I currently own a dozen “real” tenkara/seiryu/keiryu rods and a dozen cheap Chinese fixed-line rods. I like fishing with a wide variety of rods. It’s fun for me to do. It makes for interesting Tenkara Addict videos. And it makes me a more well-rounded and better-informed angler.
When I made a video a few months ago about the rods I have, I got a few comments in this vein:
I thought tenkara was supposed to be simple.
The implication here was that because I have many rods to choose from, that complicates things. Because I have many rods, tenkara is no longer simple. Choice is apparently antithetical to simplicity.
First off, making a choice about which tenkara rod to use is always simple. This isn’t rocket science. I look at the stream and think about what size rod would be best. That narrows it down to a few rods. I then look at those few rods and weigh which one I think would be best for the size of fish I’m likely to catch against which rod I feel like fishing, and I make the decision. I’ve never found myself by a stream paralyzed by my inability to choose a rod to fish with.
But apart from that, and more importantly, having the right tool for the job is ultimately more simple. Simplicity is not just how easy something is to understand but how easy something is to do. Fishing a tiny, overgrown creek with a 12-foot rod because you think having additional rods complicates things? That’s anything but simple.
I wonder if you could do a video of the resources you have used to learn tenkara.
That would be a very short video. I learned tenkara by convincing a friend (who had been tenkara fishing for a couple of years) to teach me. We went out together maybe 6 or 8 times early on, and we still get together to fish when I’m in the area. If you don’t have someone who can teach you, going out with a guide a time or two will be well worth it.
Apart from that, I fished a ton on my own and learned a lot that way about things like where fish are in a creek.
Editor’s Note: I woke up one morning to find the following trip report on my doorstep. It had been written on rice paper, carefully placed inside of a bamboo tube, and delivered by overnight red-crowned crane. I have decided to publish it here in its entirety.
I wake up at 5:30 am Tokyo time. I slip on my Montbell wading boots and turn on the remote start in the Honda to warm it on this chilly afternoon in early August. The mountains are calling, and I must go. It is time to become one with the tenkara. It is time to become the tenkara.
After stopping at Trader Joe’s to fuel up on dried kelp, I commence the drive up along St. Vrain Creek. I am in the zone. I picture each boulder and riffle in my mind. I picture the native buttery brown trout that will soon fall prey to my kebari. I smile to myself, knowing those kebari well. I had unearthed them in Noregano prefecture using trained futsu hogs harnessed with horsehair lines I had braided myself. In order to find the kebari’s damp, loamy hiding places, you must become one with the kebari. You must outsmart the kebari. You must outsmart the futsu hog. You must become the hog. I am the hog. I am the kebari. I am the tenkara.
There are just eleven other cars in the roadside pullout when I arrive. Perfect. The dozen of us have this untouched headwater stream all to ourselves. I grab my 700 cm Shimaiwa rod, heft it over my shoulder, and slide down the embankment to the stream.
I like to sit and observe a stretch of water before I fish it, so I pull out my weathered emergency poncho and settle in for an all-nighter. I stuff the poncho with gathered mushrooms to provide more loft and insulation, more warmth and comfort. I see many fellow anglers fish my stretch of water. I pity them. If success in fishing is defined as catching many, many fish, then yes, they are successful. But they do not understand that perfection is reached not when there are no more fish to pull out of a hole but when one does not even need to fish the hole in the first place. Fishing is the weakest form of fishing. I am not weak. I am the tenkara.
Afternoon fades into glorious evening. The stars overhead twinkle like so many scales of the iwana. I am reminded of the fresh namekuji I had at the chaya during my junrei of the shinseina kinoko back during the omatsuri of the ōkina kuchibiru o motsu chīsana shika. It seems like only yesterday.
Suddenly, it is dawn. I am ready. I reach for the Shimaiwa.
No, to reach for the rod would be to reach for defeat. I am the tenkara. I am undefeatable. I must reach inside myself. I close my eyes and begin to slowly rock backward and forward. I sway between the 10 o’clock and 12 o’clock positions. I begin with my torso stiff as my head bobs and pulses. I am 8:2. My shoulders limber up, unable to resist the gathering momentum. I am 7:3. Back and forth I go, the steaming morning air stinging my nostrils. My midsection loosens, and I am 6:4. Faster and faster now, my entire body lithe and willowy. I am full flex. I am bent all the way to the cork now. Fish on! Fish on!
