You wait all day for a fly, then 4 come along at once..
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Winter fly tying can lead to strange and wonderful(?) things. This creation, tentatively named the Mickles Tickle, resulted from a nuclear reaction between a zoo cougar, a woolley bugger and some chicken madras. It was then liberally sprinkled with shavings of Andre Brun’s trout streamer. I’ve no doubt it will prove to be hot stuff next season.
Whenever I finally get around to tying up some flies, I like to do it mass-production style. In the case of DHEs, this means tying up loads of hooks with wings and trailing thread for ribbing. I find that this way it’s easier to get the wings consistently good, by which I mean positioned correctly, and standing erect. It also lets me apply a little dob of varnish on the thread wraps around the wing. It takes a few minutes for the varnish to harden properly, but makes an already bullet-proof fly into something bordering on nuclear-armageddon-proof. When working on half a dozen or so at a time, by the time the last hook has been winged, the first one is ready for its body and thorax.
As a tying note with these flies, I find it essential to wack a whole load of thread wraps on the eye side of the wing, as a way to prop it up properly. I like to have the profile of the fly perfected before adding a body or thorax. These days I also tend to make a few turns of thread around the base of the wing, a bit like when posting a wing for a parachute fly. Again, it’s just a wee thing I’ve found to help with consistency in tying, and ultimately in presentation.
My final step before putting on the body or thorax is to check that the wing is reasonably centred. I find it’s quite common for the wing to be slightly biased towards the blind side (as seen from my tying position), so a wee bit of pruning is sometimes required to even things out. I find this to be important in terms of the final presentation on the water. An uneven wing often results in the fly sitting on its side on the water, rather than with the hook point and body under water.
Other flies I’m tying are terrestrial bugs, made from foam sheets and rubber legs. These are fun to tie, and pretty easy as well. The crucial thing I’ve discovered is to always add a wee bit of poly-yarn as a wing, to help with sighting. Without such a visual target, it’s very difficult to spot the fly on the water, as it sits very low. Indeed, one might say a level of ultra-stealth camo has been achieved, which fools both angler and fish. I tend to use white yarn, but I’ve seen other folks using yellow or pink. The wing is usually cut short and thus hidden when seen from underwater, so I don’t suppose it makes any difference to the fish.
A while back I was musing about the great fly tying problem of `waste stuff’. Every time I tie a deer hair emerger a great plume of trimmed deer hair finds its way down onto my bedroom floor. This is not exactly a universe-ending disaster. However, with my new-fangled portable fly tying system, I know I’m going to be doing a lot more tying on the road. That means my tying bench will be B&Bs, campsites and my car steering wheel. With all that waste, I could end up causing a kind of world war with the neighbors, and that’s definitely not cricket. What was needed was a catcher. A Catcher in the Hookeye, in fact.
Take one coat hanger, one old teeshirt, a little inventiveness and a friend with a sewing machine. Boil together in a large pan with garam masala, tomatoes and a Saturday afternoon. Add a chunk of metal, sprinkle with a little Disney magic and out pops this wee gem.
The Catcher in the Hookeye is my version of the waste material bin. It fits snuggly onto most vice shafts with that wee chunk of metal I mentioned, which I found lying around my lab at work. I’m not sure what it’s called, but I call it `the wee chunk of metal’. The frame is made of a bent coat hanger. Of course, coat hangers are normally bent when you buy them, so the idea of bending one is almost ironic. Bending the bent. It’s like asking a duck to quack with a Swedish accent. It’s a bent idea that.
The catching bit is the back of one of my oldest teeshirts. My mother tried for about five years to get me to chuck it, but my line was always “Ma, there will be some use for it eventually, I’m just not sure what it is yet.” Well Ma, here it is. The catcher of the Catcher in the Hookeye.
I like the fact that all my waste gets trapped now. I’ve always found that waste fly tying material is a bit like a dream: if you don’t grab it whilst it’s fresh, it’s lost forever. And that, my friends, is a little sad. Now there’s a right and proper place for waste, and it’s in the Catcher. Every now and then I’ll delve into the bowls of this humble servant, and it’s amazing the bits and bobs of old material that can be used for other flies. As I am an ethnic mix of Yorkshire, Lancashire and Scotland, I’m about as tight as they come. So don’t blame me, it’s genetic.
The Catcher falls nicely in line with my increasingly obsessive policy of home-made fly tying paraphernalia. It functions perfectly well, and cost -£2.50 (that’s the money I saved by not wasting time and petrol on taking my old teeshirt and coat hanger to the recycling joint). I tried for about three months to find something similarly decent in the fishing tackle shops, and the cheapest thing I found was almost a tenner. Ridiculous. Get yourselves a flaming coat hanger and a good old fashioned chunk of metal. Take half an hour on a Saturday afternoon (other days are less reliable) and churn one out for yourself. Then get down to the local newsagent and spend your saved cash on 250 penny sweets. Glorious.
