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.

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.

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).

FARTS

This system is the product of literally months of obsessing. Multiple trips to Ikea, Homebase and B&Q. Endless forays through the long, cold isles of fishing tackle shops. Covert missions into the very heart of the haberdashery industry. The list goes on, folks. Let me take you on an exclusive tour of FARTS.

The Cube of Domination

First we have the soul of the system: the Cube of Domination. I came across this little gem last month whilst trawling through the bowels of Edinburgh’s Ikea. To the untrained eye it appears to be a dodgy cardboard box with a handle on top. Turn the Knobs of Golden Revelation, however, and a world of fly tying glory is gradually revealed: the Cube of Domination is magically transformed intothe Bastion of Undying Majesty. Spread before our disbelieving eyes is an intricate system of interconnecting boxes, each carefully labeled and each containing a fine assortment of fly tying goodies. This is a veritable mansion for the important tools and smaller materials needed for fly construction. Thread bobbins, deer hair, poly yarn, CDC. Pretty much every thing smaller than bird wings has its place. The best bit of all, of course, is that in less than 10 seconds the whole unit can be folded back together, and the glory of the Bastion is once again replaced by the subtle tones and intriguing portability of the Cube.

The Folders of Beauty

The second key element of FARTS are the Folders of Beauty. These are a fine bit of fly tying organisation, inspired by a wee article I read in last months Fly Fishing and Fly Tying magazine. The basic idea is that all capes, bird wings and long feathers are stored in zip-up bags. These can be arranged and inserted into a large A3 size ring binder. A neat little trick is to run thick duct-tape up the spine of the bags, and then punch holes in the tape. This preserves the bags which helps to keep the fluffy contents safe from naughty beasts.

With this basic idea in mind, there’s nothing to stop all manner of fly tying paraphernalia from being stored this way. In fact, that’s exactly what I’ve done. The Folders of Beauty have now spawned a sibling, and they’re called the Folders of Wee Beauty. They are quick, pretty cheap, and immediately portable. Together with careful labeling of the bags, it would take a foolish fellow to loose any more partridge feathers.

Boxes of Sublime Reason

The third and last component of FARTS are the Boxes of Sublime Reason. Here is where hooks and dubbing materials live. These humble bedfellows have been painstakingly arranged into individual compartments of a number of John Lewis’ finest haberdashery boxes. The joy of labeling all the compartments was truly something to behold. Most of the compartments were split into two separate sections with the help of super-glue and bits of foam. The objective, as per the mission statement, was to reduce the footprint of every component of FARTS to enhance sanity and portability. So, there are three dubbing boxes and a single hook box. The dubbings have been arranged carefully, of course, so that depending on the time of the year only one or two need to be brought along. There’s a box for all hare’s fur and seal’s fur, a box for gaudy grayling mixes, and a wee box of miscellaneous colours. Top banana.

The whole setup can now be tidied away into the corner of my desk. Despite what you and I know, it hardly even looks like the insane creation of an obsessive, yet failed, fly tier. And of course, it’s always ready to be chucked in a bag and humphed into the boot of my car. I’ve been practicing tying flies when my vice is attached to my steering wheel, and with a wee bit of practice it’s surprisingly easy to whip things up. It should be emphasised at his juncture that such practices should not be undertaken whilst the car possesses non-zero kinetic energy.

The Quest: Final Thoughts

My quest has taught me a lot. I have an encyclopedic knowledge of the inner workings of Ikea’s desk storage department. I know more than I ever thought possible about the haberdashery industry, and let me assure you, some of the things I know would frighten the socks off yeez. I’d like to say I learned a lot about myself, but in reality I’ve probably just learnt that my obsessive streak can lead to interesting things. An A4 filofax full of dead rabbit, for example.

Best of all, I’ve got a really neat fly tying system that is surely, and I really mean it this time, organised enough for me to actually produce some flies this winter. There are simply no more excuses. Apart from that beautiful 3 weight I saw last week…

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.

I’m pretty sure that the underlying cause for this worrying obsession is my erratic fly tying behaviour. Let me explain by way of an example. Last season I had a wonderful fishing trip up to the north of Scotland. My brother and I caught countless beautiful trout, many of them on dry flies, and many of them during gloriously calm late summer evenings. By way of chance I discovered one or two really useful flies for such occasions, and I promised myself that a fine selection would be promptly constructed in plenty time for this years trip. Imagine, a whole winter closed season of drizzly saturday mornings, cold feet, central heating and beer (and curry too).

Opening day came around this past March and I found my fly boxes full of lovely Polish woven nymphs, bombs, more nymphs, and even the odd nymph. This fine assortment had of course been enthusiastically tied up for chucking in the vague direction of non-existant winter grayling. The time and effort I spent on those flies was admirable. At least, admirable in the same way that trying to fix a broken washing machine by bashing ones head against it is admirable. The reality is that those grayling flies were tied up during one of the brief obsessively productive phases where real fly tying took place, rather than the standard ‘organisational’ phase.

Fresh out of this period of production overload I struggled to find time/motivation enough to replenish my spring dries, and so ended up taxing flies off my brother. In typically waltzing fashion the rest of the season flew by, and when late August reared its head I found myself in dire shortage of even the most essential loch flies. I had no choice but to bundle all my fly tying gear into a shoulder bag and humph it into the boot of the car along with my waders and curry powder. North, north, north we drove. “Buggirt, ya damn moron” I cursed myself. Precious fishing time had to be sacrificed for fly tying, mid-trip.

