Rodholders – Glenn Brackett

After this short guiding stint, Brackett made his way back to his native San Francisco where “somebody made me an offer to start building rods.” That somebody was Doug Merrick, former owner of Winston.

“I grew up with Winston,” Brackett says. “My grandpa and father used to take me to the shop in the Market Street area when I was a kid. I guess it got in my blood without me consciously knowing.” Under Merrick and his right-hand man, Gary Houghs, Brackett began to learn about the craft of rod building.

“I learned a great deal in those early years, and I still consider Houghs my mentor. I still call him up on the phone and ask him how to tweak this or understand that.’ ”

A quick study, Brackett became a partner in Winston in 1974, and owner in 1975. In 1984, he retired from the retail side of the business, dedicating his energies to the craft he is hesitant to call art. Some time ago, John Gierach wrote that hand tied flies are “craft if fished, art if framed.” I asked Glenn if he felt this way about bamboo.

“I always personally thought that rod building was a functional tool that addressed a lot of issues–design, structure, natural materials–and that my job was to bring the best of those characteristics together.

“That, in my mind, is 75% of what this business is about–the other 25% is your art.”

The first time I met Glenn Brackett I was looking for a place to live. Jane Waldie, Twin Bridges’ resident guide-mother, had told me that Glenn had an old Airstream camper that was up for rent. Go on over and ask him, she had said, he’s a nice-enough guy.

So after floating one day, I went to Glenn’s house and knocked on the door. A young girl who I assumed was Glenn’s daughter answered the door and when she saw me said “Daaaad, somebody’s here to see you.” When he came to the door with a beer bottle in his hand, I was proud that I’d looked like a fisherman to his daughter. I introduced myself, told him how much I admired his work, then asked about the Airstream. He was eating dinner, he said, so could I come back another time? His daughther piped up: “I’ll show him,” she said.

“O.K.,” Glenn said, “fine.” Glenn’s daughter led me down the street to the old silver camper. On the way, she picked dandlions from the grass and told me about a mean dog who lived down the block. When we reached the Airstream, she said: “This is where my daddy used to live.” “Nice,” I said. I looked at our reflection in the weathered-mirror side. “You want me to show you the inside?”