Long hours of quiet meditation. Days of ingesting inordinate quantities of super-curry. With-holding toilet use for three days. There are many things we can do to try to change ourselves. I tried to change, I tried to be a Tuesday-night-tier. I tried to set targets and to stick to them. Ten muddler heads a week, how hard can it really be? Sadly, it just doesn’t work.
I’ve since come to accept that my erratic fly tying behaviour is probably a reflection of something rather unchangeable and hard-wired into my brain. I’ve heard it referred to as ‘personality’, and it ain’t half an arse at times. My newfound zen-like self acceptance means that some kind of permanent solution has had to be found for the issue of fly tying gear transportation. The Stand of Majesty just wasn’t going to cut it on the road, not with all those bobbin antennae. What was needed was a way to transport everything I could possibly need for any possible situation. Fluff, feathers, bobbins, the whole shebang. The system needed to be hardwearing, reliable, small and most importantly, easily transportable. Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to present to you… the Far-reaching And Ridiculously Tenacious fly tying System (FARTS to you and I).
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I have a strange relationship with fly tying. On the one hand it has helped me to get more out of my fishing. I love seeing a trout sup down a little sherry spinner tied by my own two hands. It’s a special kind of satisfaction that just doesn’t exist with shop bought fluff. I have also found, however, that it sometimes has a tendency to drive me into a kind of unhealthy obsession. The most bizarre thing of all is that the obsession isn’t actually about tying flies.
Organisation. Where would we be without the simple joy found in sorting stuff out, finding a proper place for every last widget? Fly tying is an absolute class A activity for those of us with a ‘sorting out’ fetish. The endless packets of dubbing, the myriad feathers and capes, the insane variety of hooks. Oh what joy! I am certain that I have a problem. I’m becoming the kind of fly tier that spends more time, a lot more time, sorting out fly tying paraphernalia than actually tying flies. Perhaps the worst thing of all though, the real bottom clencher, is that I rather suspect that I spend even more time just thinking about sorting out fly tying gear than even sorting the damn stuff out.
There’s something strangely voyeuristic about losing your hair. It’s like watching a car crash in extremely slow motion. You know what’s coming, and it’s not pleasant, but it is somewhat fascinating. For a time you quietly pretend it’s not happening, as if looking away will solve the problem. But gradually, as the cars get closer and the sink gets increasingly clogged, it’s harder and harder to ignore.
Going au naturel when young is perhaps the cruelest way. The teenage years are only just gone, and finally you’re getting a little more comfortable with the carcass God gave you. Every now and then you notice what it’s like to be an ‘adult’. Feelings of responsibility, guilt and an increasing desire to go fishing 24/7. You realise time does move on, some things do change and you do grow slowly older.
A few weeks ago the Lanyard of Power caused quite a stir here in fishy blogdom. Some folks unkindly questioned my sanity. Others, those in the know, saw the power and marveled. The Lanyard will prove to be the ultimate accessory for light weight fly fishing. I also have a sneaking suspicion that it will work rather nicely in conjunction with a small rucksac for the hill lochs.
The Lanyard did many things for me. Perhaps the most important was the sense of satisfaction that with just a wee bit of effort I had made something on my own. Twenty five smackers were saved, but the smile I experienced as things came together was the real reward. So, I’ve been inspired. Call it DIY fly fishing, call it madness, but I think I’ve found a little bit of the craftsman in my pathetic, modern skill-less life. This is going to be good.
I have something of a split personality. At times I’m incredibly scatter brained, listlessly ambling through the day with little regard for organisation or precision. Every once in a while it all changes and I become psychotically obsessive. Having recently moved flat (again) I’m currently in an obsessive phase. An ongoing source of annoyance to this obsessive side of my brain has been the organisation (or disorganisation) of fly tying kit. Somehow I’ve amassed an incredible amount of the stuff and I’m perennially trying to organise it all. For the last few months now most of it has been living in a number of plastic boxes. The only problem here is that when I eventually try to get some fly tying done the whole place becomes a bomb site, and I immediately revert back to the scatter-brained personality. This state remains for several weeks until I finally get pissed off and tidy everything up again. Lather, rinse and repeat.
This week it has mostly been…raining. It’s also been rediculously windy. Right now I can hear the wind howling outside, the clouds wizzing by on the great motorway in the sky. I’m hoping the rain stops now for a week or two, long enough for the rivers to drop. I’ve been balsing on about fishing for grayling since October but the oppertunities to do so have been shockingly limited.
My flies are ready though. I’ve got enough bomb flies to destroy West Linton. Some of them even have huge tungsten beads in them. It’s going to be savage.
