about watches and fly fishing. We got to interview some legends, or families of legends, and talk to them a little bit about their watches. For example, Tom Rosenbauer from Orvis likes having an analog watch on his wrist while he's fishing. It's not buzzing. It's not vibrating. There's no beeps. It's not telling you you've got 30 missed emails or 20 calls or whatever it may be. It just lets you be and it's there with you. It doesn't take over your time.

In both fly fishing and watches there is a romanticism of craftsmanship and high quality materials and things that are timeless. It’s like learning to tie that new fly pattern or maybe tying your own leaders because you don't like the ones you can get from the package. It's a thirst of knowledge in a world that's so deep that the pursuit can never end. And watches have that same romance; these gears and mechanical movements that tell you the time and that craftsmanship that's involved with making them.

Fly fishing may not be the most productive way to catch fish. I think we all might agree on that. But it's the most artful way to do it. And that's the same thing to me with mechanical watches. It's its own art. A watch is this really beautiful piece of mechanical art that you can wear.

Oak & Oscar has started creating watch dials that have hand-painted fish on them. Can you talk about that project, what inspired it, and how people can engage with it if they're interested?

That project started out with just a random idea I had.

Then I was talking to Kirk Deter of Trout Unlimited who helps produce their journal and run the show over there. And he's like, “What! I love that idea." And he said, "We have a really important person who's retiring soon. Can you make one for him?" And I was like, “When do you need the watch by?" He's basically like, "We need it in a month." I'm like, "Oh s***."

Because we had never tried this before. A watch dial is really very small, 30 millimeters around and even smaller sometimes. We hadn't even found an artist who could possibly even help. But I love a good challenge.

I contacted Tim Johnson — folks might know him from Timmy Grips. He's extremely talented. I told him what I wanted to do and he said, "Holy crap, that sounds impossible. I love it. I'm in." And he bought a microscope. He bought special paint brushes that have probably one or two bristles at most. And we sent him some dials and we said, "Here, give it a try.”

And the dude nailed it. Hit it out of the park the first time. We ended up with a few brook trout and a few rainbows. So we put the watch together and we sent it off to Kirk Deer who had the same reaction: “Holy s***.”

It takes about 8 to 10 hours per dial to paint; it's almost pointillism. You can't really find it on our website. You have to kind of be in the know. And just through people learning about it, we've done several more fish dials. Everything from a smallmouth bass — a tonal black and white with a red eye — to a sunfish.

We actually worked with a guy who wanted to celebrate his very first sailfish. He sent us a photo of a sailfish and we basically copied that fish in an artistic way onto a tiny dial, even keeping the topography of the dorsal fin intact on the dial and you can immediately tell it was modeled after that fish. It's one of the coolest things I feel like we've done because it legitimately is this amazing work of art in this tiny little space that's on your wrist.

The commitment to craftsmanship and storytelling really bleeds through in everything you guys do. When can we expect the first Oak & Oscar fly rod?

Funny enough, I've recently gotten into fiberglass rods and we've talked to a couple of the folks about getting some blanks in the Oak & Oscar colors. I'm good friends with Cam from the Fiberglass Manifesto. And Brad — the buddy of mine who helped me get that first brook trout — he loves building fiberglass rods.

Have you started building rods yet? Are you at that point in your obsession?

No, no, no. And the reason being is twofold:

One, tying my own flies is enough for right now. As you can tell, I have a little bit of an obsessive personality. I didn't let myself get into watches until after college because I knew I would go down a really deep hole. And now I own a watch company. And I can only have so many obsessions. But what I'm sure might happen is as I watch Brad build these rods, I will fall in love with the process.

The other is that I really just want to be a good, well-rounded angler. I'm never going to be the best at anything, but I want to be someone who is knowledgeable and can enjoy themselves in a ton of different environments and just have fun, learn, and get out there and do it.