FLY TYING – WHY?
It was back in the early 60’s when a newly married boy, not really yet a man, discovered that fishing with a bit of fur and feathers attached to a hook was about as much fun as a guy could have wearing rubber pants and standing waist deep an icy cold stream. Not long after that epiphany I discovered that I too could create those bits of fur and feather that you attach to the end of your leader. The rest, as they say, is history.
It started simply enough and the logic seemed to be flawless. Quality dry flies cost forty-five cents apiece and streamer cost sixty-five cents each. Certainly, with a handful of feathers, some fur, thread, and hooks I could tie my own flies much cheaper. Yeah, right.
First there was the learning curve. It looked easy, but the doing was harder than the seeing. Of course, we did not have the multiplicity of books, videos, CD’s and other visual aids to help the beginning fly tyer. If you could find them there were a few old timers that might show you how to do it, but mostly you were on your own. As proud as I was of the first few flies that I cranked out with the aid of my Noll Fly-Tying Kit I soon discovered that they were far short of the ones that I previously had purchased at Jack’s Rod & Fly Shop in Roscommon, Michigan. It looked like it might take longer than I thought to furnish myself with flies that would really float like a real dry fly.
‘He that preservers to the end will succeed,’ not an exact quotation of that Bible verse but I think it conveys the intent of my fly tying endeavors. I kept on tying flies until I could finally begin to produce something that resembled and floated like those forty-five cent jobs. Of course by this time I had graduated from the Noll Fly Tying Kit, and my fly tying material no longer would fit into a shoe box. In fact, it began to take over a considerable part of the small room where I stored all my other ‘outdoor toys.’
By this time I came to realize that I wasn’t saving money by tying my own flies. Fly tying became another part of that addiction called fly-fishing. In my mind I justified my fly tying habit by cultivating the idea that, even if my fly tying was not a money saving endeavor, I was able to tie flies that more correctly represented the food that trout eat. Thus, by more accurately tying flies that fish eat I would need to tie fewer flies, ergo I would ultimately arrive at enlightenment, angels would sing, and I would have truly arrived among the angling elite. Yeah, right.
It soon became obvious to my demented mind that tying exact imitations of the things that trout eat required more, not less, material. Who knew that there were so many shades of dun? There were many subtle shades of color, so many nuances of hue, and so my collection of furs and feathers continued to grow.
Of course the materials were not the only thing that continued to grow. Why there is a plethora of hooks that one needs. There are up-eyed, down-eyed, and ring-eyed and they can be ball eyed, tapered or looped. Some have short-shanks, and some have long-shanks with seemingly innumerable variations. They have various bends; they are made from different size wire, some are barbed, some are barbless, and some have micro-barbs. Some have spear points and some have needle points. Some are specifically for dry flies, some for nymphs and wet flies, others for streamers and some for caddis patterns and scuds. Then there are the sizes; from the 8x long streamer hooks, size 2, down to the diminutive gold-plated size 28. Just purchasing the necessary hooks required a king’s ransom, and another cabinet just to contain the collection.
By now my ‘fly tying stuff,’ as my late wife fondly called it, took up several cabinets, a large foot locker, and an assortment of large glass jars, plastic storage boxes, cigar boxes, and a separate room in the house. At this juncture any possible explanation as to why I had all this stuff, most of which I will never use, was futile. Logic could not explain it, wisdom could not justify it, and insanity, while a viable option, was not particularly to my liking. The Why no longer became a subject of conversation; having reached the point of resignation to the reality of the situation we relegated it to one of those mysteries of life and moved on.
With the death of my wife in 2007 I began the onerous task of sorting through all our stuff accumulated from our 45+ years of marriage, and ultimately I came upon my ‘fly tying stuff.’ Sorting through the other things that we had accumulated I had formulated a plan to divest myself of things that represented an excessive buildup of items that I no longer used, had no idea what they were, or things that I had not used or needed in the last six months. With the exception of things that were used seasonally – winter coats, snow shovels, garden tools, etc. – and mementos that possessed sentimental values that were too significant or painful to depart with – family photos, certain books and keepsakes – everything else was subject to disposal. Based on that criteria most of my fly tying stuff was headed toward the trash dumpster.
Sitting amidst my considerable collection of hooks, furs, feathers, and tools I realized that my fly tying stuff represented more than mere stuff. In essence it represented an intrinsic part of my life, that aggregate accumulation of things I affix to a hook in an endeavor to fool a creature with a brain that is smaller than a pea, is so tightly woven with the fabric of who I am that it’s very existence is part of the glue that gives some focus to my life. Like the fly tying silk that binds the material to the hook and the glue that cements the head, my fly tying stuff holds a part of me together that is an integral part of who I am.
Finally, in the twilight glow of my life, I have answered, at least for me, the question. Fly tying – Why? It suits me and in some way completes me. So for now the boxes, jars, cabinets, and foot lockers filled with fly tying stuff, most of which I may never use, will remain. Somehow I take particular solace in that fact.