A single turn of silk and it all begins. As each material is positioned and lashed to the hook, the anticipation grows. This is more than just a fly, it is a door opened, tackle packed in the car, and the morning sunshine on the drive to the river.
The mind conjures that special quality of the light on a favored lie, and then my hand seems to feel the cork as it tightens for the cast. That simple fly is now an experience unto itself as it drifts downstream.
I have always cherished the connection to the fishing that my fly tying provides. As each turn of hackle settles into that magic whirl of barbs, I see the whirl of a take upon bright water and feel the heavy pull as a great fish turns and runs with every measure of the wild energy alive in his spotted form! As the silk traps the hackle and pulls it tight behind the hook’s eye, I thrill to the tightness of the line, the throbbing of the cane and the glorious symphony of a Hardy check o’er the murmur of bright water.
The cold months pass, and the compartments in the fly boxes are filled, yet there is more in there than the flies themselves. Beneath the tumbled hackles, tails and wings are the memories of rivers, pictures of those favorite runs bubbling in springtime’s heavy flows and of pools glowing with the soft glint of summer’s light along a riverbank dappled with shade.
The Winter Solstice arrives tonight at 10:27 PM, and tomorrow the days begin to lengthen gradually, achingly, at a pace which reminds me of a quiet approach across a silken pool amid the low flows of summer, with the wide rings of a soft rise in the distance. Many turns of silk lie ahead.
Bright Waters Catskill 