|From back in the day when I fished pretty flies.|
I've been having a pretty good fall, catching some fish, working a lot and in general trying to ignore the itch that starts this time of year. Spending a bulk of my adult life within a couple of hours of steelhead, I got spoiled. Now that I have to wait for the waters to cool dramatically and fish to swim further inland than you would ever think they could, it makes the fall even more of a struggle.
Today was the tipping point. A mildly successful day around the house that included enough chores to keep my wife happyish led to an hour of spey practice and a couple of cool fly pictures led to refining some muddlers that I've been thinking about for 11 months. Sadly, these are flies that will never see a fish. I should be tying bunny to a tube, with a small amount of flash, but it's not sexy. I'll keep tying like I have the time to fish them in the warming water that elicits a strike. The reality is they'll collect dust, hopefully lucky enough to make the cut and end up in a box and not just die a lonely death on the tying desk when a better creation comes out. But they are the small connection that keeps the fire burning, and when the fish do make it to the water that is closer to Montana than the ocean, I'll be ready with a fresh box of the grade A goods, ready for the pluck.