Hooked on angling — in club without fish

Before he left his home in the Italian Swiss Alps more than 50 years ago, Armando Bernasconi had never been fly-fishing. But once he moved to San Francisco and found his way to the fly-casting pools hidden within the west end of Golden Gate Park, Bernasconi became hooked. Now almost 96, the devoted fly fisherman is the Golden Gate Angling and Casting Club’s oldest and most popular member.

On Saturday, May 12, the club celebrated both its 85th anniversary and the 80th anniversary of the construction of the three azure-blue casting pools that still draw Bernasconi as often as he can make the trek from his nearby home on 33rd Avenue.

For the occasion, the club’s lodge, a rustic and well-loved wooden structure perched adjacent to the pools, was packed with club members, young and old. Blue and gold helium balloons battled the wind along the property’s immaculate walkways. Both an American flag and a California state flag whipped in the wind above the doorway that leads from the cozy lodge out onto a stone deck. That deck, in turn, overlooks a small grassy hill and those wind-kissed pools — and on that hill, dozens basked in the weekend sun while they watched fly-fishing fans, some waist-deep in the water, cast their rods.

The whole scene would’ve made a great painting — and it was a scene that was almost impossible to believe existed in Golden Gate Park. (Check out Chronicle reporter Annie Ma’s report, complete with a look at how the pools came to be in 1938.)

Bernasconi doesn’t fly-fish anymore. He doesn’t even cast into the club’s pools. His advanced age prevents standing for the long periods of time needed to fish the way he wants to. Still, the retired North Beach bakery foreman considers himself the “gatekeeper” of the Golden Gate Angling and Casting Club lodge. In fact, Bernasconi still maintains a coveted personal locker — a big perk of longtime club membership — in the lodge. On Saturday, he sat at a folding table beside his open locker, a couple of old fishing rods still inside, and sold GGACC stickers for $1. As he regaled me with his thoughts on everchanging San Francisco, I noticed that his baseball hat was embroidered with the phrase, “I May Be Left Handed But I’m Always Right.”

As you might imagine, the 1,035strong GGACC roster is filled with charming characters, the kind of people who pay just $40 a year to actively participate in a fly-fishing club that doesn’t have any fish. That’s right, there are no fish in those pretty GGACC ponds. Instead, they’re used solely for lessons and practice. Those looking to catch fish head hours away and, as a general rule, they toss back whatever they catch anyway. In his heyday, Bernasconi preferred to fish Manzanita Lake.

“I was not very good,” Bernasconi confessed with a smile and a heavenly Italian accent. “But I was pretty good.”

GGACC President Willie George refused to begin the celebration’s proceedings until Bernasconi had taken a seat of honor on the deck. The crowd — including 150 fly-casting students, a San Francisco supervisor, the head of San Francisco’s Recreation and Park Department, a police lieutenant and dozens of die-hard volunteers — happily waited until Bernasconi was properly situated and applauded. The club’s oldest member, the man who’d devoted so much time and love to this small slice of San Francisco, came before the bigwigs. GGACC’s priorities were indeed in order.

We squinted into the sun as George lauded the club, its mission of stewardship and its devotion to maintaining its nook of the park. The GGACC, after all, gives free lessons on the second Saturday of the month, complete with free lunch, and offers a program for military veterans through the San Francisco VA. A representative from Humboldt State University accepted a donation for a fisheries program scholarship. Next, Rec and Park head honcho Phil Ginsberg, a fly fisherman himself, read poetry and unveiled an engraved boulder in commemoration of the club’s anniversaries. I wouldn’t have been surprised if the approving ghost of John Muir had emerged dripping from the pools just to witness this display of serene wilderness appreciation.

Through it all, Bernasconi sat contentedly like a fisherman at his favorite lake. The formalities drew to a close and the crowds lined up for free plates of barbecue. Fly-casting lessons would resume after lunch. The schedule was loose. We had all day. There’s no rush when it comes to fly-fishing, even in the big city.

“I was not very good,” Armando Bernasconi confessed with a smile and a heavenly Italian accent. “But I was pretty good.”