A couple of fishing-doers who consider their fly casting skills a little above average were risking their lives on I-95 en route to a seminar they thought might nudge them a toe’s length closer to perfection.

Those events are fun, and improvement can be had by participants who get back home in time to practice what they’ve been taught while it’s still fresh in mind. In wintertime, the slatey veil of eventide falls while you’re still on the road. Then you have to be on time for dinner, walk the cat and wait until tomorrow, when the park lawns will be crowded by frisbee dogs and darting children.

By the time you can coordinate freedom and access, the stuff you learned grows fuzzy. Your backcast hurries. Your forward stroke collapses.

On the voyage we’re reprising now, the crewman in the passenger seat was scrolling through his Facebook feed when what to his wondering eyes did appear (it was Xmas week) but an advertisement for a certain economy manufacturer’s latest flyrod.

“Holy unprintable!” he cried loudly, thrusting his phone across the other’s line of sight. “Look at this!”

The man at the wheel was made to feel distracted. An 18-wheeler was crowding them on the left. On the right, a sedan paced them with evident intent to deny him the airport exit.

“You look at it. I’m busy,” the helmsman said through clenched dentures.

The mate caught the pickup driver’s attention and mimed that he wasn’t going to the airport anyway. Finger signals were exchanged.

“This rod’s priced at $650,” he told the helmsman, who almost lost his lane.

“We’re both fishing their best rod for what, about half of that?” he asked.

“Yes — including our plain old but still splendid second-hand reels and decent fly lines,” the other replied. “Then again, our rods were top of the line when we bought them, but they’ve been superseded at least twice by newer, pricier versions. Still, nothing as far out of our reach as $650.”

Those two are not cheapskates, and neither man can be found begging at the Interstate off-ramp, but in that moment both of them understood how much is too much.

For them, anyway. I know, and I suppose you do too, fishing-doers who scarcely notice a $650 (plus sales tax) charge when the credit card bill arrives.

Our friends en route to the casting clinic are not that type but would be if they could afford it. They can’t, so they appreciate what they have and stay with it.

After all, some of their own stuff was top of the line when they paid $325 for it. At the time, it felt more like an investment than a leisure purchase.

The helmsman vividly recalled lawn-casting the latest model from his real-world favorite maker, some time more than just a few years ago.

“It was a 7-weight, designed by Lefty Kreh, guru of all gurus. It felt weightless and it cast with astonishing accuracy. I had to have it, but it was about $100 out of my reach then.”

His companion nodded, adding for perspective:

“That happened at a long-weekend fly fishing convention. You were attending three or four clinics a day with master instructors.

“They corrected most of your mistakes, and everything new that you’d learned was fresh in your mind. That’s why you were throwing great casts.

“Suppose you had picked up Lefty’s new rod a week earlier. Would you have cast it that well? Would you have been as impressed?”

Those were rhetorical questions, readily answered with a very confident “Uhhh…maybe,” which has a partner called maybe not.

It’s tough for some of us to attend a casting clinic or other fishing-related event on a day when we could as easily go fishing. I suspect that fly fishing-doers are a little more likely to choose the clinic than, say, billfish trollers or jig wigglers using spin and baitcast tackle.

“Look, we flyfish because we’re willing to accept the liabilities of fly fishing. We’re trying to do something hard. That’s why we fly fish.”

So spoke Andy Mill, a national champion downhill skier in the 1970s, better known now as a tarpon tournament champ and member of the IGFA Fishing Hall of Fame.

He was the reason for the longish road ride. If you have a chance to cast with Andy Mill, and also learn how he feeds a fly to big ones and brings them to hand, you do that.

It’s also a chance to cast with a $995 rod. Mill’s sponsor is Hardy, which supplied the equipment.

Our friends the students had not fished with anything near that price. First thing they noticed was that Mill’s 8-weight saltwater stick felt as light in hand as a 5- or 6-weight freshwater rod.

There are plenty of other high-end brands in the same category, with prices lately breaking $1,000 — including the latest update of the model line Mill was using. The newest construction materials have enabled taper designs that enable longer, more accurate casts and slightly lighter weights that reduce casting fatigue.

And oh yes, higher costs.

“Just like anything else, this is a lifestyle,” Mill told his audience. “You’re going to do it for a long period of time; you might as well start with the best.”

In that moment, he was talking about titanium pliers, one that comes in six- and seven-inch lengths for about $63 an inch.

People selling us expensive stuff often say you get what you pay for. Skeptics say no, you pay for what you get. If you’re lucky, or careful or both, you may get what you pay for.

For some of us, the knowledge that we’re casting a $650 rod can be intimidating. If not, a $995 price might make us nervous, but once we get into the rhythm the fear should fade. There’s too much else to concentrate on.

Driving home after Mill’s seminar and casting clinic, the characters in our story discussed the merits of high-priced tackle.

One said: “We’re both a little better now at fly casting, aren’t we?”

The other: “Yes. Our technique is better and our best casts are a little to a lot better. I have a hunch that’s more to Andy Mill’s credit than to his $995 rod.”

Reply: “When we made bad casts with that stick, they weren’t any better or worse than the bad ones we make with our own rods.”

Soon out of profundity, the passenger was scrolling on his phone when another ad lurched him from his lull.

“Holy unprintable!” he cried.

“Don’t show me. Just tell me,” said the helmsman.

“It’s the new line of rods from G. Loomis. Remember when they passed $1,000?”

“Not so long ago. What now?”

“Tighten your grip on the wheel. Ready? They start at $1,635.”

“Holy unprintable! Did you say start?”

“Yes, for the 8- and 9-weight versions. Going up from those, they’re $1,750.”

The man at the wheel trembled visibly.

“Hold my hand,” he begged.

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