On Wed, 7 Sep 2005 09:35:34 -0500, "Wolfgang"
wrote:

For the past two years, ever since we moved from the duplex into a house, I
didn't bother to unpack (let alone organize) my fly tying gear because I
still had enough bugs to get me through what little fishing I've managed to
squeeze in. Not so, this time around. With the promise of nine days of
intensive angling staring me in the face, it was time to do something. I've
never been exactly anal about neatness, but a quick search through drawers,
tubs, boxes, bags and various other containers left even me a bit
disconcerted. All my hooks (and a lot of other junk) were stored in one of
those upright metal cabinets with the clear plastic drawers.....the ones
that never slide properly in the first place and, given that they are always
over-filled, often won't open at all. The cabinet has been lying on it's
back for two years. Icky!

A couple of hours (and $50 at the fly shop buying things that, as I found
out later, after a more careful search, I didn't need anyway) I was ready to
rock. Hooks, thread, chenille, calf tail, mallard flank, brown hackle, nail
polish......yep, all there. Pinch down a barb, chuck the hook in the vise
and.......ACK!......some evil ******* has stolen all my fingers and replaced
them with poorly disguised thumbs!

Some observations:

1. Even the strongest nylon thread weakens considerably after two years on
the shelf.
2. Hooks shrink.
3. There is considerably less light in the world than there used to be.
4. The labels on containers lie.
5. Materials in general have become unruly and disrespectful.
6. Hook eyes (and hackles) have developed an extraordinary affinity for
head cement.
7. Having magically absorbed a vast quantity of head cement from a
distance, hook eyes disappear entirely when approached by a bodkin.
8. Fingers (or thumbs, as the case may be) do not.

Nevertheless, perseverance pays off. After a mere day and a half of intense
labor leavened liberally with blood, sweat, tears, and occasional reference
to foreign language dictionaries in search of new profanities with which
relieve the tedium of repetition, I am the proud owner of 30 new pass lakes
and 18 equally virginal woolly buggers.

When all is said and done, it is good to know that I haven't lost any of my
blinding speed and that the detritus left on the floor still doesn't
outweigh the finished product by all that much.

Wolfgang



It's like riding a bike...once you remember where you left it