Alton Jones

My grandfather — “Papa” — taught me to fish when I was just a little boy. During family vacations to Colorado, I can still remember following him along the streams and rivers of central Colorado, watching him work a fly rod while I tried my best to keep up and not fall in the creek.

When Papa passed away in 1988, I inherited that fly rod.
The other day, while organizing a closet, I came across his old aluminum rod tube. It hadn’t been opened in decades… probably close to 50 years. I put a little oil on the cap and let it sit. An hour later, it opened easily… which was a pleasant surprise, because my backup plan involved considerably more force and considerably less wisdom.

When I slid the rod out, I was amazed. The condition was incredible.
After a little digging, I learned it’s a South Bend split bamboo fly rod built sometime in the 1930s — a three-piece rod with three original tips. A beautiful old piece of fishing history.
I have no plans to ever fish with it. At this point, if something happened to that rod, I’d probably need counseling. It’s headed to the wall for display instead.

As I near retirement from professional bass fishing, this old fly rod feels a little like coming full circle in my lifelong fishing journey.
More than anything, it reminds me of the man who taught me to love the outdoors… and of countless days spent together chasing bluegill, bass, crappie, and trout.

Great memories, great lessons, and a reminder that long before sponsorships, tournaments, and TV cameras… fishing was simply about time spent with Papa.

The legacy he passed on to me, I’ve been blessed to pass on to my son, Alton Jr., and  I’m excited about passing it along to my grandchildren as well.