I’ve been testing Costa’s polarized Spearo sunglasses, a suave tortoiseshell frame set with green mirror polarized glass lenses, and I’m head over heels. After a couple of road trips, a handful of hikes and 20-plus days on the river, these casual adventure shades have become my all-time favorites.
The fit, look and optics have combined to win my affection. The castor oil-derivative bio-resin frames (points for sustainability!) are slightly oversized. And the easygoing style is underlined by a notched nose bridge and sculpted logo-embossed arms. The fit is true medium. Grippy nose pads and inner arms have kept these shades secure on the sweatiest of days. Each temple is perforated with a tiny hole, so you can attach Croakies and save the Spearos from being sacrificed to the river gods.
And on a recent father-son fishing trip, my Costas were the hero we needed to save us from an empty line.
A trout darts to the surface of the cerulean creek — a tiny brown torpedo materializing from nowhere. The fish wallops my dad’s dry fly and, upon discerning duplicity, instantly spits it out and disappears. I let out an inarticulate, garbled groan, equal parts excitement and despair. Taking my constipated caveman yodel as a signal to strike, my dad yanks the rod a second too late, slingshotting a fishless fly into the air.
“When you see a fish take the fly, you’ve got to set the hook,” I tell him for the third time, heart pounding at the near miss. “Immediately. They’re quick and I can’t yell fast enough.”
“I just can’t see the fly,” confesses my father, shrugging sheepishly. It’s his first day of fly fishing, and he’s doing remarkably well. He hasn’t caught a fish yet, but he hasn’t lost a fly to the overhanging tree branches, either. After a quick lesson, he’s getting the hang of it. The fish are biting, too. He just can’t see them.