Read away ]]> http://www.waywardflyfishing.com#2008-05-003
At about this time, I was exploring the essential aspects of a fly that I need to work into a pattern--again, like everyone else.  This started when I was listening to a music artist say that what's important to him is to play only the essential notes in a song, and forget the rest. This pretty much sums up my attitude toward fly tying, and just about everything else.

So now, I fret over the shape of the fly, and how well the materials move in the water. Fortunately, Antron fibers move as well in water as my old partridge hackle (though I will still use soft hackles on some flies). And I tend to fret about the color of they fly, mixing different Antron shades for the perfect olive, but I also suspect that it is far too difficult to get this right. I mean, every time I hold up a natural PMD to the sky, I'm amazed by the qualities of the color and light that I could never capture. So I also tend toward two shades, one light olive, one dark olive. I think I just contradicted myself, but that happens too.

The real complexity is in the application of materials. Each year I learn new ways to apply dubbing, attach a wing, a tail. It never ends (again, like most people). Currently, I'm into canting tails upward, a trick I learned from A. K. Best. I'm also learning to tie nymph bodies using dubbing loops. Occasionally, I'll fool around with floss over orange or yellow or olive thread patterns, something I've adopted from miracle nymph patterns. Tied with copper rib, they are the coolest flies as the copper begins to green up through oxidizing.

The point is, I don't hate fly tying. I'm just aware of its demands if you want to continue to grow in the sport. Having fun in this sport often requires stretching yourself, which leads to better experiences (and sometimes fish), which leads to growing you in some other way. Which often leads to the kind of great insights that get replaced by next years great insights. Then the pattern repeats.

The other thing that bothers me about fly tying is the fact that no two flies are alike. It's not that I can't tie two flies consistently. The point is that my fingers are always apply new tricks, and the materials are constantly finding new ways to tie themselves, it seems at times. And I also can't tie two flies consistently to save my life. This is why I have a day job. ]]> http://www.waywardflyfishing.com#2008-05-002 Stream Dancer. For you techno-fishers out there, the Stream Dancer is, according to John, propelled by "electric motors with pulse width modulation speed controllers to vary the speed and rotation direction of the augers." I'm not sure what that means, but I like the sound of it.

                                  

What it might mean for the rest of us who must suffer with paddle and flippers is that you can get anywhere quick in this boat, up to 5 knots, according to the developer. For us landlubbers, that is like, well, a good clip in a parking garage. And once you get there, you'll be able to turn circles and go back and forth using only two foot paddle controls, for that precise control while keeping both hands on your fly rod and line. You can even stand in it (don't stand in it). And with all the storage, you can pack a lunch that would put a float tuber's energy bar to shame.

Any boy does it catch fish. OK, it doesn't catch fish. Hooks with fur, feathers, and other things real and artificial catch fish. Good presentations catch fish. A high barometric pressure catches fish (or is it a low pressure?). A full moon catches fish (or is it no moon?). Patience catches fish. But when you need to get there quickly in order to practice all of the above, and maneuver like a heron once you get there, you can't beat a Stream Dancer. ]]> http://www.waywardflyfishing.com#2008-04-002 Times, while drinking my coffee (sorry, bad grammar, must work on my grammar), I came across an article about a couple bloggers dying from . . . blogging. As the story goes, they overworked themselves by the 24/7/365 act of staying current with events and the advertising dollars that chase them.

I suspect that the blogging wasn't the issue, though. People have been overworking themselves into a grave ever since early man began chasing down his dinner by running through the woods for days on end, only to find nothing and come home to a lonely cave with his young naked family staring at him pitifully with a "What, no Mastodon?"

How does this relate to fly fishing? One thing about fly fishing is that it is fairly difficult to blog too much and still get enough fishing in to have something to blog about. Though many are trying.

Fly fishers are getting rich by fly-blogging. I, for one, am about One million dollars short of my million dollar goal to make a million dollars, though I've started putting adds on my site (tasteful relevant ones on one side of the window, and not plastered all over the place until you can't tell add copy from content). Am I getting stressed out? Not yet, though my lack of really big fish has been a concern of mine lately. But this is nothing worth blogging about. ]]> http://www.waywardflyfishing.com#2008-04-001 VERSUS, In this case, viewers, not experts, get to logon and vote for the best of the bad fish by March 27. Then the winners are announced after that on the Versus channel.