The tug is unmistakable, and I spring backwards, a nest of snagged fishing line and bobbers breaking my fall. I glance over to the water’s edge, and I see that I’ve done it again. A trophy-sized oncorhynchus clarkii henshawi flops around on the gravel. Exactly what I needed for tonight’s dinner of traditional Japanese fish tacos. I thank the fish for its service before dispatching it with a swift dozen blows to the belly. I slowly walk back to the Honda.
Tenkara is not about catching fish, and it never was. Those Japanese commercial tenkara fishermen from centuries gone by did not care about catching fish. What they understood is that tenkara is the only path—the one true path—to self-transformation, to self-actualization, to self-satisfactualization, to self-transcendentalization. The mountains change you. The river changes you. The fish change you. The kebari change you. The Honda and kelp change you. But you must always ask yourself this: Into what have they changed you?
I know my answer. I am the tenkara.
Connor “Hakuchi” Johnson is a humble student of traditional Japanese tenkara and is passionate about the eradication of all tenkara anglers who have not been to Japan at least six times.
I don’t remember if it was in a comment on one of my videos or through a direct message conversation we had, but GoFishSD on YouTube told me how he justifies buying a new rod:
When he’s caught 1 fish per $1 spent on a rod, he can buy a new one.
I think this is a great idea! Some of my rods (like my Dragontail Mizuchi and Zen Tenkara Suzume, for example) have definitely been “paid off” in that regard. Others, like the $266 Tanuki XL-1, which I’ve caught maybe 25 fish on, still have a ways to go.
I don’t think this is going to change my rod buying habits any, but it’s fun to think about. And if you’re looking for a way to justify or not justify your rod purchases, this is one way to do it!
How many of your rods have you “paid off” with fish? Leave a comment below.
I do not need more tenkara rods. I have all the rods I need to cover the kinds of waters I fish and the kinds of fish I target. But I do want more tenkara rods.
I like alternating fishing with my different rods, and I like trying out new ones. It’s just fun for me. And like I’ve heard Tom of Teton Tenkara say a couple times (I believe once in this interview and once in this interview), I want to know for myself what these rods feel like. As much as I appreciate the rod reviews of people like Tom, I want to find out for myself what something is like, I don’t feel comfortable talking with confidence about something if I don’t have firsthand experience with it.
This comes into play when people ask me which tenkara rod to get. I get asked this at least once a week, if not more. I am not all that great of a tenkara angler, and I have not tried dozens and dozens of rods, so it always makes me a bit uncomfortable to answer questions like this, but I try to give my best answer with the knowledge I do have.
I’d read online that people seemed to like the $100 Dragontail Shadowfire 365 rod as an inexpensive first rod. The consensus seemed to be that it was a good value and a good rod, but I wanted to know for myself because I don’t feel comfortable recommending rods that I haven’t used. So last year I asked Brent of Dragontail Tenkara to loan me a Shadowfire 365 to use. I fished with it half a dozen times (it’s in this video and this video, among others) and found it to be a surprisingly good rod. It’s become my go-to rod recommendation for people asking me about what cheap first tenkara rod to get if they don’t give me any other information.
But that’s an American-designed rod made in China. What’s a good, cheap(ish) beginner rod designed and made in Japan? That I did not have a good firsthand answer or recommendation for.
I’ve been eyeing the Nissin Pro Square Super Tenkara rods (hereafter to be referred to simply as the Pro Square) for a while now. Chris Stewart on Tenkara Bum calls the 6:4 360 “surprisingly nice” and “the best ‘beginner’ rod I have ever come across.” (I believe it’s the cheapest made-in-Japan tenkara rod out there, but someone correct me if I’m wrong.) It’s a rod that I’ve been wanting to try both for my own curiosity and as a recommendation for people wanting a first tenkara rod that’s made in Japan.
It retails for around $150, but I saw one on Amazon.com listed for $100 with free shipping. That’s about what you’d expect to pay for a used one, so I jumped on it. It shipped from Japan via DHL and arrived in 8 days. Here’s the Amazon link I bought it from, but the price has gone back up to $150.
The rod arrived today. It was packaged in a standard plastic Japanese tenkara rod carton inside of a bunch of bubble wrap inside of a thick, heavy PVC mailing tube. Needless to say, it arrived in one piece.
