Rolling your own

There's a story told by my Uncle Hornets, whose name is actually Ernest but, since being nearly stung to death as a child, for the rest of his life even his mother called him Hornets. The story is his account of the genesis of a favorite trout fly for the region, the south-western watersheds of Alberta, Canada. The fly is one I've mentioned before in Fly Fishing & Fly Tying - the Deer Hair Sedge. In its many variations, tied with elk or deer hair, this classic pattern is currently one of the most widely used on earth.

Now, old Uncle Hornets is no stranger to the embellished truth, or to whisky for that matter, and would never let a good yarn suffer for lack of art. His story is set on the upper reaches of the Oldman, which we called the Northfork, at the confluence of several freestone streams in the Gap, a notch in the Livingston Range that funnels the combined waters onto the grassy southern flanks of the Porcupine Hills. In those days, its the early 50's we're talking about here, the roads into that country were just tracks, with grass and mountain wild flowers growing between the ruts. And the fishing? Well, 'unspoiled' does not really convey an accurate picture - that implies an awareness of even the possibility of loss. In the limitless dream that was western Canada at that time, this was trout fishing at its most innocent and sublime.
One day, Hornets and Fred Cox, one of his fishing pals, were camped on the Northfork, and were finding the usually cooperative cutthroats hard to catch. They were rising, but all Hornets and Fred could see on the water was thistledown being blown onto the surface. So, the logical conclusion was to, you know, find a fly that imitated thistledown. Now, it's more likely that the trout were rising to something more likely to sustain life, probably a fall of spinners, which Hornets and Fred just coudn't see in the fast water - but once they got this idea of the thistledown eating trout in their heads, these boys didnít let go of it.

You have to realise that, in those days, in that part of the world, fly selection was not really a matter of science, or even logic - it was more like voodoo. If those trout appeared to be feeding on thistledown, well, it was just another manifestation of the marvelous and mysterious workings of the world, and to be accepted at face value. Also, one should not rule out the hallucinogenic effects of serial campfire pissups.

Anyway, considering a deerhide that Hornets had found, and using thread and yellow wool from his sweater, Fred Cox proceeded to whip up what must have been a pretty crude impression of a tuft of thistledown, and they commenced to make heap meat with that fly. Upon return to town, Hornets asked local fly tier Jerry Avoledo, proprietor of Jerry's Sportshop in Bellevue, to tie up a tidier, more durable version of the fly, which Jerry called a 'Bucktail', apparently unaware of true, fish-imitating bucktails.

However it was conceived, even if there is no more than whisky fumes to Hornetís account, Jerry's Bucktail was an established favorite for local anglers in the mid-50's, and I first saw the pattern in 1958. It's certain that Avoledo developed his version in isolation in the early fifties. No baitfish imitation, Jerry's Bucktail, was a dry fly. Watching a trout appear as if from nowhere, and turn down with the big deer hair floater, in water as clear as air, I learned to love the surface fly.

It was Jerry's Bucktail that got me started as a serious fly tyer, in preparation to our annual visits to fish with my uncles in the Crowsnest Pass. I used to dread the first words I'd hear as we arrived at my grandfather's house.

"Bobby, roll me a couple dozen Bucktails, orange, and give 'em plenty of, you know what I mean, wing".

In anticipation of these demands, I used to stock up in the weeks before each trip, but it was never enough. Once my uncles realised I was capable of significant production they began to supply their pals as well. I used to sit for hours at one end of the table in my grandmother's kitchen - rolling Bucktails. My granddad sat at the other end with a tumbler of whisky and milk and a big can of Sportsman tobacco - rolling cigarettes. That experience was enough for me to eliminate fly tying as a commercial enterprise, but I am certain that tying flies has made me a better fly fisherman.
In fact, I'd go so far as to say, if you are not yet rolling your own, you're not really barking with the big dogs. It's an essential part of being a 'complete' angler, and permits a deeper understanding of our quarry and its habits. Jerry Avoledo's Bucktail has provided me with something like a conceptual platform for my approach to fly tying and fishing - one of working with general characteristics rather than slavish imitation of the natural - although I don't use it in its original form any more. Jerry's Bucktail is still a good fish catcher, but the versions I prefer these days don't employ a hackle and, I believe, are more effective without it. Jerry passed away a few years ago, but his daughter Lillian still runs Jerry's Sportshop in Bellevue.

Wherever Jerry is now, maybe the trout are rising to thistledown.

Bob Wyatt is a regular contributor to Flyfishing and Flytying magazine