USA TRIP PART 2 - Salmon fishing on BIOMASS point.

By Goulven Dollé.

After this meal with Bill Batson, I head back to my hotel with the ambition of getting at least 4 hours' sleep ... In vain, even though I'm completely knocked out, jet lag plays tricks on me, and like a princely royal owl, I open my eyes at midnight. It's impossible to close them again. So I shoot myself up with coffee, because I know the day ahead is going to be intense.

Two in the morning, Bill picks me up in front of the hotel, and we go to meet Karry Batson, Bill's cousin, as well as Mark, a ProStaff Batson, who has brought his big Alu boat, towed by a no less big F250, in front of a gas station.

Karry Batson, in the Batson family, is all about fishing skills. He's a former Alaskan fishing guide, and you quickly realize that he's the kind of guy who thinks fishing, lives fishing. Even though we're all nuts about fishing, we know that we're the kind of guys who always end up taking out his phone at the end of a meal with non-fishermen to show them photos of fish, we know that our non-fishing buddies no longer follow us on FB because they're fed up with seeing photos of fish, despite this, we always end up one day coming across a guy like Karry Batson, the guy who's even more into fishing than you are, who does ONLY that, all the time. We've been communicating by e-mail and phone for 7 years now, and once again we've fallen into each other's arms, a really easy and cool contact.

The boat belongs to Mark, a US-style giant, Ford bigwig, fishing nut and rodbuilder. Mark is the big, strong guy, the giant teddy bear, the guy who always listens, who guided us all day, always telling stories, making sure we didn't get dehydrated, really the good guy. On the way, we pick up another Batson Rainshadow ProStaff, Sean the Irishman. We wake him up in a crazy house, with a private pontoon on the edge of a dream lake. Sean is a top-level angler, fishing for redfish in competition, to win. Surgeon, rodbuilder, fisherman. Sean has 9 boats, "a disease" he tells me. I'll take your word for it, buddy.

After quite a few years of hanging around the competitive Saltwater fishing circuit in France, I immediately recognize in Sean that succession of small details - the gear, the clothes, the questions about the day's fishing - that make the sharp fisherman who leaves nothing to chance. I know that between Karry, Sean, Mark, Bill, there's going to be some level on the boat, and it's starting to smell seriously good.

After 3 hours on the road, we arrive at Neah Bay, at the end of the line, on the other side of the strait, that's Canada. We're in the middle of an Indian reserve, the slipway plunging into the great Pacific. An Americano coffee in the adjoining shop run by the locals who watch over the launch, the tax paid, a couple of tidbits about the day's fishing, a few packets of spiced beef later, and we launch Mark's boat.

Cap on Biomass, a crazy point teeming with life, just the name makes your hair stand on end. "Dude are you sure we're going to Biomass ????". Krill everywhere, whales porpoising in the krill, I've seen them come completely out of the water in incredible rushes, I'm told that there are sometimes orcas, but not seen that day, that tap into the Salmon. Because yes, we came for the Salmon ...

Clearly the whole team is on hand to ensure that Sean the Redfish fisherman and I catch the maximum number of fish and Pleasure, and it's a success.

I can't help noticing that despite the thousands of kilometers between my Brittany and this lost corner of the North Pacific bordering Canada, our lifestyles are very similar. Turned towards nature, the Ocean, the guys have their boats, sail, fish, harvest in a reasoned way, they laugh and drink on board. They're all madly in love with their corner of the world, their stretch of sea: we speak a common language.

The return journey is full of images, several more hours on the road chatting with Bill in the Pick Up, by which time I've had two hours' sleep in the buffet for more than 48 hours on my feet. Everyone is dried out after the day at sea, I consider for a moment going for a snack in town, but at 9pm I return to my hotel, and collapse on my bed, literally hypnotized with fatigue.

Day after tomorrow, 8 a.m. appointment at the Batson warehouses, for a more pro, gear part.

USA TRIP PART 3 - A bit more of dungeness crab.

By Goulven Dollé.

After a good night's sleep I emerge still a little early for my liking at Sequim's Bay Lodge. A big cup of Champions coffee later, I hop into my rental Ford Escape bound for the Batson offices.

After the arrival and the day's Salmon fishing, I know we're about to get into a bit more business on the one hand, but also meeting IRL the people I've been working with for years by mail, and technical, as I have questions to ask them, about their gear, about rodbuilding.

So I arrive at Batson Ets, and it starts with a great tour of the premises, meeting employees at all positions, and it does it well. A kind and cool word for, and from, everyone, it's a beautiful sunny day at Sequim, everyone's got the US-style patate, and even though we know we're playing a bit, it feels good and enjoyable.

There are 23 of them if I remember correctly working there and the atmosphere seems relaxed and professional, an impression I've had for 7 years with Batson, reliable, regular, square. I meet people from expés, marketing, secretarial, purchasing, etc.

