The Material Trail by Randall Thorpe When I first got interested in fly fishing I followed the same path as most people.  I visited a local store, bought what I could afford and what I thought I would need and proceeded to study how to use it.  The local Woolworth store supplied me with a fiberglass rod and I picked up a reel, line and some flies at the sporting goods dept. at the J.C. Penny store in a local mall. That was back when they had a sporting goods dept. My line was a level eight weight and I think I picked up a book there also.  I didn't know at the time how much I was handicapping myself. I hadn't heard about double tapers and weight forward lines. It didn't matter though.  I was determined to learn fly fishing in spite of the fact that I knew no one who could teach me the finer details.  Just like the way some people don't let the facts get in the way of a good argument,  I wasn't going to let my lack of knowledge prevent me from enjoying a sport that looked to be so agreeable. Some people enjoy the trip, but hate the preparation. I soon found out I could enjoy both.  I was pouring over my books, learning knots and flies, and generally  lulling myself into a false sense of competency.  It was so easy to do.  I've always been able to read a book or magazine article and convince myself that I had learned how to do something.  Sometimes, I'm even correct. Not always. Just …sometimes.  I wouldn't bet the farm on it, but I do get a sense of satisfaction out of thinking that I have mastered a skill from a book.  It beats staring reality in the face. My sister lived near a small lake that looked like the perfect place to try fly fishing.  One Saturday morning I couldn't stand it anymore and decided to give it a try. I loaded my car with my goodies and after finding a great looking place with nothing to hinder my backcast, I proceeded to beat the water to a froth.  Literally. After a short while, I began to realize that this was harder than  it looked. Graceful I was not. Effective I was not.  It was then that I noticed a man coming down over the bank and walking out to where I was standing.  His first words were, " hey buddy, I've been watching you beat that rod to death for the last half hour. Would you like me to show you how to use it?" I quickly answered, "If you think you know how, I sure would," Boy did he know how.  After about a half hour of instruction, he had me casting the way I had dreamed it should be done. And I caught fish. Bass, bluegill. Mostly caught on a red and yellow Mickey Finn. I even caught fish on some of the wet flies that I had bought. I was in heaven.  I am forever grateful to that man who took the time to teach a rookie. However, there was unexpected side to this experience. It wasn't long after I starting catching fish on flies that the thought of making my own flies wormed its way into my head.  The satisfaction of catching a fish on a fly that I could make was a hypnotic drawing card. If I could learn fly fishing, I surely could learn fly tying. I was assuming at that time that I had "learned" fly fishing.  They say hindsight is twenty twenty.. I believe that doesn't take into account the blinders. I attacked the task of learning fly tying the same way that I had approached fly fishing.  Get the books, buy the tools and material, study, practice and it would be another skill mastered and enjoyed.  Although local sporting goods departments at the time had some fly fishing equipment, hardly any had fly tying equipment. I turned to the old standby, the Herters catalog. For those too young to know, the Herters catalog had it all. As a boy, I had studied the catalog intensely and dreamed of being able to make use of all of the goodies contained therein.  I think I still have  that first Herters vice somewhere here in the land of the lost. More books would follow and hours spent at the vice seemed to slip by quickly. I was learning, I thought. I was about that time that I met a young lady who stole my attention away from fishing, or at least relegated it to a lesser place in my mind. I know I was completely honest about my "vices" as we got serious about each other. I told her about my hunting and fishing interests. We wed and phase two of my life commenced. It wasn't too long after our marriage that the "strange" side of my fly fishing/tying addiction began to manifest itself.  We had bought our first home and since I was working second shift, I felt it reasonable to fix up a table and tying vice in the attic bedroom to "keep the mess contained". Little did she know. In the past I have been a pack rat. There, I've said it. I started collecting material that " could be used in fly tying".  I soon learned that no matter what interesting  fly you decide to tie, you don't have all of the material that the recipe calls for.  You either reign back your plans, or find a substitute.  Since my job didn't provide a whole lot of extra income, I soon learned to substitute instead of rushing out to buy all of the wondrous material that I had read about.   Being on the trail looking for fly tying material soon became part of my psyche.  It becomes part of the way you look at things. There are myriad examples of how to find a second use for common materials.  My wife has gotten to the point where she consults with me before throwing out some old finger nail polish.  I've taken slivers of balsa wood from a model kit and tied it on as a body foundation.  