Surprisingly enough I don't recall ever looking at an individual fly and wondering where it would end up or making up some sort of fantasized life story for them. I've never pictured one ending in the scissor of a giant browns mouth (although many have). I haven't looked a one and said that ones gonna end up jammed under a sharp rock in the bottom with a length of abraided tippet in tow or pierced into the back of some guides hand from an errant backcast. Although I have seen my flies wound into the willows on the side of the river like some sort of abstract dreamcatcher, I don't recall ever envisioning them there while I had them in the vise.

It has been a unique opportunity and an honour to be able to share so many of my flies with so many people. I'm surprised that it hadn't dawned on me before this. I tried to add up the number of this particular pattern I have tied, and I can only guess its somewhere in the ballpark of 15,000 over the last ten years.

In the last three days, I've tied 45 Dozen of them. Maybe I've been at the bench too long . . . .

Do you have any fond memories of this slippery little sucker??