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Stoneclinger Nymphs first came to my notice about 15 years ago. I had started to fish the middle beats of the Tay, which at times experienced massive hatches of March browns and olive uprights.

On many spring days between March and the end of April hatches would commence in the morning and from that point on I would watch flotillas of March brown duns riding down the Tay's roily flows and I would not see a sign of a fish. If I saw one fish rise I'd be lucky. A dry fly didn't appear to be an option, although the amount of insects on the water suggested it should work.
Searching through my books on imitative fly dressing for a suitable nymph, I was surprised to find the most common advice was to stick with a simple Hare's Ear Nymph. One book actually quoted that accurate imitation was unnecessary.

I had assumed that during these rises the fish must be taking the ascending nymph and at that time I had tied a hare's ear style pattern with an oversized bead, mainly as a point fly to act as a sacrificial nymph to get the other nymphs on my cast fishing deeper. However, I discovered that this sacrificial nymph took quite a lot more fish than I expected. Results were OK, but I still wasn't happy – surely, I thought, he fishing during such an intense hatch of sizable offerings such as March browns should result in better trout fishing?

Most of the rivers I fish these days are home to large amounts of the nymphs we anglers describe as 'stoneclingers'. These large nymphs are a lesson in natural adaptation, their streamlined profile and flattened bodies help them live out their lives on rounded, smooth cobbles of rock in fast-flowing water. A broad, flat head with a domed forehead, tapered profile and six powerful legs that would make Charles Atlas envious, enable the nymphs to fed and shelter and live a normal aquatic insect life under the surface of rushing, tumbling white water.

One thing I've discovered is that the nymphs of these species vary widely in coloration – from species to species and river to river. So much so, that surely, I thought, a simple Hare's Ear represents neither the profile nor the colour of the natural? About this time I discovered the Stoneclinger Nymphs tied by Oliver Edwards in his book, Fly Tyers Masterclass. They looked brilliant, just like the specimens I'd seen. Inspired, I got to work. They are detailed, intricate flies, and over the course of the next day I tied up half a dozen of Oliver's pattern and headed out to my local river Devon where, at that time, a good hatch of autumn duns was in progress. The river Devon passes through a narrow gorge which is heavily wooded on both banks. Here, the river itself is quite narrow with fast runs and small pools, but I was desperate to tie my new accurate nymph representations.
Armed with a seven-foot four-weight I set up a cast with two nymphs and climbed down to a small pool with a foaming head and a fast run-out at the tail. From my perch high up I could see a trout at the tail of the pool darting and flickering from side to side, taking the nymphs as they flowed past.

I carefully crept into position, just downstream of the fish, and then delivered a precise cast up and slightly across to the far bank. Unfortunately, my perfect cast delivered my nymphs straight into an overhanging branch on the opposite bank. A few strong pulls and the leader broke, but by the end of this unscheduled activity I'd lost two of my carefully tied flies before they had even got wet, and the fish had vanished into the depths of the pool. Time to move upstream.

In the next pool I noticed another fish rise in the deep, middle section. This time I tied on just one of my precious nymphs. I cast it right up into the pool neck and let the current carry it down in the flow. As I gathered in line and raised my rod tip to keep in touch with the nymph, a jab on my taut line indicated that the trout had swum up and taken the fly confidently. It turned out to be a fat fish of about about half a pound; not big, but I was very happy to catch it on my new nymph. I liked it, but, more importantly, the fish liked it.

The rest of the evening continued much in the same vein. A few trout succumbed to the nymph, but in this tangle of vegetation you win a few battles and lose a few battles. By the ime it got dark I'd had a great evening, but I'd only one of my nymphs left! Now, I don't mind losing a few flies; it's all part of the game, but those ones I'd lost that night had taken an awful amount of time to produce and each loss was a little more painful than normal.

Then, a couple of years ago, in early March I had been tying stoneclinger flies in the morning and in the afternoon I had taken my black labrador, Teal, for a walk by the river. These days, I like to investigate the river life and I'd taken a bug net along with me. As I grubbed about in the river I lifted my net and revealed a number of stoneclingers. As I studied them I was obviously still thinking about tying the nymph and then something clicked. The stoneclinger's large, flattened head is its most prominent feature and yet it is the most difficult and time-consuming feature to replicate on a hook-shank. But what if I flattened a metal bead head? Surely that would be just right in profile and size?

Teal and I rushed back to the fly tying vice at home, mounted some beads on hooks and then I began to crush them with flat-nosed pliers and, later, in a bench vice.

To discover how Barrie ties his nymph stage by stage, together with tips on the materials he uses, plus the full dressing details, turn to page 70 of the June 2009 issue of Fly Fishing and Fly Tying

The profile and shape of a a Stoneclinger – brook dun, March brown, yellow May dun, autumn dun or olive upright is unmistakeable.

Tying the broad, flattened profile of the stoneclinger family of nymphs has always proved difficult. Now Barrie Duffy has got to grips with the problem – by using an engineer's vice!