How am I planning to win? Easy, I'll enter the biggest baddest fish. For me, that's going to be a sperm whale. They got big mouths, and eat giant squids. Imagine the lure I'll need to catch one, let alone a good fly. Oh, wait, they're a mammal. Hey, wait, Mahi Mahi is on the list of species you can vote for, and they're a dolphin, which is a mammal. (Ha, I fooled you. "Dolphin," as applied to Mahi Mahi, is different than true dolphins, which Are mammals. It's confusing, sort of like calling a rainbow trout a salmon, or a Pterodactyl a bird, or a donkey a horse, or my cousin, Bib, a decent human being.)

OK, then, how about that creature from the Black Lagoon. He has big fish-like scales. Oh, sorry, that's fictional, I think. How about an alligator. Now, THAT's a bad fish. Shoot, it's a lizard. Snapping turtle? Jelly fish? Hmm. This game is more difficult than I thought. Check out the action on the VERSUS site. Log in, vote away, and fish on.

Somehow, I don't think viewers are going to vote for the brook trout I caught last September. It was huge because it was 8 inches long, and 4 inches longer than the little cutts it was devouring. Huge, because it was caught in a creek two feet across. Almost big enough in my mind for a Tiger Woods body pump.

The point is, a "big" fish is sometimes relative. Sometimes it depends on your situation, sort of like voting for my uncle Bernard, who has a face like a fish (just don't tell him that or he'll chase you with a fence post).

Anyway, I'll be tuning in to VERSUS to see what's up. After all, its still too cold to catch my own big fish. ]]> http://www.waywardflyfishing.com#2008-03-002 Troutnut.com is fantastic for this), and grab some muskrat, rabbit or Antron to cook up my impression of the bug.

But sitting on a rock in a suburban stream during a cold march day, I paused my boredom when a dinky baetis rose up in the way only a mayfly can--like it wasn't in an particular hurry to rise up for anything or anybody. For a short while, I thought it might be another lousy midge. But looking at its unique flight pattern, I recognized its single spiraling nature, that delicate struggle it displays as it yoyos around the cold air currents. All other insects seem to buzz around, or flit around, or flop around, or skittle around--all motions that aren't particularly interesting or suggestive.

Maybe the difference is that all these insects have mouths, and thus have a need to eat and buzz around. But the mayfly has no mouth, and therefore doesn't' eat, and therefore has no particular reason to fly anywhere. Therefore, it flies aimless up and down in graceful circles, as if it were about to forget how to fly. As if they wanted to say hello to me, except for the fact that they don't have mouths.

Well, I guess they need to breed, too. But I'm not a scientist, nor am I one of those flyfishers. And obviously, I suddenly have lots of time on my hands--until Spring.]]> http://www.waywardflyfishing.com#2008-03-001
Walking back to my car, I notice the single bud on a tree. Each year I try to see if I catch a tree bud just before it buds, just before it decides to split a cell into the new year. Actually, by the time you tell yourself that a tree bud is budding, a thousand cells, hell, a million, a billion, have probably already split. I'm not sure if this particular bud is budding, or if it is, like me, near frozen. Note to self; I'm not sure why, but I should pay attention more to such things.

Now, despite the temperature, the mayfly's cells are raging. The kind of nuclear fire that can push a little insect into metamorphosis during this three-month chill is enough in its import to drive oceans and worlds apart. That's right. The Big Bang, a little mayfly--it's all the same. What this says about the cold weather's effect on the cells in my brain, I'm not certain. The point is, well, I'm not sure what the point is, but I do know that budding trees and cold little insects insite me enough to look forward to warm fingers in Spring. ]]> http://www.waywardflyfishing.com#2008-02-002
In fact, I had to look more closely to see if some of the juveniles weren't just gigantic crows that decided that rotting salmon and all those Omega-3 fatty acids were just the ticket to growing as big as a Buick. But their sound gives them away, that wailing fingernails-on-blackboard sound, like that creature from Predator. Well . . . nothing like that. But it is the kind of squeal you don't want around your head if you get too near a nest.

