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by Sharmagne Leland-St. John On the work table he sets out rows of Royal Coachmen, a well known favourite of the Rainbow trout drowsing in the dark murky waters of our river. He'll store them away in his vintage leather fly wallet until next spring. "It's all about Presentation," he says "The second that fly hits the water you want it to look like dinner." He begins to hunt for the barbless hooks he will fashion into the perfect dry flies. He places a hook in the vise, begins to wrap the shank with black thread, lets the hemostat dangle, adds calf tail to either end for tail and wings, ties them off. In between the fur, for the body, he winds whitetail deer, dyed chartreuse. It will blend right in with the Alder's green-leafed branches overhanging the river. He trims the hair, adds the brown hackle from a Metz rooster saddle, pointed toward the head, ties it off and drizzles a bit of glue to secure the knot. No shiny mylar streamers on this baby! He gently removes the fly from the vise with a pair of needle-nosed pliers, examines it at close range. He has tied the perfect Steelhead Bomber. These little flies resemble fuzzy caterpillars. They throw a wake behind them as they skate along the surface of quiet waters. When softly cast the steelhead cannot resist sipping them from the languid summer stream. That night he dreamt he was already on the river….
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