, ,

You don’t tie for the fisherman; you tie for the fish. My “Yoda” in fly tying gave me that nugget on day one. That being said, I still take time to at least show a modicum of craftsmanship when I’m at the bench. There’s nothing wrong with taking a little extra time to put some class on a fly; you’re not lashing fenceposts together, you’re practicing a subtle art with hundreds of years worth of valuable knowledge and traditions. It’s humbling when you think about it.

This isn’t one of those flies.

There’s no need to name it, hell, there’s not even really a need to talk about it. This fly is the Meg White of my fly box; it’s just there to get shit done and you’re better off not dwelling on it. What little craftsmanship is spent on the design is lost in the waddie-goodness of this floating lump of crap, and there is no way to noticeably discern between the initial beta versions of the fly, the rushing-out-the-door-gotta-tie-this-bastard-real-quick versions, and the final, “well thought-out” versions of this fly. This thing just is, and even though it’s just about the most offensive thingto slink from the jaws of my vice, it’s my favorite fly right now.

It gets me these guys. Grass Carp.

I’m awful at guestimating weight, and I don’t carry a scale because I really don’t give that monumental of a shit to take up valuable space in my pack, but everyone of these has measured in at a minimum of a yard in length. They’re big boys. And they’re pissed when you set up. Pissed. You get to see what all that backing looks like flying out of your screaming reel and your rod bends like it’s a crazy straw. When you finally start gaining and you think you have him tired, the minute he sees you it starts all over again. It’s just an ass whooping, ten minutes of pure bliss.

So if you ask to see my box, just know that these guys are in there, and they’re in there for a damn good reason. We don’t have to talk about them; we don’t need to go over the ridiculously simple construction, we don’t even need to go over a materials list. Really. It is what it is. But as long as I can put these guys in my net with this unholy turd of a fly, it’s going to have an open invitation to the business end of a 4 foot stretch of 1x tippet.