My river this day was a thin one as steelhead rivers go, and I was in my usual zone--an existential Nothing. That's a pretentious way of saying, No Fish, No How, No Way. Damnit. Note to self: until I start catching fish, stop using big words I don't understand. The saving moment was a river beautifully thin, with weedy cobblestones a perfect softball size. Actually, they remind me more of curling rocks, to pick a more appropriate metaphor for a cold river.

As I peered through the cold fog at the shore with a half  dozen eagles picking at their delicious meal, I couldn't help but think more about the eagle floats up north. One thing I'll have to admit--I know little about eagles. The eagle guide up north could talk my ear off about nesting habitat and other bird matters, and I might have walked away from such a trip a wiser man. Then again, I tend to venture alone on most nature adventures, and as a result often arrive at fairly naive observations about animals.

Like, Bald eagles like to eat a lot. Bald eagles are big. They are very black and very white. When they fly close overhead, I can hear the whoosh of wind under their wings. They build large nests in tall trees. And why do they have a white head? Does it blend in with the sky to better make them appear smaller? Also, they are a little frightening. And they don't frighten easily. At least not over me. I may not know a lot about them, but I've seen hundreds of them up very close and personal--and for very little gas and money.

As one flew toward me, I raised my hands to see if I could steer it one way or the other. This works with some large birds. (It also works, don't ask how, with most other things, like cars, cows, and people.) But the eagle, as proud as a silver dollar, just glided over, no doubt sizing me up as unimportant--maybe saying to itself "Go ahead--old man with stick--trip on a rock, and I'll eat your eyes out."

]]> http://www.waywardflyfishing.com#2008-02-001
Now, anyone who casts a fly realizes that there is about as much similarity between art and fly casting as there is between opera and singing in the shower. (Ok, that was a weird analogy, but I think I made my point.)

Real art is more like what Rod Crossman does. You may have seen his art illuminating numerous flyfishing and other magazines through the years. Here is one of his latest, which he was kind enough to send to me:



This particular piece is titled "Crystal Creek," and like a lot art that should do something for you, does this for me: It tells me that I need to work less and fish more often. Well, to be fair, not fish more often. But fish less and sit back more. Sit back and enjoy the moment. It also reminds me that I don't need to work as hard at my fishing to be fishing well. I just need to show up at about the hour of the evening that captured this artist's imagination, and wait for the fish to tell me when to start getting busy. Or, maybe the point of the picture is that I don't need to get busy. Or, maybe the point of art is that there are as many points to art as there are viewers, and a real artists doesn't need insists on a particular notion that must be understood. I suppose. But what the hell, I don't know much about art. I fish.

So that's my theory of art. Now, thirty years ago, I would have had a lot more to say about art (and a lot of other things as well). I could have used works like "Expressionism," "Representationalism," "Functionalism,"  "Formalism," "Institutionalism." Don't be impressed. I just googled "theory of art," and came up with the list. My point is, that in none of these theories is there any mention of whether the art makes me want to go out and do something, or approach something that I wouldn't have otherwise done. I call this the So What theory. Or SoWhatalism. There, I invented a theory, and if it doesn't help me catch more fish, maybe it'll help me enjoy the process more.

Visit Rod Crossman's site and to see what else you can learn. ]]> http://www.waywardflyfishing.com#2008-01-003 Note to self: Investigate ways to make millions of dollars advertising about flyfishing.

But while I have your attention, let's see what connections I can draw. Two of the above women were married to a guy who starred in a famous movie about flyfishing, who incidentally likes women with A's and J's in their names (am I the only one who discovered this connection?). Another one of these women has a name that recalls a state famous for flyfishing. There. It's all about the connections. And one of these women knows someone who saw someone who read about someone who knows Kevin Bacon. Amazing.

