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EatSleepFish

How Many?

9 posts in this topic

-flys that is. How many flys do you guys(or gals) normally tie each winter? I just started fly fishing and tying last year, but im gonna try to tie up about 200 flys this year, I got frustrated last year, with being limited to only a couple flys. 3 of each pattern in three different sizes. mostly drys, since they're fun to tie and fish smile.gif

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If its a fly I use regularly, such as a prince, pheasant tail, EHC, bwo, I tie about 50 of each in the winter. Other flies that I use less often, especially terrestrials, I purchase them online for less than $1 each.

I take a trip out west every year and prior to that trip , I tie up som scuds, san juan worms and other local specialty flies. It all depends on my fishing plans for the upcoming year.

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I usually tie about 5 of a particular pattern unless I loose them quicker like wooly buggers that I'll throw into anything or flies I'll use more often than other flies like prince nymphs, scuds, PT, etc. I'll probably have about 25 of each of these on hand at a given time when I'm on the stream.

Dries I usually tie fewer of a particular pattern because I don't use dries all that often unless there is a hatch occuring.

Edit: Just to clarify . . . These numbers won't keep me good through the fishing season, these are how many I keep on hand in my boxes. If I loose say 5 of my 25 princes nymphs on a fishing outing, I'll try to get 5 more tied before my next fishing trip.

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I'm just on nymphs right now (winter patterns, then seasonal patterns, then dry flies last), and I'm at 17 dozen blush.gif. I'm guessing I tie about 1000 to 12000 a year for myself, selling them, giving them to my clients, donating to worthy causes, and the likes. the only reason I know I have 17 dozen finished is that this is the first year that I've actually kept track.

Then again, if you're on the water 50-75 times a season, a thousand flies isn't unreasonable tongue.gif

D.A.

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I'm guessing a tie about a hundred every year of the fly I use the most. From there it's anywhere from half that number for the next most used on down to perhaps a half dozen. I always try to tie at least a half dozen of any fly at any one bench session before moving on to the next pattern. It takes that many for me to hit a rhythm and tie them nicely.

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3--over and over and over. Saltwater flies for annual excursions to Cape Cod and Cape Hatteras. Clousers, deceivers, and clouser/deceiver half-and-halfs. I used to bag 150 flies for a week on the Cape, then get there and find the patterns are JUST A TAD different this year. So in the morning I'd whip up a couple, burn through them in a day's fishing, then sit down at the vise while dinner's cooking and whip out just enough for the next day's fishing.

Two years ago I tied maybe thirty long thin sandeel clousers in size 2--smaller than usual and much lankier--because that's what was fishing in late May and early June. Arrived to find that the bait had gotten smaller and wound up hacking at the flies with a pair of nippers while standing nut-deep in surf with 20 pound stripers swimming past me. Caught my best fish on a field-modified fly that looked like it had gone down the garbage disposal. Best laid plans oft gang agly. It's taken all my willpower to resist the temptation to tie a ton of flies in the winter, because the return for me is always weak. Instead I pick a new pattern or a new skill and work on it, not to lay by a ton of flies but just to satisfy the craving and tune up my ability to generate a trip's worth of flies in a couple of hours. Then, I can spend the money I save on something the family really needs, like a new 7' 2-weight.

ice

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Better get to bed Ice. It's pretty late. Where's my next story?

Craig

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I'm nocturnal.

Here you go. A story in keeping with the topic of the thread. It totals 5200 words. If you want the rest, drop me an e-mail at motes1135@msn.com

A Gift of Flies

The funeral was a jolly affair. Uncle Rick had cheated the Reaper out of three years beyond the textbook allowance for his particular version of the Big C. He’d been fairly happy most of the time and had suffered a minimum of surgical and chemical indignities. His many friends had come and gone through all of it; Rick kept his second-best truck in an employee spot at the Boise airport, permit courtesy one of his former students. His daughter moved back in and transferred her kids to Jericho Elementary School, where Rick had been principal for a decade.

I’d seen him four times in those three years. Considering the distance from Raleigh that was pretty good. Considering the distance between the brothers that were my father and Rick, that was very good. I can’t explain their estrangement any better than I can explain anything else about my father. I’d long ago given up trying, but Rick was important to me so I went when I could and didn’t mention it to Dad.

So it was a slant-light September dinnertime when we bumbled out of the church into the green relief of Jericho Town. The high desert heat sucked the moisture from our faces and everybody stood stunned a moment with the eye-and jaw-ache that comes from laughing and crying at the same time. Friends moved about and shook hands and spoke little.

Rick’s family was an extensive clan of fertile cousins, all fair like us but chunky and close, not the slender and aloof people of the East Coast branch of the family. Everybody seemed comfortable in the compression of well-wishes and “anything I can do’s”. Uncle Carl was there, still straight and direct; Melinda too, broad and happy mother of none, grandmother of all. The only one unconnected was David, Rick’s youngest, who jarred the edge of the group with his underdressed, crooked-jaw discord. His hair was long and forward into his face. He kept himself turned toward the open space on the lawn. In the three days I’d been there I hadn’t seen him straight-on once. He was fifteen.

I put my pleasantry in with Rick’s wife and his two grown daughters. They were all poised, composed, dignified. We all stood in coordinated moment of silence before angling away to cars and lives. Before I reached mine I felt a touch on my arm. It was Clay Morrow, Rick’s lawyer.

“Say, Alex, we have that appointment tomorrow, but maybe we can manage this business tonight, maybe over some dinner. We’re having some people over. Whyn’t you come out, let’s get it done, we’ll check you out and you can stay the night and we’ll get you over to Boise in the morning. It’s more dinner-and-a-beer business we have anyway, not so much appointment business.”

So we went...

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If you haven't done it yet, I'd order up the story. It's a great piece.

Craig

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