When I was 13 I bought my first fly rod. I saved up my allowance for most of it and talked my parents into chipping in the rest. For the enormous sum of $25, I bought a South Bend split bamboo rod at the local sporting goods store in Odessa Texas. A Perrin automatic reel with line came for Xmas's about 6 months early.
My grandfather saw to that I had all the magazines to read that a young boy should have. Outdoor Life, Field & Stream, Argosy. I knew what a fly rod was and I knew what flies looked like, I just did not know how to use them. Turned out that one of the carpenters that worked for my father was a fly fisherman. So for a couple of hours every afternoon after work out among the pile of 2x4s, masonry sand, and outdoor crapper on a construction site, this young boy learn how to cast a fly rod.
Two weeks later, I'm on my own. My father and I get up on Saturday morn and head the hundred or so miles south to the Pecos River below Sheffield. I don't remember if I caught anything that particular trip, but I sure did eat a lot of Rio Grande Perch during my junior high and high school years, caught on that fly rod. From that river.
That has the sound of the summer of 1950.