In addition, all of these celebrities are people I would like to meet while flyfishing. All would look great casting a fly rod. All would look fantastic wearing fishing waders, to say nothing about how they'd look with flippers and float tubes hugging them. And don't get me started about how'd they look sporting a designer fishing vest.

Now, let me make one thing clear: I'm happily married to a woman who lets me fish all the time and doesn't even turn an eye toward me when I say I want to go fishing next weekend, the same woman who occasionally fishes with me, and catches fish. She even tied a fly once. Never mind that it looked suspiciously like an earring. it still caught a big fish. Note to self: Check all of her jewelry for other ideas I could use fishing.

So, what is the point of this blog entry? I have no idea. But if I had some ads at this point, maybe I could buy a few more energy bars for my next steelhead trip.

I promise something useful for my next blog: art and flyfishing. ]]> http://www.waywardflyfishing.com#2008-01-002
One: Tie smaller flies. I'm going start with size 20 baetis, followed by size 32 midges. Then I'm going to get a new eyeglass prescription, followed by a microscope (probably followed by Woolly Buggers).

Two: Get better at presentation. I'm thinking of performing an interpretive dance while casting. Lord knows, nothing else has been working.

Three: Stop lying to fishermen about the fishing--unless they start lying first.

Four: Tie larger flies, just in case resolution one isn't working out. Maybe I'll come up with a Lefty's Deceiver for small streams, size 4/0, that's "four ought".

Five: Be nicer to bait fishermen. Naaaaaa. Well, OK. Maybe a little. I once hurt a fish by being too harsh when I tried to release the hook. I also ate a fish once that I caught on a fly. There, you have it. Karma had better not be anything other than an Eastern myth, or I'm screwed.

Six: Try to find activities that are more important than fishing--or save this resolution for the following year.

Seven: Read old books. Like the bible. (It could help. Saint Peter was a fisher, after all). Or maybe re-read Dame Juliana Berners (again the biblical connection). Lord knows, I'm not learning any more from the plethora of magazine gibberish I read these days about the act of flyfishing. Besides, I sometimes wonder if  the great Dame said it best the first time, anyway.

Eight: Fish more often. "Nuff said.

]]> http://www.waywardflyfishing.com#2008-01-001
You know how older people sometimes walk into things? OK, that wasn't fair. After all, I bump into things all the time. Just ask my wife: whenever I walk down the halls of a shopping mall, my feet trip all over themselves, and I nearly kill myself navigating something as simple as an escalator. I once tripped on an escalator, and it took me half hour to fall down (sorry, a Demetri Martin joke).

My point is that spawned out salmon have lost most of their marbles and then go around bumping into things, including my legs while fishing. I'll be on my usual steelhead adventure and doing what I do best when I fish for steelies (that is, catch nothing, and getting colder), when a chum the size of a Buick swims between my legs. Then  I look around and  see thousands of dead salmon in various states of decay, and a hundred more milling about. I walk toward one and touch its back with the tip of my rod. It moseys on for about ten feet than stops. So I walk up to it and poke it again, and it moseys another ten feet. Then I step forward again and felt one of the more disgusting feelings you can have in this sport--the feeling of my felt soles digging into a dead salmon. It's all fun and games, until you step on a dead fish.

]]> http://www.waywardflyfishing.com#2007-12-002
Strategy one: Tie simpler flies. Put lots of red on the fly, and some florescent green. And pink. Maybe a few pieces of shoe laces, and hair from my dog. Cause it really doesn't matter a whit. And in general, don't worry about the fly. instead, worry about the . . . well, I'm not sure what I should worry about, or if I should worry at all.

Strategy Two: Get the fly deeper. Or maybe get it a little higher. Fish the head of the run more. Maybe the middle. Maybe the tail. Fish the seams. Maybe wade deeper. Or stay closer to shore. Not sure.

Strategy Three: Read a good book on steelheading. Or maybe improve my google search skills, like "How to catch steelhead, right now." "How to catch steelhead if you're a complete idiot." "Catch steelhead if you never plan on catching steelhead, or never will." Thank God Google doesn't judge the queries. I mean, I can accept Google pointing out my spelling errors in my queries. But I'll be using another search engine if it returns something like "You get no search hits because you're an idiot." Not that I'd dispute this. I just don't want to be reminded.