The worst thing about tying flies like this is that some kind of essential material or hardware always goes walkabout. Deer hair, dubbing, hooks. Check. Thread, bobbin holder, scissors. Check. Vice… bugger. It’s some kind of unwritten and unchangeable fact of fly tying life folks, and nothing is ever going to change it. Well, nearly nothing…

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.

Then you notice the eagerness that some of those precious strands on the noggin seem to have for running off. The hair brush, the coat, they seem to cling to anything and soon you’re obsessing about the whole thing and a panic sets in. What will the women think? The occasionally comforting “it’s ok, I’m a fly fisherman, who really needs a woman anyway” gag starts to sound hollow. You begin to notice people with plenty of hair. Folks with thick, dark hair provide a particularly fascinating spectacle. How can hair even be that thick? Every now and then a rich strawberry blond holds your gaze for just a little too long. Man, woman, it doesn’t matter any more. Things are getting desperate.

Plenty of hair under that hat…

One thing that does surprise the person afflicted is the sheer number of the blighters to begin with. Months go by, hundred of hairs disappear, yet still just enough remain to sow the seed of ‘maybe… maybe it’s all a bad dream’. Then after a good while, maybe a couple of years, an old photograph brings your mind to a sharp focus. Bugger.

This is a fishing/hillwalking blog. I’ve deliberately refrained from posting stuff about politics or my pet ant. So of course this post is about fishing… well, fly tying. One thing about having so much extra hair around the place is that it provides a whole new avenue of thought in fly tying material. I’m thinking nice, translucent nymph bodies. Perhaps if I use some really quality shampoo the end result will sparkle that little bit extra. I’m thinking something with papaya and powerbait extract. Only problem is I’m not a woman. That, however, is a whole other blog post.

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.

Last week I went along to the Milngavie fly tying club with the old Glasgow fishing buddies. A really excellent angler called Neil Sinclair was demonstrating. Turns out he’s also a terrifically nice chap, which is always a bit grand. Emanuelle, a pal rumoured to be among the finest of Italy’s fly fisherman and a known catcher of big fish, leant forward at the start and whispered in my ear: ” you know, they call him the ‘trout machine’ “. Enough said, the man obviously had class. It turned out he also has brains.

Neil had tackled the problem of tying tool organisation with the help of TK Maxx’s finest cutlery stand. This was a device consisting of wood and holes. Tools go in holes, tools make easy find, angler find self happy man. A little spark flashed in my brain. This could go further. With a little sprinkling of the Magic Powder of Flyfishing and some of the most supreme DIY skills known to man I felt I could be on to something.

One of the most important perks of working at a large university is the access to a workshop. Normally this is used for endlessly pursuing the frontiers of science and progress, but occasionally a more important project passes through the doors. I hunted around for scrap wood. A piece about three inches thick caught my eye. It was rough around the edges, and had some nails in it. Perfecto.

A quick word with a technician and it was cut to the right size. Next, some quality time with a belt sander. The roughness melted away and a piece of pure beauty began to materialise. The grain of the wood, notches, scarring and all looked at me and spoke of simpler times. Times when all a man needed for a bit of satisfaction was a nice chunk of tree. I began to feel excited.

The drill was next. A variety of holes were carefully made. The small ones were positioned on the left side and sized to perfectly fit advanced bobbin holding devices. These were small bits of wood ingeniously sourced from cotton wool bud handles. Larger holes for the tools were positioned on the right side, including one especially large one for the head cement and one for the deer hair stacker. Scissors, dubbing brush (also home made) and bobbin holder were coming home. I felt their excitement and it doubled mine to a dangerously high level.

The Piece of Pure Beauty was coming close to completion. All she needed was some sanding sealer and a quick sand down with fine glass paper and she’d present a silky smooth finish to the world. Oh, a name was needed as well. The Stand of Majesty seemed appropriate, I’m sure you’d agree.

I rushed home tonight to put everything together. Sure enough the Advanced Bobbin Holding Devices fitted snugly into their holes. Placing the first spool of thread onto the bottom left Holding Device was a watershed moment. This was going to be more than good. Epic, magnificent, Majestic. You simply can’t buy this kind of thrill. The tools made their way back home, fitting perfectly. The head cement, the hair stacker, the scissors and even the dark brown marker. It all fitted snugly. By this stage a grin of similarly epic proportions had made its way onto my face.

I haven’t felt this satisfied for a long time. It’s something to do with the wood, the hand worked tools and the bodged on-the-fly design process. The cost, eh, that would be zero pounds and zero pence, is also rather nice. Most of all though I think it’s the time. Not a lot, but enough to think about things. Slowing down, using your hands and turning a piece of tree into something useful for fishing. Heaven knows what it’s like to build your own bamboo fishing rod. Must be pretty damn orgasmic. I’m a long way off that, but this wee project has helped me taste a little of the pride and satisfaction that life long wood workers must know.

So I’ve now got the most organised fly tying bench in Scotland. She looks like a cross between a space ship and a fishing tackle shop. Thread, tinsel and ribbing are all at a finger’s distance from the vice. I hope she will help me to stay more sane in the long term, and perhaps become a more efficient fly tier. Whatever happens, it’s been already been worth it.