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 Delbert McLain was seen going into Marvin Pincus’s
house the other evening. We wondered on it a bit, because those two
were less likely to become friends than any other two people in the
valley.
But Marvin, an old curmudgeon, is an amazing tier of fishing flies,
and Delbert, who thinks blizzards are wonderful because the grass
will be greener in the spring, is also an amateur fly tier. But
Marvin is the real expert.
“There should be,” said Del, expansively, “a National Fly Tying
Month. Just think how many more people we could get to tie flies if
it were more … organized, you know?”
Marvin looked up from his bench and stared at his visitor over the
magnifying glasses he was wearing to help him tie an Adams dry on a
number 20.
“Del,” he said, “some things are just meant to be quiet, you know?
Just quiet. You just sit down and tie flies, and you don’t need an
organization or festival, or factory.”
“Well … okay, I see your point. You working on emerger patterns
right now for the hatch?”
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column] |
“Adams, dry.”
Del looked over his shoulder as Marvin carefully wound the hackle
behind the wings then in front of the wings, and then tied it off
with a whip finish tool.
“Shouldn’t you be tying emergers this time of year?”
“Del, emergers sink. Wets sink. Worms sink. Salmon eggs sink.
Where’s the glory in that? Dries alight on the surface film of a
creek with a flutter, and they just sit there on top, going for a
ride. They don’t sink. Then the fish has to make an effort and come
up and get him.”
“Never thought of it that way.”
Marvin nodded. “There’s only dry fly fishing in the world, Del. Only
dry fly fishing. Everything else is just killing fish.”
[Text from file received from
Slim Randles]
Pick up “Home Country: Drama, dreams and laughter from the American
heartland” www.lpdpress.com.
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