Strategy Four: Forget about steelhead and catch whitefish instead. They are in the same water, are kinda big, and can definitely save a steelhead-less day. Maybe catch some Dollies, too. They hang around salmon and steelhead. And you can boast about them, unlike whitefish.

Strategy Five: Wear warmer clothing. I froze last year. It could help catch fish. Lord knows, I've tried everything else. Maybe get some of those hand warmers. Bring something better to eat, while I'm at it. I'm tired of energy bars. Energy bars taste like Snicker bars that have never gone on a date.

Strategy Six: Watch the Ouzels. They are curious little folks, dipping ever so daintily to dry themselves off after chasing insects under the water. They also dive down to retrieve salmon eggs. I bet you didn't know that. I saw one do this repeatedly. What does this say about steelhead fishing--not a damn thing, except that when nothing else is happening, I can still find amusement.

I hope this helps. Oh, and put a few back. ]]> http://www.waywardflyfishing.com#2007-12-001
So, what is it about this final fly? The first one hundred flies were fairly well tied, with lots of clever turns of thread and materials and tails cocked just so.

But the final fly has those final intuitive touches, such as only a few hackle fibers, not the twelve you get from a full turn of hackle. And only three or so strands of Antron in the tail, not a dozen or so as on the other flies I tied. (And, Yes, the fish I chase can count, which explains my frequent lack of success.) Maybe the body is dubbed a little thinner or with a bit more rust in the mix, or whatever. Or maybe I dubbed it with longer strands of Antron so that, when picked out, it looks more like a caddis energer/nymph/stuck bug. Sort of like baking four apple pies for a big dinner, but baking the final one for yourself with those extra special touches that only you will appreciate: extra cinnamon, extra butter, thicker crust, chilled next to an open window and not in the fridge. That sort of thing.

Does it make a difference? Hard to say. This particular fly, a sparse caddis orange/rust nymph pattern of primarily Antron and rabbit, stayed on the tippet for three days. OK, I did swap out a few experimental baetis patterns at some point, but my final fly caught fish during the entire trip, and I like to think it was because of the special final touches (probably not, but you like to think . . . ). I didn't even lose the fly. It stayed on all trip long (with the occasional baetis) inspiring me, taunting me, like a siren call, validating myself as a great flyfisher (again, probably not, but you like to think so sometimes).

So what is it about the final fly that makes if different? Why can't I tie all my flies like the final fly? For that matter, why can't I swing a golf club like I do the final one on the driving range? Why can't I putt my golf disc on the course like I can in my back yard? Life is full of triteful mysteries like these. But that's what we live for--little mysteries the feed our little theories and fantasies. ]]> http://www.waywardflyfishing.com#2007-10-001
Actually, we have already started seeing this sort of thing--Flyfishing contests that stress human drama, attitudes, asides where we learn that the only person who is bigger than the jerk talked about, is the the jerk actually talking. When you think about it, it's the jerks that make all reality shows work. The hell with the nice guy. There's no money in them. I imagine the producer/director/camera guy (are these all the same people?) saying. So, how much do you hate him/her/the fish/your fly/his fly? Now, I exaggerate a little here. After all, we flyfishers generally speaking are a good crowd of people, with the usual exceptions. And any competition felt, is generally well accepted and good-natured, with the occasional exception. And anyone out-of-line, usually isn't around for the next trip. I guess in a sense, they get voted off.

Nevertheless, if the person in front of the lens isn't cooperating (because he or she is normal) then there are always the dirty tricks the producer/director/camera man has. "Bob says you couldn't catch a fish in aquarium. He also says you couldn't catch an alligator with a chicken tied to a rope. So what do you think of that?" I think the producer's strategy is to try to bring out the jerk within. In some religions, this is called original jerkness.

After all, when you think about it, we all harbor ill fillings about lots of people at one time or another. (Don't we, or is it just me?) And these producers are being paid to tap into this.  And we're all too willing to oblige. That's not to say we are all bad. Actually, I suspect, most of us are quite good. We're just vulnerable.

