After a brief respite of 35 years since my father and I fly fished for bream, I was re-introduced to fly fishing by a good friend, this time for trout. I’m still not sure which is more fun but I have noticed that trout generally live in prettier neighborhoods although I do occasionally poach a bream pond that is very close to my idea of heaven. My next big adventure is fishing for Atlantic salmon on the Cascapedia with my friend who hooked me on bamboo, if you call that being a friend.
I began (trying) to tie flies because I couldn’t always find just exactly the ‘right" color, size or shape of fly that to my mind would be the magic answer. About that time, our law firm hired a young associate who was on his way to setting the world on fire. (The fact that he was a great fly tier and that his father was a whole lot better than that had absolutely nothing to do with the hiring decision.) I’d tie and he’d critique. After a while, he either ran out of new ways to politely tell me the tail was too long and the fly was overdressed or I finally started to get the hang of it.
The first person I ever actually saw tie a fly was John Gulley, a terrific Arkansas guide on the White, Norfork and Little Red rivers. You’ve heard the expression "be the ball." Well, John "is the fish." He tied an olive wooly bugger (with a properly tapered dubbed body) one day during lunch while we starred in rapt amazement. Since then I’ve been lucky enough to watch other great tiers and even take instruction from a few of them. There is always something new to learn, a better technique, a new twist on materials, a new - or better yet - old pattern you haven’t tried, the history of a particular fly or where to get impossible to get materials. Tying (the act, as opposed to the result) just keeps getting better and better. It’s better than a dry, cold Bombay martini after a rough day at the office, well close anyway.
Vital stats: born, raised, educated (with one exception), live and work in Memphis, Tennessee.