Re: I Met Myself Last Night...
It was hot yesterday, that windless, humid sort of stifling heat that makes it easy to put off lawn duties for another day, yet pushes aside any thoughts of a little "river walking," thereby keeping the fly rods resting in the rod rack. And so, for one of the few times in my life, I opted to do the smart thing and enjoy the invention known as "air conditioning."
I settled at the tying desk, hoping to clean up some of the "busy work" that had been awaiting my release from the restrictions put in place by my recent surgery. After the mandatory "pile shuffling," I spread out some hooks, hackle, dubbing and thread on the desktop, and put the vise in place for a Sunday afternoon tying session.
After seating the first hook and making my first base wraps, I found myself in an unfamiliar place-- I had "tyer's block," the equivalent of writer's block. For the life of me, I couldn't honestly decide with any certainty exactly what I wanted to tie. Had I recently been "binge tying," I could have understood the indecision. But, not yesterday... not when I could finally tie again without limitations.
So, I did what I thought might break the stalemate-- I began the search for "the box"-- an aging large DeWitt box containing some of the collective works that comprise a bit of the root elements, if you will, of the "elders" who started me on this path known as fly fishing and fly tying, and a collection that I hoped would inspire.
"The box" was where it has long been-- second drawer down, left side of the desk. As I opened the top, I immediately took note of how the flies of my grandfather, "Doc" Holship and Montgomery Jackson-- the men who "schooled" me and now fish waters far distant from where I sit --broke things down into two basic elemental differences-- wets and dry flies. I also was struck by how different their tying styles were back then when compared to the flies I tie today.
To hold their myriad flies in hand, one might think the hackle collars too large, and the wing tips too long on some of the more muted-toned dries. And, as for the wets? Well, let's just say that you'd have little trouble detecting these flies, even when fully submerged a foot or two below the surface. But, to a fly, they all caught fish, and to my "elders," that was enough. (To be continued...)
Last edited by hairwing530; 07-08-2013 at 02:48 PM.