So the next time someone sticks a camera in your face and tries to ferret out a negative comment toward your fishing buddy who is throwing woolly buggers in a spring creek that is giving birth to a lovely trico hatch, just say, "Actually, I admire his imagination and perseverance. Lord knows I'm not catching anything in this hatch." And if someone's casting is hitting the water too hard, just say you admire his or hers grasshopper presentation. And if the producer/director/camera guy doesn't like that, remind them that there is also a jerk behind the lens. ]]> http://www.waywardflyfishing.com#2007-09-001
You are on outgoing and fun-loving person, while fishing.

You are about to catch a fish bigger than your leg.

The fish you catch that is bigger than your leg will eat your leg.

You will encounter a mayfly hatch as big as a snow storm.

You are about to meet a beautiful woman, while fishing.

You are about to meet a most rugged man, while fishing.

You are about to come across a large sum of money, while fishing.

You will get rich while doing anything else but fish.

You will be able to cast a fly across the mississippi.

You will win the lottery with the numbers 23 14 7 34 21 12.

Only idiots fish with flies smaller than 16.

Fish with woolly buggers.

You will get eaten by a big fish.

You find beauty in ordinary things. Do not lose this ability. If you do, go fishing.

You will win the lottery tomorrow; then you'll catch no more fish.

]]> http://www.waywardflyfishing.com#2007-08-001
I'm also not sure I believe other theories of trout and ant behavior. For example, toward the end of summer, trout get a little desperate for food. Because there are fewer and smaller mayflies around, because stoneflies are over, and for other reasons known apparently only to a fish, trout get a little more opportunistic and start considering grasshoppers and ants. It's sort of like saying that if there isn't any steak around, then the only thing left to eat is a hamburger. I think flyfishers are way too willing to apply human logic to a bug's brain. Besides, the more I turn over rocks, the more I realize that fish have plenty to eat all year long.

But my point is . . . well, I'm not too sure what my point is. But what I'm wondering is, are there more ants crawling around during one time of the year than another? Now, when ants take to the wing, that's one thing. But other than this, I don't see more ants hanging or crawling around at different times of the year. But I strongly suspect that I'm simply not observant enough.

Putting this issue aside for the moment, I started contriving an ant pattern. Naturally, I started worrying about the proportions of body parts. One authority said that the abdomen is 40 percent of the body length, and the head is 25 percent. So I did what any flyfisher would do, I started looking for a sample.  I roamed around the backyard looking for an ant, and wouldn't you know, I couldn't find a single one. Not even around the house. Apparently, you only find ants when you don't want to see them, like in your house.

So I tied an ant anyway, mainly because I was a little late getting to the stream to meet a fishing buddy. I started with black bunny fur (with Antron, because I put Antron into everything, include my pancakes), with CDC legs (because I put CDC into  everything as well, accept my pancakes), and just a few strands of white CDC for visibility. An awesome looking pattern, which I invented (along with about a hundred flyfishers before me).

Then on stream I started looking around for an ant to compare. Of course, after 5 hours of fishing I saw not one ant. I thought these insects were ubiquitous. Along with cockroaches, aren't they supposed to inherit the earth?

Then back at work, I finally found an ant. It was crawling across my computer monitor. I said, a little too loudly, because just then my boss walked in, "So where in the hell have you been?" "Huun," said my boss. "Not you, the ant." "What?" "I'm talking to the ant." I showed him the ant I picked up. He just rolled his eyes. He learned long ago not to ask questions about the things I do. He muttered some important work-related matter that I completely ignored and walked out.

When the boss left, I watched the ant navigate all over my hand. It looked just like the size 16 one I tied. The proportions looked about right. The legs extended out about a one-and-a-half times the body length, which also checked out. And the color was dead on--black.

Then I just let the ant go lose in the office. Over the next few days, he'd show up periodically across my monitor or chair, as if to say "You're strange." He'd be right. I'd pick him up and observe him for a while, then let him go again, like my cat.

