Fly-Tying Gone Rogue

By John O’Bryan

When my wife Kelly found me in the deepest recess of her closet unraveling her best sweater, a feather duster tucked under one of my arms and a fur-lined hat under the other, she was sure I had lost my mind. In a way, she was right.

I used to be a normal person, doing normal person things and going about life like all the other normal people. I went to work, enjoyed weekends with family and friends, and did normal things like washing the car, going on walks and playing with the grandkids.

But when I started tying flies as a hobby, a switch flipped somewhere deep within me and a different version of myself was released. I began looking at life through a new set of lenses, and they weren’t rose-colored.

Kelly is used to it now but when this all started in her closet, she gently took the potential fly-tying material  from me and, speaking in quiet, reassuring tones, led me out of the room. She locked the door behind her. It’s been three years and she still won’t let me in unsupervised.  

Funnily enough, this fascination with all things feather, fur, and fluffy started on a father-daughter fishing trip I took with a number of other people, who also happened to be fathers and daughters. On the third night of the trip our guide asked if we wanted to tie flies, and since I had done this as a kid, I decided to give it a try.