Preparing for the fly tying season

The past few snowy days have driven me indoors.

And I'm at home here. I'm not house-bound, yet, but will be by the end of February.

Until then there is plenty to do: on several sides I'm faced with an unending pile of clutter to be sorted out as it gets added to while deciding which of it to discard; there are abandoned manuscripts in the computer that need an infusion of interest; there are the musical instruments - guitars, a banjo and a mandolin – on their stands next to the computer silently waiting their turns to be played; across the room there is the fly tying bench.

The bench Is a two by four foot table, one of four I made from a sheet of plywood and dimension lumber when I opened my first fly shop several decades ago. The others found various homes over the years; I kept the one that I used for my own tying.

Some things I learned about Shaker cabinetry went into the construction of my fly tying bench. It passes well as a piece of furniture yet is purpose-built, sturdy and functional. The textured wood, contrasting stains, and two coats of spar varnish on the working surface have held up well and taken on a nice patina over the years.

Moreover, when I sit at the bench to tie flies, there are memories that gently resurface among the materials, tool, and souvenirs that have accumulated there over the years.

To one side of the bench there are flies that I keep on hand just to turn them in my hand to look at them, something you can't do if they're mounted in a display plate. Some of them are gifts from famous tyers of a past generation who are no longer with us. When I settle into this rich cornucopia of mementoes I find a pleasant comfort, a familiarity, in the ritual to be brought to life again when I put that first hook in the vise, and begin to tie.

Next to the bench are shelves stacked with plastic storage bins. There is an attempt at order to the bins. Each one is labeled for the type or color of hair or hackle it contains. I live with the private knowledge that while the labels are mostly true there are leftovers and oddities that found their way into some of them because there was no place else to put them.

Plus, there is the clutter that landed on the floor in front of the shelves, still looking for a home, the vagabond leftovers too valuable to throw away from the fly shop I shut down a couple of years ago. I'm finally ready to deal with it all – but first, I'll get just enough of it sorted to tie some of my favorite flies.

Another long-time fly shop owner, Bill Bean, takes a methodical approach. He goes through his fly boxes, lists what he's short of and builds a list. Then he begins his winter's tying.

I'll eventually get to something like that, in my own way, but first I'll tie a couple dozen warm-up flies, flies I enjoy tying that will get me back in the groove.

For me, after thousands of dozens of flies tied in late-night marathons to fill orders for my own shop or someone else's, flies tied in a frantic rush so I'd have something to fish with when I bolted out the door and headed for the stream, flies tied to meet all sorts of deadlines, I still enjoy tying flies.

There are materials I enjoy working with, techniques that I enjoy repeating, again and again. I like to watch the wing on a Caddis Variant flare under my thumbnail. I like twisting the yarn as I pass it from hand-to-hand as I build the body on a Golden Stone. I find great delight in twisting and wrapping the dubbed body on a Brindle 'Chute with a tool I designed, following the original inspiration of one of my long-ago mentors.

For me it's all fun – it's still fun, and it's great fun. The memories and daydreams roll through my mind as the materials roll through my fingers.

I'll start there. When I want to take a break, the clutter pile will always be there - in one form or another. And when sorting gets tedious, the fun of tying flies is close at hand.