I then meet a monument of rodbuilding history, namely Mike Thorson. Mike is a monument in every sense of the word, a former American soccer player, he's the first guy I've met in real life whose calves are really as big as my thighs. I'm a good deep Moyennie average, 1.76cm for 80 kilos, and in the photo I look like a peanut.

Monument then because in terms of skills, Mike is at the top. Formerly among those in charge of blanks design at St Croix, he's a well of knowledge, on manufacturing processes, factories, who does what, how to do it better. I spent a long time with him, with a list of questions as long as my arm, and he answered with kindness and simplicity, sometimes with sketches to back up his explanations. I'd been planning my trip for a while, involving the ProStaff Rodhouse guys beforehand by asking them what questions they'd like me to ask for them.

We also talk about taboo subjects in France, rod breakage for example. American manufacturers have no difficulty in broaching this subject, in talking about it, and therefore in educating. So they raise the bar. In France, when you talk about it with pros, you feel like you're evoking the best moments of Festen, and when you start talking about it with individuals, the guys are offended as if you were telling them they don't know how to fish.

For example, I've always been amazed by the number of guys who break their rod at the shoeing, sending out pony shoeings, brake tightened to Toc... Mine, others', that's really not the point. And then Mike comes up with something I hadn't thought of, and which has since become obvious to me, "braid or mono?" Well, braid, since nowadays almost everyone fishes in braid ... well, a rod farting on a big furious hooking, in braid, brake tightened to Toc to drive the nail in, for Mike, it's obvious. With braid, always keep a little brake on, since the line has no elasticity. NFC's Gary Loomis will confirm this later, since some of the questions I'll be asking are the same. In American culture, a cane is a tool, you have to know how to use it, that's something you learn, you're not born knowing that.

Respecting angles, making braid-mono distinctions, knowing that a brake doesn't just souke at the clamp in the right-hand corner all the time, and so on. All you have to do is type something like "how to avoid rod breakage" into Google to realize that we may be missing something in France in terms of discourse on this subject. That rather than proudly repeating "my 45-gram wet carbon rod is invincible" and then sorting it out when the guy brings you back the 4-piece bodies, we'd do better to explain to him "You'll get almost anything out of anything "as long as you respect your angles, and remember that on your mill, there's a brake".

Mike also tells me a little more about Batson's history. They used to have their blanks factory in Sequim, but now produce in China on the topping plans and patterns that Mike does, for cost reasons. So they have that expertise. Having produced some, they know what a blank is.

Then we go out with Mike, fly rod in hand, because Mike, it's less well known, is also a Fly instructor (his fishing of choice) and he wants to show me a couple of tricks. I say yes yes fantastic, but I admit it's a bit bogus, I'm the worst fly fisher this side of the Mississippi.

We then spend a good while with Karry in the warehouse, presenting the new products. I stop in front of the RTP (Tuna Popping) blanks 80 MH and 80 H, referenced in our stock as soon as I get back, in front of the grips Hypalons, much more extensive and resistant than EVA, which have also been part of our offer ever since.

It's early afternoon and in preparation for dinner, the Batson's have planned to go fishing for Dungeness Crab. We're meeting at Karry's, a wooden house in the pampas, to load Bill's Alu hull with the traps we'll be using later.

There's Bill, Karry, Sean and his family, the weather is mega-beautiful, and we're enjoying the ride. Sequim lies on the edge of a bay, wedged between the Strait and the mountains. A weather phenomenon known as "Rainshadow" deprives the entire eastern part of the coast behind the mountains of rain. It's this phenomenon that gives Batson's blanks their name. For our crab buddies, it's peak season, the traps are quickly filled, and once the mesh is validated, they're put out to dry.

It offends my Breton pride, but the Dungeness Crab are delicious, well worth the crab, maybe less so the spider crab, but it's full and super tasty. Thank God we still have a bit of a civilizational lead, because these barbarians dip the crab in butter rather than mayo, and they accompany it with beer rather than dry white wine, so the honor is safe.

The sun is falling over the Strait of Juan de Fuca, it's still warming our skin, the light is vibrant, we're drinking beers on Karry's wooden deck while eating Dungeness Crab, and it's just perfect.

Night has been reigning for a while, and it's late by the time we part. Contacts exchanged with all the ProStaffs and buddies, hugs, promise we'll play the return match in Brittany. Now I know why I came. For the people. As in all travels, it's the encounters, the faces, the voices, that give meaning and relief to it all. You don't give a damn about landscape photos. You close your eyes and suddenly you're rich, a millionaire, without understanding why. A thousand thanks to the Batson Team for permitting me to experience these moments of exchange, fishing and life with you. I'm behind my desk writing, the low-angled sun of Sequim crosses the Atlantic to warm my skin, and I remember.

Then, it's not very serious, but I get back in the car, and drive not too fast, safely back to my hotel, probably very slightly outside the framework defined as acceptable by the legislator (too many crabs).

Tomorrow I'm on the road again, heading for North Fork Composites.