The Czech style nymphs are beginning to look pretty good, if I dare say so. Here’s a simple olive version, together with the sedge pupa it’s supposed to resemble. Not too bad. I think I’m ready to say that if grayling are not caught, it’s because I’m shite, rather than the flies.
It seems the weather here in the UK is throwing a tantrum at the thought of leaving another year behind. Driving wind, pouring rain, all things that are terrific for getting the grayling going. I’ve been staying with family for the past week or so, and have finally got into tying up some flies. Actually, that’s possibly stetching it a little, because these fellas are serious bomb bugs. When grayling bugging I quite often use a very heavy ‘nymph’ on the middle dropper which acts like an anchor, taking the whole cast down quickly. These things don’t resemble any kind of traditional fly fishing creation. They’re big and nasty, and are likely to cause mild concussion if your casting’s a bit off.
The weather has been angry the last couple of days. Hopefully things will calm down a little tomorrow and I’ll head to the hills once more.
In the meantime, I’ve been sorting through some of my winter bugs. I don’t know when my first trip out for grayling will be, but I’m going to be ready for it. I reckon a couple nights tying up some ammonite nymphs and scruffy tungsten bead hare’s ears and we’ll be cooking.
Most of my winter bugs are of Czech and Polish origins. The Czech nymphs I tie are just like the typical ones described ad infinitum in all the fishing mags. The Polish ones are pretty nice though, and you don’t see as many of these around. They are the ones in the second group down (left side) in the first photo. You need to learn a bit of cross-weaving to tie them, but with a little practice you have a way to tie nymphs that sink faster than you would belive possible.. Last winter I caught a 3lb grayling on a small one of these, so they do work 
Extra points for anyone spotting the slightly less-traditional contributions to my selection.
I’m pretty bad when it comes to procrastination. For the last couple of closed seasons I’ve always had great plans of tying up hundreds of flies to last all season: nymphs, streamers, loads of dries. I always end up getting distracted by things like winter hillwalking and grayling fishing. This means my season’s fly supply has to be replenished on the fly (pun intended), which generally leads to panic tying and missed fishing time.
This evening I finally got myself in gear and started preparing industrial quanities of hare’s mask dubbing. All that was needed was a pair of scissors and a home made dubbing rake, made from part of an old hacksaw blade. I find I use hare’s mask, in one form or another, in most of the flies I end up tying. In past, darker days I’ve been a user of packet bought dubbings. These days I’ve grown to be in awe of the range of fantastic, buggy dubbing to be found by harvesting a mask yourself.
So I’ve now got one of those small sewing boxes full of different mixes of dubbing, all neatly compartmentalised and ready for some turbo-flytying. Tomorrow I will do the same for a couple of dyed hare’s ears I’ve got. It won’t be long before there’ll be enough dubbing combinations to take over the frigging planet.
If you’ve never tried this approach to getting your dubbing, it’s well worth a go. Half the fun is comming up with your own dubbing combinations to suit the kind of fly you’re going to tie. It’s also a lot cheaper and makes you feel like you’re a *real man*, which I find rather nice.
Things have been hot recently. Weather wise I should add. It seems there’s been continuous sunshine for weeks and all my regular rivers are looking thin and summer silky.
I managed to fish three days in a row this weekend, down on my favourite bit of water. We spread things out so no water was fished more than once. Turned out to be a fascinating run of fishing. I think it highlighted some important things to me, which I may have ‘known’ already but are best learnt with real experience.
First night it was hot, with a little breeze to start with. We headed to a bit of river we haven’t fished before, but were dissapointed to find it was poor fly water. Actually it was more reminiscent of a narrow loch, the surface rippled in the wind. Not the nice streamy pocket water we usually fish. The water temperature was just about right for simmering bulgar wheat, so we walked and walked in search of riffly water. I felt smug that my decision to wet-wade was not going to be regretted.
Eventually came to a cracking pool, with dozens of channels between streamer weed and rocks. I waited whilst the brother fished the nice bits. As he was flicking the fly line out of the rod tip, the fly (a standard DHS, superbly tied once again) landed a couple of rod lengths ahead in some slow flowing water. A nice fish slashed at it and a Class A Bullet Strike followed, sending him packing to his bolt hole.
I ambled upstream finding more dead water and some enthusiastic parr feading on floating fag ends and anything else on the surface. It wasn’t until the sun was well gone, maybe 10.15, when I noticed some nice fish moving in a pool just downstream. I crept up and watched. There were mini-submarines in that pool. Big swirling wakes were all I saw of the fish as they supped down sedges and BWO spinners. One fish was well over 2lb judging by the water displacement, the other at least 2lb. Casting to them was just about impossible due to wading issues and sh!te casting ability on my part. So I accepted as much and enjoyed the knowledge that I’d found some whoppers.
These photos are of a BWO male spinner. As far as I know they don’t feature much in an evening rise, as it’s the females that lay eggs and die on the water. I think sherry spinners are much more vividly orange as well.
