Fly Tying

“Nonetheless, I felt sheepish blowing into the five-person class late, where three Ed-aged men and one younger woman sat solemnly in front of their vises as if mentally preparing to perform surgery. And after evaluating the assortment of pointy instruments neatly arranged in a box before me and listening to Gavin’s lecture on the importance of high-quality thread and scissors and how some dentists prefer to buy their pliers from the shop, I thought maybe we were about to. The first order of business was to thread the bobbin. Even with a bobbin threader, it was not the easiest thing to do when overcoming a fluster. Gavin, though, had the patience of Job and the charity of a kindergarten teacher “helping” the kids, who end up convinced they managed it all on their own. Dressing the hook (wrapping it with thread) was simple. Suspiciously so. I glanced furtively at my fellow class-takers to ensure it really was as straightforward as looping the bobbin repeatedly around the hook. It was—so long as you didn’t allow your line of thread to extend to a foot long and adopt the motion of a symphony conductor directing the orchestra to play more allegretto. Keep it short and tight! And oh! careful not to “crowd the eye,” either.”

“My eyes aren’t as good as they used to be, especially up close. So when the new magnifiers showed up here at the house, I just had to try them out. The vise was already sitting on the kitchen table, and my stuff was spread out in what appeared, at first glance, to be utter chaos. Only someone who’d been tying for decades could have discerned a pattern in what otherwise seemed like an explosion of random chaos. There were hooks — Tiemco size 18 100BLs — clinging to a rectangular white magnet. Several pairs of scissors, plus a handful of small metal tools that, to the untrained eye, defied description. Spools of olive and brown thread. [...] It’s not a fly tying bench by any stretch of the imagination, but it’s the best place to tie when the spirit moves me, as well as the most convenient. The vise, as you might imagine, is old; a classic HMH that my dad gave me as a Christmas present a year or two before he passed. [...] I’ve tied a lot of flies on that particular vise. A lot of flies. And with a trip to the Paradise Valley spring creeks coming up in less than a month, there’s a familiar sense of urgency creeping into my tying; a desire to drive to Livingston with every pattern that might conceivably make the difference between a good day and a great day.”