Tomorrow I’m off to fish a small stocked still-water with a very old and dear friend. Now, I know what your thinking but you’re wrong – I’m not about to abandon the rivers and revert to chasing stockies around a pond. This is an all too rare opportunity to have a day out with a friend and the venue is immaterial.
It’s been a while since I last did anything like this and in preparation I have rummaged around in the darker corners of my fishing room and found a couple of old fly boxes – the ones I used when I used to do this sort of thing regularly. Oh my god! What a sight? I had almost forgotten the monstrosities I used to tie on without shame. Huge, garish creations that should never be viewed in daylight without the benefit of good dark Polaroid glasses – still, I seem to remember catching a fair few fish with them so perhaps I’m becoming a snob in my old age. I’ve put together a when all else fails box which I’ll keep securely hidden. I’ll stick to my traditional imitative patterns in a dogged display of fly-box bigotry until conditions or [more likely] lack of aptitude force me to open Pandora’s box & try with a dog nobbler or cat’s whisker – whatever.
The interesting thing here is how my attitude has changed over the years. I can’t remember it happening and, in all honesty I can see no justification for it. I’ve been kidding myself that I have been fishing imitations of aquatic fauna, but thinking about it, almost all flies are embellished in some way, be it silver tinsel ribbing or a gold head which I’m sure is meant to provoke an aggressive rather than hunger driven response from trout.
Perhaps we’re all lure fishermen in denial. Now there’s a can of worms!