That's what separates the ants from the rest of the insect world, they'll hang around and play. Well, to be honest, I played with a little inch worm once, but they aren't much fun.

So my question remains, What's up with the ants that ain't'? Wherefore art they, when, and why? ]]> http://www.waywardflyfishing.com#2007-06-002
This kind of knowledge you can't just pick up reading books and watching videos. Not even YouTube has this information, at least last time I looked (probably does by now). Actually, I had a difficult time searching in YouTube for "nymph," as you might imagine. Well, OK, nymph did come up, but not the kind we're talking about here.

Anyway, he decided it was time to do something rather than work while working, to think about bugs and fish instead of thinking about bugs and fish all the time with a dry suit on. One conversation led to another with his wife saying she knows someone who fly fishes, and so on. It's an old old story, told for centuries, minus the dry suit.

So we fished, and very quickly he showed promise. Within a month he started tying his own flies, to "match his work," he proclaimed. Then the inconceivable happened. He caught a 20 inch cutthroat a half mile from a large shopping mall. Now, under normal circumstances, I would suspect a lie. But he's a biologists, and biologist have no need to lie. You and I might lie, but scientists are a little truer to the code. (I have no idea what that means.)

Given time, these people will start catching brook trout out of your bathtub. We still go fishing together, but it gets more and more challenging. Now, I have to reach deeper and deeper into my bag of advice gleaned from books and  grocery-store rags in order to impress, staving off the inevitable check on my precious sense of fishing reality-- "snorkel vision." ]]> http://www.waywardflyfishing.com#2007-06-001 Fly Road & Reel and the Angling Exploration Group have put together is something quite a bit different, not just a film, but a state of mind.

OK, "state of mind" might have been touch corny. After all, New York is supposed to be a state of mind, and I don't want to go fishing there. But this isn't a movie review. This is a blog. blogs are for hanging out and yakking and making people believe I actually know what I'm talking about. Go back to your search engine to find a real review.

Nevertheless, the film tour is the next fun thing to catching big fish in bizarre locations. The experience starts where all great movies start--in the ticket-holder's line, on the rainy sidewalk as you wait for the doors to open. Accept in this case not everyone is a random stranger. These are fellow flyfishers who populate your own streams. You can tell by their hats with flyfishing themes. You recognize others from your monthly fishing club. Some are wearing their flyfishing vests. I'm not sure why some people do this. Do they wear their vest to all social events, their flies dropping from their vest's drying patches into the guacamole?

Finally the doors open,and we all rush by the fresh popcorn with real butter (well, at least in this theatre). The producers, and stars, and writers, and editors line up along tables selling shirts and hats and bumper stickers--and they talk to you. That's nice. Try getting close to actors and such at a blockbuster movie, and you'll end up in jail, or at least with someone's camera lens in your ear. "Hey, Britney. I like your hair cut!" Just won't happen.

Once inside the theatre, a feeling of camaraderie fills the popcorn air. Before the show starts, everyone is looking around or standing in the isles, looking for fishing friends, club members, the next door neighbor, the person who jumped into their drift like a jerk. Cards get exchanged (those networking guides just won't stop), whoooaaas get yelled, names are screamed from the balcony ("Jimmmmmyyyyyyy, dude. Next week, my boat, OK?"). You don't get this kind of electricity during your usual movie.

Then one of the producers (or maybe it was one of the film's cameramen or fisherman/actor, or other fishing film figure) makes an announcement down on the stage, welcoming everyone, reminding everyone of the raffle, working the crowd. Imagine Brad Pitt addressing filmgoers during the premier of his latest blockbuster? I don't think so.

Then the flicks start. Hilarious, well presented stuff. Down-home humor is sometimes exceptionally fun. I'm not sure exactly what I mean by "down home". Films done for the sheer fun of it, maybe, for less than a million dollars. Maybe less than $100,000. Hell, some of these were probably done for the price of handheld high-end video camera and plane tickets. I obviously don't have a clue about howvideos, let alone movies, are made.

