Some people ask how I know which of the hundreds of flies I carry in my vest to use when I'm on the water. So many flies, so many flies...
Simple, I say. I get out the little bag Mrs. Koontz gave me and dump out some bones and feathers.
I study them for awhile.
I drink dark beer.
I contemplate the symetry of the mojo items as they fall to the ground, looking for a sign that tells me ... WHAT FLY TO USE.
It all has to do with how the turkey, crow and hawk feathers land in relation to the mysterious jawbone, all of which the fishing nymphs left on the banks for me.
I look at the mess on the ground, check out what's fluttering in the air above the trout and look for spider webs that may have caught one of the local trout favorites.
Then, after much cogitation, I tie on the appropriate feathered hook and proceed to rip some lips.
Simple, I say.