The World's Most Difficult Fly to Tie:
By Kevin Fancy
I was out in the bush a few years back fishing a pristine little puddle
of water known as Dunk's Lake in Ontario. Don't go looking for it on a
map anywhere as I could draw you one that would take you right to it's
shores and you would still never find it. It is one of those hundreds
of thousands of lakes in Ontario that defy description and location.
Maybe they're not there at all and it's a twilight zone kind of thing.
We all know lakes like them, but forgive me for I digress. I was going
to talk about the world's most difficult fly to tie.
So here I am camped on the shores of this beautiful sea green lake. I,
and a couple of friends had decided to make a weekend of the first
fishing outing of the year. It was during the spring, in fact the very
weekend, the dragonflies were emerging. There were without exaggeration
thousands, maybe millions of them drying their wings on every available
space of sun exposed plant life. I will never forgive myself for not
bringing a camera that trip.
We arrived in camp at dusk on Friday night and the lake was alive with
both insect and fish life. It was tempting to just hop out of the car
and head straight for the water. Having done that before however I knew
that if we waited until after dark to set up camp the job would become
miserable. Not because of the bugs, as it had been too cold for
mosquitoes or black flies, but because tents set up in the dark
inevitably end up on root masses or rock piles that thrust themselves
out of the ground AFTER the tent has been pitched over clear ground.
It's a fact; camps set up in the dark are always in the wrong place,
facing the wrong direction and lead to the misery of all who stay
there. So, in quiet agreement we decided to forgo the first nights
angling, pitch camp and collect enough wood for the entire two-day
stay. But about the world's hardest fly to tie, I'm getting there!
Anyway, by dark camp was set and we were prepared for anything, taking
our places around a comfortable fire to discuss the battle plan for the
days to come. Had anyone seen our group huddled around the fire that
night they would have thought us nothing more than a rag tag crew of
hobos. Poorly dressed and drinking firewater from tin cups as we swore
and told stories that seemed too far-fetched even for our little corner
of the twilight zone. No folks passed however and we were left to our
own devices, unless we were seen by some creature of the night that was
smart enough to stay a safe distance away. Not even a bear would have
been wise to interrupt on of our tales after the third round of old iron
feathers blended whatever and paint thinner so we passed the night in
silence and were up and at'm before the crack of dawn.
Four members plied that lake all day. Not exclusively fly fishers as a
whole, everything was tried. Bait fishing with minnows and worms,
casting plugs and spoons, flies of every size and variety you could
imagine but nothing would work. The fish continued to rise but none
would bite.
Now if you were me at this point, and I'm sure you can see what the
problem was (as hind sight is twenty-twenty and you are sitting in a
warm comfortable chair at home right now and I was being frustrated to
bits in a boat trying to catch anything that would be dinner) you would
have realized the trout were stuffed to the gills on the emerging
dragonfly larvae. As we all know trout can become fixated on one food
and that is exactly what I was thinking had happened that day as I
pulled the boat to shore for the night.
At supper time out came the box dinners. One measly little fish was
taken all day and it was caught on a Doc Spratley wholly by accident.
Yes, by accident as my fellow angler was in the process of taking a wind
knot out of his line when the fish hit the fly right beside the boat as
it splished and splashed below the gunnel. One little fish between four
tough anglers, pitiful. Now back to the world's most difficult fly to
tie.
After dinner we again gathered around the fire to smell up our cloths
and this time, instead of boasting, we had to admit defeat and discuss
the misfortunes of the day. It would have been nicer to speak of fame
and glory (and we would have had there been no witnesses) but now was
not the time for tales. We had our honor to uphold before we headed
home the next day and one can not stretch a fish that has yet to be
caught.
Although the day had pretty well been fishless, it had not been
strikeless. Yes almost everyone had had strikes at one time or another
and the talk turned to the what's, when's and wherefore's. After a
while I determined that the majority of hits had been taken on primarily
black or gold bait. Hits were at or near the surface and smaller baits
were preferred over larger ones. Add that to the knowledge that the
only fish taken that day was taken with a fly and I was on my way to
success. Or so I thought. As the others headed for bed that night I
was busy rooting through my fly boxes by firelight. I needed a black
nymph like bait with a little gold on it. To my chagrin, none existed
and I was crushed. I looked at this and that, but to my mind nothing
fit the bill. Then it hit me, tie a new one here and now! I had some
hooks and waxed dental floss in my toilet kit. I took apart an old
minnow pattern fly who's body was made from woven gold Mylar. An old
Zug Bug was sacrificed for its tinsel and body material and I was ready
to create.
Holding the hook in my fingers like the old pro's used to I tied. My
first attempt was crude and was condemned to the flames. The second
attempt faired no better and it to rose with the phoenix. I was running
out of buggy body material and was just about to go in search of another
fly to cannibalize when the call of nature shouted in my ear. While I
stood in the dark contemplating the bush in front of me an idea came to
hand. I shan't go into details but it will suffice to say that I
discovered all the buggy body material I needed at that moment. A pair
of scissors flashed in the firelight and before I knew it a pile of
material lay before me. In the end I had three flies tied and this is
what they looked like.
The tails were sparse short straight pieces of black bear hair. The
body material was of a hair that is common to most humans, but shall
remain hidden and nameless for taste's sake. The body was over-wrapped
in oval gold tinsel and a small wing case located just behind the head
of gold Mylar woven tinsel graced the back. A false beard of red hackle
was the crowning glory and that was born by the fire that night.
Now there obviously would be no story if this unusual fly born of
necessity did not work the next day. It did, and produced limits of
fish for both my partner and myself. How did the others fair? As
poorly as the day before. It just goes to show you (as my son always
says) "Flies rule and hardware drools"! I'm trying to break him of
that habit. The next problem was two-fold. First, what to name this
little gem. After acquiring more materials from other sources I thought
the "Canadian Nymph" was both accurate and to the point, if you get my
drift. The second problem became acquiring enough material of DIFFERENT
colors to match the HATCH as we say. It was discovered after that first
prototype that the female of our species produces a higher quality
material and as a married fisherman you can imagine my dilemma.
So now my dilemma is yours. It is a great fly and well worth tying but
to acquire material you must be a Svengali. World's most difficult fly
to tie? You bet your life. Having one colour is easy enough but try
and put together a selection of shades. Difficult doesn't always refer
to skill level; sometimes it can be in merely finding rare and dangerous
ingredients.
~ Kevin Fancy
Our Man In Canada Archives
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June 14th, 1999
