At times, the hectic and domestic lifestyle I am in tune with currently seems to grant me a respite. It is almost a microcosm of life in Missouri itself. Just when you think that you are about to pull your hair out at the roots because of stress and being busy, the clouds part and give you a little shelter and break from the elements. Originally, last Saturday and Sunday were supposed to be dedicated to traveling to different parts of Missouri, spending time with family, and exchanging gifts. Don't get me wrong, family time is important and I love my kin, but when you put in a 50 hour week and you are staring down a 24 hour weekend, well that can make a guy that appreciates simplicity and tranquility a little..edgy. That's when Mother Nature decided to change our traveling plans in a way that didn't infuriate me for once.
With a skating rink on the ground, snow falling, and dropping temperatures on the way, our travel plans got cancelled. After phone calls were made and schedules were rearranged, Saturday afternoon found me at my fly tying desk. It felt strange, in a familiar way. I don't tie year round, and at best, I go through phases of fly tying. I will tie for a few weeks and then I don't want to see a vice for weeks, but the winter months are a little different. I tie on and off throughout the winter and sometimes it is out of boredom while other times it is out of necessity and I am trying to fill fly boxes. So when I got a chance to wrap some thread around a hook, I finally got to exorcise some wooly bugger color patterns out of my cerebral cortex that had been haunting me for about three weeks. After that, I decided to get creative...that's when things went as sideways as a two-wheel drive pickup on a muddy road.
I had this idea about a rabbit strip pattern with mallard flank collar that was supposed to look like baitfish that was twitching with its hair on fire. I even borrowed some aspects from and Orvis pattern. AN ORVIS PATTERN! Needless to say, my pattern didn't turn out very Orvis-like.
The final product that I had envisioned did not match what was whip finished on my vice. It was alright, just not something I was happy with, so a question resonated through my head, "What should I do with this thing now?" A question that has taken many forms in my lifetime, but never quite answered. Ultimately, most mediocre patterns end up in one of two places: 1. a bluegill box because bluegill will eat ugly flies. 2. a box titled "Misc. Streamer" box where bad patterns go to spend time in purgatory. Notice, I stated most of those patterns. much like those t-shirts of the losing Super Bowl football team, one has to wonder, "What happens to...". That's where the question arises, "What am I supposed to do with an ugly fly pattern?"
Option 1- Give it away
Make no mistake about it, this is not a gesture of kindness. You are passing along your garbage to someone else. You might even be doing this under some sort of false pretense which makes it even more underhanded. Maybe, for example, you are fishing a spot and knocking them out. Things are going really well until some dude keeps inching your way every time you hook a fish. After he is about 10 feet away and casting to the same spot as you, he has the audacity to ask you what they are biting on. And maybe, just maybe, you pull out Mr. Ugly Fly and hand it to him with a smile. Sure you're a jerk but that guy started it...right?
Option 2- strip it back down
My ugliest efforts have often met a purging and sometimes aggressive demise. While the set of razor blades at my fly tying bench are typically used for trimming spun deer hair flies, sometimes they can restore a matted mess of a fly back to its former bare-hook glory. It is strangely therapeutic to completely dismember and destroy something that didn't turn out the way you wanted. Think about is as a justifiable temper tantrum.
Option 3- into the trash can
This is rare, but some patterns were so frustrating and turned out so bad, I don't ever want to even see the hook again. I'm kind of cheap so this rarely happens because I can't justify throwing away a perfectly good fly hook. However, when a particularly frustrating pattern gets the better of me, I have been known to just toss the dog gone thing. My hope is that a gust of wind carries it from the landfill it ends up in and blows it into a tree near a landfill. Besides, that's where most of my other flies I lose end up.
Option 1- Give it away
Make no mistake about it, this is not a gesture of kindness. You are passing along your garbage to someone else. You might even be doing this under some sort of false pretense which makes it even more underhanded. Maybe, for example, you are fishing a spot and knocking them out. Things are going really well until some dude keeps inching your way every time you hook a fish. After he is about 10 feet away and casting to the same spot as you, he has the audacity to ask you what they are biting on. And maybe, just maybe, you pull out Mr. Ugly Fly and hand it to him with a smile. Sure you're a jerk but that guy started it...right?
Option 2- strip it back down
My ugliest efforts have often met a purging and sometimes aggressive demise. While the set of razor blades at my fly tying bench are typically used for trimming spun deer hair flies, sometimes they can restore a matted mess of a fly back to its former bare-hook glory. It is strangely therapeutic to completely dismember and destroy something that didn't turn out the way you wanted. Think about is as a justifiable temper tantrum.
Option 3- into the trash can
This is rare, but some patterns were so frustrating and turned out so bad, I don't ever want to even see the hook again. I'm kind of cheap so this rarely happens because I can't justify throwing away a perfectly good fly hook. However, when a particularly frustrating pattern gets the better of me, I have been known to just toss the dog gone thing. My hope is that a gust of wind carries it from the landfill it ends up in and blows it into a tree near a landfill. Besides, that's where most of my other flies I lose end up.
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