My first bumbling attempt to use a baitcasting reel came in 1959. I was seven years old. Those familiar with both baitcasters and seven-year-olds may already see where this is headed.

I recall two specific results of that inaugural cast. One, the plug tied to the line traveled a grand total of perhaps five feet before being stopped short by a hopelessly snarled backlash. Two, I was yelled at loudly by my grandfather, the owner of the reel with which I was not supposed to be playing and the unfortunate soul to whom fell the responsibility of picking, pulling, untangling, and vociferously cussing the “bird’s nest” from the spool of old-fashioned braided-fiber fishing line.

It was, in short, a traumatic experience. I became terrified of baitcasting reels, not to mention the possibility that Daddy Buck might never take me fishing again. Baitcasters were, I henceforth believed, little more than menacing, stainless-steel robots whose sole purpose was devouring fishing line, getting little boys into deep trouble, and motivating grownups to swear voluminously while foaming rabidly at the mouth. Looking back, I might never have learned to cast at all had not spincast reels become immensely popular soon after my first baitcasting try.

Spincasting proved disgustingly easy. My old hand-me-down Zebco 33 stood me in good stead throughout my angling childhood. It was foolproof; an aluminum-encased, stationary-spool reel with push-button operation and few, if any, backlash problems. I was also happy when, in high school, I graduated to spinfishing. Those under-slung, exposed-spool spinning reels were space-age cool and, with a minimum of practice, no problem to cast. Likewise, backlashes were no issue.

Then along came the bass fishing boom of the late 1960s and early 70s. Suddenly, baitcasting reels, much to my chagrin, were back in vogue. Real men were now using them to drag big largemouths from big reservoirs. They were newly rediscovered, burly fishing tools for tough, burly fishermen. With them, one could set a hook with a deep, testosterone-laced grunt. Wimpy little spincast and spinning reels deserved little more than the occasional “ooh.” To borrow from the era’s pop culture, baitcasters were Led Zeppelin. Spincast and spinning reels were Michael Jackson and Elton John.

There was no choice. I had to learn baitcasting. After all, I was beyond the point when the male voice changes, and I now had hair on my chest (Well, one or two little ones.) I had an image to uphold. Besides, Cletus Monroe had recently learned to use a baitcaster and was gleefully holding that fact over my head. For me, it was a matter of survival.

“Aw, don’t be so scared, Hoss,” said Clete. “These things ain’t like what they used to be. They’re plumb easy now. Nowhere near as aggravatin’ as that old thing your granddaddy had.”

I thumbed through my outdoor catalogs. They agreed: “6 to 1 gear ratio, quick-change spool, ball-bearing levelwind, magnetic anti-backlash feature.”

Whoa! What was that last thing? Anti-backlash? Yessiree! Gimme the best one you got! (Are y’all familiar with that old saying about how fishing tackle is made to catch fishermen, not fish?)

With rapt anticipation, I waited three weeks. When my new, modern, “nohassle” baitcasting reel arrived, I excitedly removed it from the box, filled it with line, and affixed it to my equally new casting rod. In the backyard, I tied on a practice plug, pressed the reel’s release button, reared back, and made my first cast.

Déjà vu. The plug traveled a grand total of perhaps five feet before being stopped short by a hopelessly snarled backlash. The profane vocalizations I heard, though, were not my grandfather’s. They were now my own. I also heard Clete’s raucous laughter. Had my casting rod not been new, I’d have happily stuck it…Well, you get the picture.

No, friends, the ending here is not what you might think. I didn’t give up baitcasting then and there for the second time. I persevered. Eventually, I actually became pretty adept at it. Sure, I still backlash from time to time, though I now refer to the occasional mishap as “professional override.” After all, I’m a famous outdoor writer and must keep up appearances.

Through it all, however, I gotta admit I still have a soft spot in my heart for spincasting and spinning and the trouble-free angling they offer. True, they might not come up to Led Zeppelin, but old M.J. and Elton made some right good music back in the 60s and 70s, too.

(Email Bob Kornegay at cletus@windstream.net)