Getting Hooked

Getting into fly fishing is somewhat like being sucked into a black hole somewhere out in outer space. It all starts fairly innocently – a basic rod and reel, a simple vest, and that first fly box with a dozen flies. You get out, give it your best shot, and if you are lucky enough to get that first fish, you might just get “hooked”. If you do get hooked, you remember that moment when you know there is absolutely no turning back. The addiction begins.

If you get into the quiet sport (unless you have friends that yell streamside every damn time they catch a fish), you start to build up your arsenal. It is you against the fish – looking for that edge to tilt the scale of justice from beast to man. You accumulate too much equipment and then, at long last, your attention turns to building up your inventory of flies – flies, flies, and more flies.

The more you fish, the more flies you go through. You lose them in any number of ways. You get them snagged on a rock or a log. You lose one in a bush. You hook the vest of your drift boat partner. They fall out of your fly patch on your vest. You snag one on your friend’s ear lobe. At two bucks or so per fly, you can almost hear the dollar bills shuffle and the change jingle every time one disappears. Cha-ching…cha-ching…cha-ching…there went your kids’ college funds. But, those fish…those big beautiful, fish. And, all those flies…how can you resist. Losing flies can get pretty darned expensive.

First you progress from paying “full retail” and look on e-bay and other discount fly options. “Hey, Bob – did you see this – Rock Bottom Flies dot com has got hare’s ear nymphs for $1.19 / $10.00 per dozen – I am jumping on that!” Then you slide downhill into a mode whereby you purchase weird patterns that you don’t even remotely need and won’t ever use because they have them on clearance. You tell yourself, “Well…it might catch something someday…” If they are cheap, you buy them. P.T. Barnum has a chuckle from the grave. Somehow, you just don’t seem satisfied. There is a hole in your soul.

Then it hits you – you concoct a solution to save yourself money. You decide that you are going to follow the footsteps of all of the crazy fishermen that have pursued the water creature on the fly for thousands of years and have devised their own formulas for success – you are going to tie your own flies.

It begins with the $200 vise – and it has to be a rotary. Why rotary, you ask? Your best fishing buddy has a rotary and you will be damned if you will be outdone by him. Then you buy hooks – in a few styles and a few sizes. You purchase hackle, dubbing, and other miscellaneous types of parts of animals that have laid down their life so you can save money. Soon your bench welcomes the partridge, pheasant, turkey…rabbit, deer, elk, beaver, squirrel, and possum. Your family begins to think you are nuts (if they don’t already) and strange smells start to come from the area that you tie in. Then, you begin to gather your collection of space age materials – Antron, Krystal Flash, and other stuff. No matter…you are doing all this to save money. It is a sacrificial gesture by you to be a team player around the house to help with the family budge. You have no selfish interest in this part of the sport whatsoever. Nearing the final stages you begin accumulating all types of rare animals fur and feathers – jungle game cock, leopard, bald eagle (oops…wasn’t supposed to confess that one), and abominable snow man. You have collected a tool for every unique technique and fly so that you are always prepared. You are committed. Game on.

When you finally go over the deep end, you look lustily at your dog and cat and contemplate the difference in the property of their fur from your other stuff in your inventory. Could they improve the Twist Furl Sidebender that you have been working on? Then, you expand your hook collection – exponentially. You add lots of new styles of hooks, from a variety of manufacturers and expand the number of sizes you carry. Brass beads aren’t good enough and you graduate to Tungsten. “Those babies really get down deep and fast”, you sell your friends (and yourself!). Your collection of fly tying material has grown to a level that you find acceptable (although there are many, many things that you don’t have that you would like) and the value of your inventory exceeds the value of your home equity. You have arrived.

Upon deep reflection, you decide to calculate what your approximate savings are on your self tied flies. If you tie faithfully (2 dozen flies per week) for approximately sixty nine years, you will have saved yourself eleven dollars and eighty nine cents. You pause for a moment, sigh, and smile.

You think about that. TL