Tying Inappropriate Flies, Andrew Steketee

DanBob: Life Off the Grid

Appreciating images of Dan Fink’s fly-tying nihilism (rattlesnake anatomy, hunting rounds, political hyperbole, etc. appended to fish hooks), I’ve concluded the fly-tying universe has missed the point around imagination. Not some compromised blend of utility, biology, and inspiration, but tying for tying’s sake — flies that sound less like the Fray, and more like Wilco or The Cold War Kids when played … DanBob’s Diamondback, Worm Ball, the Greedy George.

I recall a depressing conversation last year at the Commerce City fishing show. A local tyer was unveiling some wondrous creations, and hoped to solicit my unbiased opinion. I told him he received an A for craftsmanship, C for imagination. He seemed offended, in addition to requiring an explanation. I told him he tied a lot like another gentleman up on the Henry’s Fork. He suggested the resemblance was flattery. I suggested it was plagiarism. He doled out unmentionables, before I wandered off to engage other depressing conversations.

* * *

Maybe a certain irascible, south Florida captain might focus this conversation around why we lash animal parts and craft supplies to sharp objects, but do it with so little originality and humor. The problem here, however, is my inability to steer conversation, and his penchant for borderline content.

On the phone, I explain how I’m not really interested in understanding why fisherman tie flies for utilitarian or monetary reasons … I’m wondering about right brain activity. He becomes irritated, wants to know what, exactly, I’m asking. I say, do you ever just tie for fun? It’s tarpon season — there isn’t time. But what if there were? Right now, there isn’t.

A few more uncomfortable minutes, some prodding, until, finally, he opens up. He says during the off-season, tying flies might save a marriage. It’s not complicated: At night, in his basement, tying baitfish patterns, he’s not spending time at clubs. So, this is an alcohol issue? No, it’s an issue of brass poles and strippers. You tie as sexual addiction therapy? Yes. Is it working? So far, it seems to be.

* * *

I write the gentleman up on the Henry’s Fork who’s spent most his life creating elegant, original trout patterns in relative anonymity. If he can’t offer some valid perspective around this subject, no one can.

Why do you think we, as fishermen, tie flies — theoretically, not practically, speaking?

A few days later, he responds:

Speaking for myself, I consider fly-tying to be the most efficient method of understanding and appreciating the organisms that make our sport possible. An intimacy with key insect forms and their behavior developed over a lifetime on the water has shown me not only how to best duplicate their image, but how, when, and why to fish them. The result, I believe, is greater efficiency in dealing with the multitude of variables that confront all anglers during the course of any encounter with a desirable trout.

Over time, my respect and gratitude for the simple creatures that exist at the core of fly-fishing has reached the point that they possess equal, if not more, personal value than the fish themselves. I would tie flies even if I never made another cast.

Rene’ Harrop

* * *

Disagreeing publicly with a Railroad Ranch icon won’t make many friends on or off the spring creek, so I’ll refrain. And for the record, I think it’s perfectly okay to “match the hatch” for countless, surgical hours — hell, for seasons, I did it myself as a guide on the Frying Pan and South Platte.

But recently, I’ve noticed my river seines, bug bottles, and stacks of entomology collecting dust above garage; trusted tying materials supplanted by industrial supplies, rotting animals, armpit hair, and clippings from a yellow Lab’s undercarriage; the sound of laughter, not exasperation, echoing through my cut of the watershed …

Thomas McGuane once described fly-tying of this ilk as “defiant” and “autobiographical,” and I think what he meant, besides the obvious, is that we were put here to tell stories, and with some luck, create our own legends. I like to think that even at the vise we have unlimited opportunities to redefine outdated aspects of ourselves, impersonate children instead of scientists, write chapters that haven’t been written.

So, go ahead, make a Wooly Bugger from duct tape, a Mushmouth from unused condoms … what’s the worst that might happen? Dirty fishing hole looks or a fifteen-pound striper? I think most of us could live with that.