A friend of mine has this rod in the 7:3 360 configuration. He said it’s “quite soft, but good.” Other conventional wisdom I’ve read online seems to be that a Nissin 7:3 is like most other companies’ 6:4. Guess we’ll see. I wanted to try the 6:4 because that’s what Chris offers at TenkaraBum as a beginner rod and because my Nissin ZeroSum 360 is a 7:3. It’ll be interesting to compare the two.
One other thing my friend who owns the rod mentioned is that he doesn’t like how the handle has just the one hump instead two. To quote him again:
“Really I’m just not a fan of the handle. I don’t like the single hump and how it starts to flare out again at the bottom.”
I didn’t notice this before, but he’s right. The grip at the bottom kind of just flares outward toward the butt cap. Having wiggled it around in my hand in my office, I don’t think this will bother me, but we’ll see once I actually use it on the water.
Anyway, I don’t have anything super insightful to say about this rod. I’m just excited about it and wanted to share my excitement. New gear day is always fun! I’ll be using this rod in the next month or so, so stay tuned.
Have you used any of the Nissin Pro Square rods? Which one(s), and how have you liked them?
I see you lay down your rod on your YouTube videos. Do you ever take it apart and let it dry? Tenkarabum suggests doing this after every trip but seems overkill to me.
The rod doesn’t always get wet when I lay it down (e.g., when I place it on some grass next to the creek). In that case, I don’t bother taking it apart. But if it gets wet, yes, I take it apart and let it dry. Sometimes when I forget to do that, the next time I’m extending the rod to fish with it, it smells like stink water. Not something I want.
I get asked a lot of tenkara-related questions in the comments of my YouTube videos. I’ve decided that in 2021, a lot of the blog posts I write will be answers to these questions. Feel free to leave a comment on this blog post to give your own answer to the question.
Do you typically feel takes while fishing a kebari, or is it almost always a visual thing with your line? I’ve been trying to fish kebaris more this fall/winter and am unsure if I’m just failing to feel/see takes or if it’s mostly due to lower fish activity or not casting to the right spots. Thanks!
I rarely feel the take. For me, it’s almost entirely a visual thing. I concentrate intensely on the end of the line (the spot where the tippet is tied to the line). If I see that make any kind of motion that I didn’t cause—a sudden stop, a change in direction, a tightening of the line, etc.—I set the hook.
Of course, I’ll often feel a fish on the end of the line when I go to recast, but that’s different.
I’ve found that what qualifies as a “small, overgrown stream” often has little to do with the stream itself and more to do with the rod one uses to fish it. What could be considered a small, overgrown stream with a 13-foot (400-cm) rod suddenly becomes quite open and easy to fish with an 8-foot (240-cm rod).
You may have seen my most recent Tenkara Addict video, in which I discuss my new online fly tying store, FlyTyingYarn.com. If you haven’t watched that video and browsed the store yet, I invite you to do so. I also started a fly tying YouTube channel and an Instagram account of the same name. I’ll be adding new products and educational articles to the store monthly, new videos to the channel every 2–4 weeks (haven’t ironed out a schedule yet), and new posts to the Instagram account weekly.
If you haven’t browsed the “Learn” page on FlyTyingYarn.com, you might want to head over there and take a look. Among other things, I include descriptions and pictures of some of the flies I use the most:
The initial response to the store has been beyond my expectations, and I’m really grateful to everyone who has placed an order.
(Also, I realize that I didn’t post to the blog here for November. My goal for 2020 was to post on the first of each month. I was traveling during late October and early November, so it slipped my mind. Sorry! To make it up to you, I’ll be posting again in a couple weeks about a new rod I’m getting and about how it compares to two of my existing rods.)
I fish with a backpack, and I attach the net to the backpack. I’ve tried attaching the net with carabiners (too fiddly) and magnets (not strong enough; I’d often find myself bushwhacking alongside a stream only to find my net caught by a branch several feet behind me). For the past six months or so, I’ve been using a side lock buckle. This is your standard webbing buckle, the kind that you squeeze on the side to open up. This is the exact buckle (3/4″ size) that I use. I have the net dangling off the bottom of the left shoulder strap. To both attach the buckle to the backpack and attach the net to the other half of the buckle, I’ve used a couple different sizes of zip ties.
This works really well. I can easily clip and unclip the buckle to grab the net, and the buckle never accidentally comes undone.