Origin

Long before there was Wicked Fly, there was my grandfather.

I was three years old when I started fishing with my grandfather, William Hardwicke, behind his home in Fairfield, Connecticut. He lived on Lake Hills, and we could walk out the back of his house to a small stretch of water near the headwaters of the lake.

That's where I learned to fish.

My grandfather was a stone mason by trade and owned his own business. He spent his days building patios, walkways, walls, and other projects throughout Fairfield County. It was demanding work, the kind that takes a toll on you physically and, some days, mentally.

But no matter how tired or beat up he was from the day, he always seemed to find time to take me fishing.

We'd walk down to the water and fish for bass, often staying until after dark. As the sun dropped behind the trees, dragonflies would dart back and forth across the surface. Every so often, one would land on the tip of one of our rods.

I had no idea at the time how much those evenings would come to mean to me.

Decades later, those dragonflies would become the inspiration for the Wicked Fly logo.

Learning the Water

As I got older, my grandfather and I ventured farther from his backyard. We fished creeks, ponds, lakes, and rivers throughout Connecticut. We explored new water together, learned it together, and collected more fish stories than I could possibly remember.

Somewhere along the way, fishing became more than something we did together. It became part of our relationship.

When I left for college, I felt like I was leaving my best friend. In many ways, I was also leaving the man who had been a father figure throughout my life.

I'd come home from school and visit him, but we didn't fish together nearly as much.

Then, during my senior year of college, I got a call from my mom. My grandfather had suffered a massive stroke that left him partially paralyzed.

Just like that, our days fishing together were over.

He lived into his mid-80s, and although we couldn't return to the water together, fishing remained something we shared. Whenever I visited him, I'd bring my fish stories with me.

Where I'd been. What I'd caught. The fish I lost. The places I wanted to go next.

In a way, we never really stopped fishing together.

The Challenge That Changed Everything

After college, I moved back home and started spending more time fishing the West Branch of the Farmington River in northern Connecticut.

At the time, I wasn't a fly fisherman.

There was a particular stretch of river in Riverton that I knew like the back of my hand. I'd get there early to beat the fly fishermen to the water, and on a good morning I could catch and release 20 or 25 fish in a couple of hours.

There was an older gentleman I'd seen fishing the same area for years. He was often there at the same time of day, fishing the same hole, and over time there was a familiarity and respect between us.

Then one morning he called out to me:

"Hey! You're not a real fisherman. Try fly fishing."

Challenge accepted.

I went to Cabela's and bought my first fly rod setup.

The following week, I returned to the same stretch of river with that rod and a Light Cahill. On my first cast into the hole, I hooked and landed a 14-inch rainbow trout.

That was it.

I was a fly fisherman.

W.B. Hardwicke

Eventually, my career took me away from Connecticut and out West. But no matter where I lived, I stayed close with my grandfather.

Then, in August 2017, he passed away.

Around that same time, I happened to be in the market for a new fly rod and reel. As I looked at what was available and what it cost, I started wondering whether I could build exactly what I wanted instead.

That question eventually became Wicked Fly.

But looking back, I know there was more to it than wanting to build a fly rod.

I was grieving the loss of the person who had introduced me to fishing in the first place. Building something gave me somewhere to put that grief. It gave me a way to hold onto those evenings behind his house, the waters we explored together, the stories I brought home to him, and everything he had taught me.

Wicked Fly became a way to continue something.

My grandfather's name, W.B. Hardwicke, is written on every Wicked Fly rod we build.

That's intentional.

While he was alive, the people fortunate enough to know him understood what kind of man he was. He worked hard. He loved his family. And he gave everything he had to the people around him.

I want people who never had the opportunity to meet him to know his name, too.

Every time someone carries one of our rods to a river, creek, lake, or some forgotten stretch of water, a little piece of his story goes with them.

Something Bigger

The path since 2017 hasn't been straight. Not even close.

There have been successes and failures, prototypes that worked and plenty that didn't, long nights, expensive lessons, and moments when walking away would have been a whole lot easier.

But somewhere along the way, Wicked Fly became bigger than the reason I originally started it.

I've met incredible people through this company, including anglers, guides, shop owners, rod builders, and people I now consider close friends. There have also been people who believed in what we were building long before there was much reason to. They encouraged us, opened doors for us, shared our story, and helped us keep going.

And then there are the people who chose to fish our rods.

That still means more to me than I can adequately put into words. Every person who has purchased a Wicked Fly rod has trusted us with something that's deeply personal to me. You've allowed something that began with my grandfather and me to become part of your own time on the water and, hopefully, part of your own fish stories.

For that, I'm incredibly grateful.

We've also had opportunities to use this company to support organizations and causes that matter deeply to my family and me. That's become an important part of what Wicked Fly stands for and what I hope it can continue to be.

Wicked Fly has always been passion over profit.

Of course, we need to make money to keep the lights on, develop new rods, buy materials, and continue doing what we love. But profit isn't why this company exists.

I believe we're meant to use what we've been given, our talents, experiences, relationships, and resources, to do something meaningful for others.

For me, that happens to be through fly fishing.

Everyone Has an Origin

There's a reason we named our first rod series Origin.

Every fisherman has an origin story.

Mine began when I was three years old, walking behind my grandfather's house with a fishing rod.

It continued on the Farmington River when an old fisherman challenged a 22-year-old kid to pick up a fly rod.

And years later, after losing my grandfather, it became Wicked Fly.

Today, when I see our dragonfly, I don't just see a logo.

I see those evenings on Lake Hills. I see the sun disappearing behind the trees. I see dragonflies moving across the water and occasionally resting on the tip of our rods.

Most of all, I see my grandfather standing beside me.

Nearly everything we're building today can be traced back to those evenings we spent together.

That's my origin.

What's yours?