Everything Outdoors with Chalen

A trickster of fish and gambler of fate,
here in the house I dream and wait,
of warmer water and warmer weather,
here amongst my fur and feathers.

Preparing for battle on the lakes and springs,
creating my weapons of tails and wings,
thread and tinsel, dubbing and hackle,
all the tools to create my tackle.

Tweaking this and trimming that,
the wings stand up, the tail laid flat,
the body tapered, head whipped tight,
a sharpened hook ready for the fight.

I sit back and gaze in admiration,
and without a moment’s hesitation,
tell myself that old angler’s lie,
that I have tied the perfect fly.

If fly fishing can be considered an obsession, then fly tying is certainly a contributing factor. Fly Tying extends the anglers season to 365 days a year. Neither downpour nor blizzard can stop one from sitting down at the vise for a day of fun, cursing, and frustration. But fly tyers face a particular form of insanity that generally manifests as a need to “save money” on materials. Maybe they are trying to develop the perfect pattern, maybe they are trying to appease an understanding but skeptical spouse. Either way, every fly tyer goes through a series of phases during their descent into the fanatical acquisition of new and exciting materials.

I think most tyers start by walking through the store, grabbing groceries or dog food or toilet paper, and something suddenly catches your eye. Something you’d walked past a hundred times but never processed. Skeins and skeins of yarn. The craft section of your local Walmart is practically infested with it. Hundreds of colors. Think of the indicators, tag tails, chopped dubbing, heck some of this stuff is just fancy chenille! You start squeezing a skein of multi-colored yarn, a real deal for $5. Into the cart it goes, and as you start to move away, you can’t help but wonder, “might there be something else for me here?”

Then the madness begins. Marabou in a thousand colors, all in one cheap pack, pompoms, googly eyes, beads, plastic lacing, beading wire. Not owning anything other than 9 ft 5 weight, you are suddenly imagining 8 inch articulated streamers, huge feather wing concoctions for salmon, and a hundred other things you have no clue how to fish, much less tie. But it sounds like such an amazing idea. The delusion starts to set in, and you rush home, sans toilet paper, with these new treasures.

You sit down at the vise and crank out a few real buggy creations. Sure things for the next outing. As you keep rolling, the cat comes in and lays down in the corner. Soft and silky, it commences grooming that long dun colored hair, and as you watch out of the corner of your eye, you have to wonder, “will that make good dubbing?” After showing more attention to the cat than you have in months, you finally settle it down enough to comb through and loose some fur. It looks promising, dubs beautifully, and makes a good, tapered body. Soon you are brushing the dog, cleaning the lint out of the dryer, eyeballing your own greying hair. But the payoff is hard to beat.

The confidence you have in these new flies translates on the water, and folks start asking about what patterns you are tying. These “custom dubbing blends” are killing it for you and the tiniest hint of jealousy is showing through with some of your friends. This drives the madness even further. When you get back home you go to tie a few more but notice you’re out of the right sized grizzly hackle. Time to hop online or head to the fly shop. But oh the cost! As you scroll through the capes and saddles available, you keep seeing top-end hackle commanding incredible sums, and the next act of lunacy is born.

How hard could it be to raise chickens? Measuring the back yard, looking at hatchery catalogs, making lists of colors to order. You’ll never run out of hackle, maybe you could even sell it! Now you’re in business. Why stop with hackle, rabbits don’t take much either, just these little hutches they sell at the Farm and Home store. Zonker strips, hare’s mask, feet, all the most useful parts for tyers. Can you farm muskrats? If you already have chickens, maybe you could get pheasants too? This is turning into a tying material empire with you at the helm.

A knock on the doorframe brings you back to reality, sitting at your bench, parakeet in one hand, tweezers in the other. Dinner is ready. Chewing on a lot more than pot roast, you venture back down the rabbit hole after dinner, and in the coming days. After a week that would have been better spent tying than finding out mink ranching is no longer very profitable, you resign yourself to the fact that you simply don’t have time to build an empire. Not that you couldn’t do it, but that you have different priorities.

Most tyers slowly drift back to reality at this point. Not that they will abandon their craft store finds or the occasional combing of the cat, but the grand scheme of buying a shipping container of furs from an international auction house generally subside after awhile. Resigned to go back to buying materials like a mere peasant, you start poking around. There really is some good stuff out there now. All these new bead types, crazy new hook designs, and the best old standbys. But as you add that gold medal cape to your cart and head to checkout, you can’t help thinking, “I could’ve grown one just as good.” Sometimes, thinking you can is enough.

Every angler falls for the waters’ dirty trick,
When hooked into a big one in lake or pond or crick,
First the rods bends
But soon the fight ends
For alas, it was only a stick.