It's another day off and I'm tying some more of the flies that I like
and use. I have just completed five dozen and am working to finish
the other 200 or so. Sure, I won't use or give them all away, but in
the winter what else can I do. Each fly I tie causes me to think ahead
to the future when it may help me catch a trout or two. When I tie a
fly I really visualize the fish I'll catch with it in the spring. I sort of
exist in a day dream where I catch a trout on the fly that I'm tying.
It sure makes it easier to tie a fly under those conditions. That's why
I'll never be a commercial tier. Those flies are never incidental. Each
one is important. Whether it ever actually fishes or not is not the thing.
I have already fished it in my mind. Sometimes I think those fish are
more important than the ones that actually find their way into my net.
I can spend hours just thinking about and planning for a series of flies.
I get out my pattern books and look at the variations and start laying
out the materials. I'm rather lazy and once I get into a pattern I'll tie
it for a month or so in all its colors and sizes. I don't tie many a day.
I generally tie two when I look at the financial news, another while
I do the local news and weather. A good football game can produce
five or six, but the Cleveland Indians can really strain my hook supply.
I don't know what it is about a good baseball game that seems to generate
flies. Maybe it's the pauses, or the slow pace of events or my general
disinterest, but I think most commercial tiers would benefit from a
video that showed an endless ball game with innings that seem to
stretch into forever. With videos like that available Mustad, Daiichi
and Tiemco will have to put on a third shift to supply the demand.
A good night in a chat room will at least generate four or so. I just put
them into my fly box. Plop, plop, plop, and somehow the fly box never
seems to get full. I suspect the local house elf of selling them. He
doesn't like Fosters Lager and I won't buy him anything else. I have
a hard time supporting my taste for Fosters let alone his thousand
year old liking for good single malt Scotch. If I ever find a market
for shriveled up nasty elves with a bad disposition then he's gone.
Lately to get even I've taken to leaving him milk at night. Maybe
that's why my flies look funny in the morning.
Like many I tie not to fill the box but just because I like to do it. I
catch more fish in my mind than I do in my net. I seldom miss that
tough throw back into the downed tree. I never slip on that steep
slope and my fly selection is always right. Dave always buys the
burgers at Graybels, and I'm always high rod on my river.
It's a shame to step into reality and fail again. I can't believe one
of my flies won't produce. Today there wasn't a rise on the river.
You just can't trust an elf with the d.t.'s. I just got my order of
Daiichi 1310's. All is well.
Now I am back into my dream world where nothing is ever wrong.
I can't believe all the fish that are rising on my river.
Even a blind man can catch them now.
Wait while I get my boots. ~ Old Rupe
|
