50 years a fly tyer

While biding my time and counting down the days until the stripers return–within the week now, I reckon–I decided to flip through the pages of some of my past fishing logs tonight, to see if the past held anything in store for me, so to speak.

I don’t know about you but I’ve been a compulsive record-keeper ever since I was a kid, at least when it comes to fishing logs. Looking back to the very first one–a small notepad complete with clipped-off anal fins of trout attached to the pages–I see that I’ve now been tying flies for over fifty years!

I knew that I had been at it for a long time, but fifty years? It seems like just yesterday that I was sitting between Ted Williams and Jack Sharkey at the old Sportsman’s Show at Mechanics Hall in Boston and Ted was teaching me to tie my very first fly (it was a Yellow Wooly Worm, by the way). That was certainly a great moment in my life, one that turned out to be in a way a defining moment as well, since in the years that have followed I’ve not strayed very far from my vise and for much of this time I’ve supported myself (if somewhat inadequately at times) by tying flies. So it’s fifty years now along that road and, although it’s been rocky every now and then, I wouldn’t trade my life for anyone’s. I may be poor in the pocket book but I’m the richest man I know when it comes to friends and to memories.

Speaking of memories, and looking again at my very first fishing log, I see that on May 4, 1958, also a Sunday, I fished Fish Brook in Topsfield, Mass. and caught four brown trout, all on Wooly Worms (yellow, size 8). A photo taken later that day in my backyard is pasted into the notebook confirming this. Back then I kept most of the trout I caught until I read an article that convinced me to release them back into the water–BUT before doing this to clip off the anal fin to save as a record of the fish caught. According to the writer the fish didn’t really need the anal fin, could get along quite well without it. It never occurred to me to wonder about the truth of this or what the trout thought about it but–after fifty years– my notebook is still bulging with dried-out anal fins. Brookies, browns, and rainbows. Times have changed, haven’t they?

One the things that hasn’t really changed all that much is the music I listen to when I’m tying flies, which is pretty much the same as the music I listened to back when I first started tying. Oldies, they’re called now. But back then they were new. I can, if I close my eyes, still see myself at my bedroom table tying flies to the music of the day. In 1958 it would have been songs like The Purple People Eater by Sheb Wooley, Witch Doctor by David Seville, All I Have to Do is Dream by the Everly Brothers, and Tequila by The Champs. The flies I was tying back then were on the whole very simple ones: Wooly Worms, Trueblood Nymphs, Bivisibles, Black Ghosts and Mickey Finns. These are the flies mentioned most frequently in my “log” from that year. Not mentioned is the fact that my first flies were tied not in a vise but were held in place by the jaws of a micrometer. I used two micrometers to accomplish this; one to clamp the other to the table top and one to actually grip the hook by screwing down the micrometer as tight as I could. Needless to say, these micrometers were never quite accurate again and my grandfather, whose micrometers they were, was more than a bit upset about this but, good sport that he was, he gave me some money to buy a real–but very simple– fly tying vise (it cost $1.67 and came from Herter’s; I still have the order form). Later I would graduate to a Thompson A, which held the hooks quite a bit better than did the one for $1.67.

I was going to write a longer piece about the many differences between now and then, about the trends and advances in fly tying that have taken placed during those fifty years, but I see by the clock on the wall that it’s almost three a.m. and I just realized that it’s not 1958 any more and I’m not 15 and I’m getting tired and so I’ll have to put this off and save it for another blog entry at some later date. But, you can bet your boots that it won’t be fifty years from now. Or will it?