These video's have what high budget movies so often lack--focus on intelligent and entertaining scripting. The audience impact is obvious. I almost expected a few viewers to jump up and dance with the fish on stage a-la The Rocky Horror Picture show.

Then there's the intermission. What is this--an Opera? An intermission? What are you supposed to do during an intermission? Well, I did what comes natural: stretched, pissed, bought a shirt at one of the tables the producers set up to sell movie items, even chatted with one of the fisher/actors, listened to the raffle, and watched everyone talk to each other as if I were in a live Breugel painting. All-in-all, an interesting and amusing way to see fishing.

What else do I like about these flicks? No ads, not even those that sneak up on by showing a man fishing as he lifts a can of Diet Coke to his mouth, as if the Real Thing is not a fish. And no one tells you to silence your cell phone.

I wasn't sure at all what to expect walking in, but walking out, I knew I would be waiting impatiently in the ticket holders line next year for the next tour.

]]> http://www.waywardflyfishing.com#2007-04-001 Steelhead flies. Read my review. And I got to thinking about tying flies, fancy flies, fancy steelhead flies. Normally, I'm a marabou and chinelle type of steelhead fly tyer. But I thought I would kick it up a notch and learn how the big boys tie artful flies--and here's what I came up with--the Ouzel.

                         

This fly isn't meant to look like an ouzel. Though I've seen steelhead patterns that are the size of one. Its tail reminds me of what one particular ouzel was fishing for during my last outing. It kept diving into the currents and coming up with salmon eggs. I'd never seen an ouzel do this. During this inspiration moment, I thought of a new fly.



Hook:   A big one
Tag:      Flat gold tinsel under orange silk, with fine gold oval tinsel rib
Tail:     Red Hackle fibers, skirted around the hook (see below)
Body:   Half Peacock herl spun on a loop, half Estaz (a thick chinelle), ribbed with medium gold oval tinsel
Gills:    Red Wool
Hackle: Pheasant body hackle
Thread: Well, yes. Thread is used.

Here are two views of the skirted tail. Notice how the tail circles half the diameter of the shaft, like a . . . skirt.



What makes an ouzel an ouzel, and not some other fly that looks similar? (And let's not fool ourselves: most steelhead flies are more similar than different.)

First, The tail is skirted, which creates an luminous effect when drawn through the water. The tag (or butt) of flat tinsel under silk wraps with an oval rib shining through the hackle fiber tail enhances this effect. When I started skirting the tail, the fly began to take on a slight orange glow. This is a unique tying strategy of mine, which no doubt a hundred other tyers discovered before me. The skirted tail also makes the fly swim more vertically in the water column. (Ok, I made that up. I have no idea if this happens, and besides, the fly is tied symmetrically, which means that it more tumbles that swims in a nymph-like way.)

Now keep in mind that this shirted tying technique is my my own design and is registered in the US patent office. You can only use this method if you pay for the license. Kidding.

Second, the thick Estaz chinelle holds back the pheasant feather from completely collapsing on itself in stronger currents, and holds the hackle vertical and alive in weaker currents.

Third, the peacock herl is tied in a loop. Read Shewey's book about this. No more trout scraping my herl to pieces on the first bite.

Some tying notes

• To skirt the tail dig your fingers into the tail hackle fibers tie-in point. This is something I learned from A. K. Best to make tails on dry flies angle upwards. I just extended the idea by angling the feathers upwards and then around the shaft. Probably all my dry flies will get this treatment, too.
• Don't glue the tails in. If you do this, you can't spread the tail fibers around while fishing. Half the fun is dinking with flies while fishing. Hackle fiber tails are long enough to tie down along the entire length of the shaft anyway, which you should do to keep an evenly tapered body.
• Use more hackle fibers than you would normally, say 30 or so.
• Keep the tying neat. In the long run, neat saves time. The skirted tail is easier if the tie-in point is smooth from the tag (or butt) tie-down points. At the tail tie-in point, build up the thread in the shape of a ramp before tying in the tail. The tail will splay out better this way.

• Fly fishing for sperm whales
• How to catch nothing on a fly
• How to lie about your fish
• How to catch the blues fly fishing