Next day and some serious fly tying took up a good bit of the day. I think I’ve cracked those DHEs. Seem to turn out well every time now. I tied a few with a bit of fluff to suggest a shuck. Not sure if that makes sod-all difference but I felt slightly intelligent doing so.
The weather was a little more cloudy this evening, and very humid. We were fishing at the bottom end of our more usual beat, again an area we haven’t fished much. A couple fish rose lazily, and I felt chuffed to catch a nice one of around 10oz to the DHE above. The brother had a few throughout the evening, to the DHS.
Something we both noticed was that drag was even more of an issue than normal, and it’s normally difficult to control. We reckoned the low water was making things worse, as the surface of the pools and flats we fished was always very ‘swirly’ if you catch my drift. Of course all rivers are swirly, but this was noticibly difficult. I thought about things for a very long time and came up with an amazing formula:
warm water + crap casting + bad drag = difficult
Next night I opted for a longer leader than usual, probably around 15′, with oodles of limp tippet (if you know what I mean). This definitely helped the drag issues (of course), but my hyper-crap casting made controlling where the fly went interesting. This was worst when casting only a couple of feet of fly line, fishing pocket water at close range.
Interestingly I caught a grayling, which seem quite rare where I fish. I see Ali had a similar experience the other night. Total fluke on my part, I was just beginning to drag the size 12 DHS across the water to cast again. Late on the fish really started to show, taking some of the BWO spinners that had returned. Definitely some caenis feeding going on as well. And some sedge feeding fish, so all in all quite good given the tepid water.
So fishing three days in a row at this time of year taught me a lot. The importance of timing of course. At no stage was it really worth fishing before 9pm. Peak of any rising was 10-11pm. Spinner feeding fish are a damned arse to cast to when you’re fishing a long leader and can’t see a thing. Caenis feeding fish take the piss. Give me a sedge feeder any day, please. At least until my casting gets better (it will I hope).
And each night it was quite different. First night some rises, very late on. Second night not much, despite apparently better conditions. Third night the best by a mile, as there were more flies on the water. Just shows how much you miss out on by fishing only once a week. Solution: fish every day.
Well it’s a couple of days since my last trip out. I was fishing another Scottish river I’ve not been on before. Things looked promising with last weeks good weather building up to a glorious spring day on Saturday. I had my permit by 8 o’clock and was riverside before half past. At this time of year it’s actually not really worth fishing until nearer lunchtime, but I love being on a river almost anytime, especially on such a bright sunny day. I opted to start fising some upstream spiders through a couple of nice riffles, and noticed a little stab on the leader after about two casts. Turned out to be one of the smallest parr I’ve ever caught at about 3-4 inches. It’s always good to see a river with plenty of small fish like this as it bodes well for the future. I fished on for a while, before eventually moving to another run. Here I turned around and fished the spiders across and down just slightly slower than dead drift, and it wasn’t long before a pretty little half pounder came to hand.
It was soon midday, and at last some flies began to hatch. Great big march browns they were too, always a good bet to bring the better fish to the surface at this time of year. It wasn’t long before fish started moving to the hatching flies and I could fish a dry fly with confidence. On the leader was the deer hair emerger I mentioned before. It’s really a cracking fly, well worth trying.
Of course when actually fishing the barb will be crushed as I fish catch and release on the rivers around here. Here’s one of the pretty wee trout that were avidly munching on the marchs’.
Things were pretty sporadic after that as a few more waves of duns came off, occasionally sparking a little frenzy.
Later on I was back fishing spiders down through riffles and pools. In one particularly good looking pool I felt a slight ‘draw’ in the line as a fish turned on the point fly, and I was immediatley fighting a much better fish. He went absolutely crackers and lept about 2 feet out the water before heading for the sea. I followed him downstream and after a (too long a) while brought him to the net. A beautiful fish of 1 3/4 lb, and a lovely way to finish things up.
Fishing spiders has a long history, perhaps as old as fly fishing in this country. I find it is still a really good technique, although it can be very frustrating if not done correctly. I am by no means an expert, but I have just about got hold of the idea, and it’s starting to be pretty useful. I fish the spiders upstream dead drift, across and down and just about any way I think will be useful. The most important thing is to lead the flies through the current in a controlled manner, either dead drifting them, or letting them drop downstream just slightly slower than the current. I have a feeling this last point is particularly useful, because the water speed under the surface is generally progressively slower with increasing depth. So what looks like dead drift on the surface is perhaps not so 6 or 10 inches down. Thus by controlling the drift of the flies just a tiny bit slower than the current, I think you might get both a really good presentation, and immediate contact with any taking fish. Certainly worth a bit of perseverence.
Finally, here’s a shot I took after the last fish was released. Spot the trutta!
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