The use of craft beads and yarn leftover from a project is obvious.  Mylar tinsel from a party decoration has found it's way into my collection. I had a teacher give me a fox stole that she was discarding due to a tear in the lining. The hair, however, was and still is gorgeous.  If you hunt or know someone who hunts, there exists an abundant market of furs and feathers. There is so much material out there that it is mind boggling. Don't get me wrong,  looking at materials with a perspective of  "how could I use it in fly tying" is not necessarily a bad thing, just fiscally and artistically prudent.  Others might not see it that way though. A case in point is my wife's former hobby of raising guinea pigs for show.  She would point out to me animals with a particular type and color of hair and as I was holding the animal and examining the hair, she would stop, give me a firm look, and declare "don't even think about it."  I wasn't, but apparently I had developed a reputation at home that was somewhat justified. This "tendency"  would manifest itself by my keeping a good pair of scissors handy "just in case the opportunity would present itself". I will admit to tying flies with Cocker Spaniel hair, but it  came from their grooming brush, not  from the dog.  Once I had even grossed out my wife by stopping along a little used suburban street and checking out some road kill for it's hair. Waste not, want not, or so they say. I suppose that means I deserved my reputation  at home.  I could even stop at a yard sale and get excited over a fifty cent PFD filled with Kapok. Now that was a treasure.  I figured if it could float me, it could float a fly. Being on the trail of fly tying material can be infectious too. I once commented to a friend of mine in another state that I could always use some turkey feathers. He was an avid hunter. A couple weeks later, a box arrived in the mail with a complete turkey skin and tail salted with borax. Now that's a friend for you.  He ate the bird, but he saved the rest for me. What a guy! Down through the years, I have been known to go into fabric and craft shops with my wife to check out the feathers and beads while she shopped. I was there yesterday by myself looking for some cloth to make a rod tube liner, and to do some "research" in the feather and bead section of the store. It is an addiction, I admit it. But I like to think I am harmless. One firm rule you should have if you start down this slippery  slope of  "acquiring material". is please try to remember what you've got and where it is located, especially,  if it is time sensitive. I violated that rule once and never forgot it. In my younger days I occasionally  had to work in different school buildings and one time I made the acquaintance of the secretary in an elementary school. When I mentioned that I tied flies and was always on the lookout for new  material, she asked if I could use mink hair. She got my immediate attention. I had never used mink hair.  She invited my wife and I to visit her family's mink farming operation the following Saturday. Saturday dawned bright and hot as we made the trip to the mink farm We were amazed at the rows of cages containing the little critters. Their daughter was our guide and she demonstrated to us quite effectively that one should never try to handle one of the little fur balls. They bite and don't want to let go. They were like a rodent version of a pit bull. It was explained to us that the truck had already come and gone to pick up the pelts, but that some small tuffs of tails were still there and that I would be welcome to them. I had already figured out that I would freeze them in small sandwich bags and would have a nice little supply of new tying material. The secretary's husband asked me what  I intended to do with the hair and after hearing my plans offered another tidbit. He said his dog had just killed a possum and since it was fresh,  he asked if I wanted it. I had just been reading a recipe that called for Australian  possum, so I jumped on the offer. I figured an American version should be as good.  Dropping the defunct possum into a trash bag, I put the bag into the trunk of the car, and we headed home. I've always been cursed with short term memory loss and that day was no exception. I'm pretty much absent minded.  I think you know where I'm headed with this story.  We arrived at home and I fired up all of our fans since it was so  hot.  I took care of the jobs that I could remember that needed immediate attention and set back to relax. The next day, my wife asked me what I had done about the possum. I froze. Oops. I went out to the car, opened the trunk and opened the bags.  Waves of possum perfume hit me. I retied the bag, set it out on the curb, and decided to order my possum hair from a catalog. As I have said before, the preparation can sometimes be as enjoyable as the trip. Learn the basics and don't be afraid to experiment. Finding new uses for material that exists all around you can be a rush by itself. And I was right. Catching a fish on a fly that I had tied is special.       Hatches Magazine Subscription Price: $6.95 for each issue The Premiere issue is ready for shipping & the Fall 2008 issue will be available September 1st. Hatches Magazine Subscription Price: $6.95 for each issue The Premiere issue is ready for shipping & the Fall 2008 issue will be available September 1st.