In seeking out the ‘indispensable†fly patterns of the experts, I had inevitably to approach the grand daddy of South African fly-fishers, the always willing Dr Tom Sutcliffe. I hasten to add that the word ‘grand†is in no way intended as a comment on Tom’s age.
In the fashion of fly-fisherfolk he is of an eternally optimistic youthfulness that defies easy categorisations like age. Grand refers only to Tom’s musings and teachings about the elegant pastime of fly-fishing, if only as evidenced in his wonderful new book, Hunting Trout.
I made a blooper in my phrasing of the question. I asked Tom what six flies he’d take to a desert island, rather like that wonderful BBC radio programme of yore, Desert Island Discs, where studio guests were invited to name the 10 ‘gramophone records†they would take with them if they were due to be stranded and had the choice.
Tom answered thus: ‘There is a significant challenge in your request Robert — to ‘imagine some desert island with a trout stream on it†is difficult. Sorry. I hear there are trout on Réunion, even a few on Sardinia and Corsica — ar least according to Cecil Heacox’s The Compleat Brown Trout there are. So, in picking my six most indispensable flies I’ll work instead on a deserted rather than a desert island, if that’s OK by you.
‘First off, if there are trout around it’s a safe bet there will be rises, so I’ll want some dry flies, and since the range I have is only six, let me settle for two dries.
‘First choice would be a whispery, long-hackled RAB (rough and buoyant), maybe the most effective dry fly ever to come out of Africa. What you can’t get right with a properly tied RAB, little will fix. I’d have it barbless because I’m assuming some fragility in any population of trout on a deserted island, and that some level of catch and release would probably not be negotiable, and more compatible with my own long-term survival.
‘My second dry fly would be a Klinkhammer — the much-celebrated invention of a Dutch tier, by name Hans von Klinken — because it imitates the most vulnerable stage in any hatching insect’s life, the moment of emergence. Trout know about this vulnerability and can’t resist it. I’d add a thin strand of clear plastic (Glad Wrap does well) to the bend of the hook to imitate its shedding shuck and loftily imagine to myself that by so doing I’m embracing the science of fly-fishing as close to its cutting edge as you can get.
‘Then I’d want an all-purpose nymph and since the ZAK has yet to let me down that would be the one and only nymph in my collection.
‘For those difficult trout that insist on eating things so small you could inhale a dozen in one breath, I’d choose the underrated Griffith’s Gnat. It covers a multitude of small bug sins. Four down, two to go.
‘I’d have to assume some pretty hefty, deep-swimming, macro-eaters are around, like 12 pound browns that thrive on a mixed diet of frogs, small bait fish, crabs and the odd mouse. For them I’d pick a weighted, Olive-Green Strip-Leech. They look so lifelike in the water that, to quote my pal Ed Herbst, you feel like eating the damned things yourself.
‘Then, in deference to the last vestiges of the deeply earthy and root-bound traditions that once prevailed so gloriously in fly-fishing, I’d pay homage to our predecessors, just for the sake of it, and add a Silver March Brown. Don’t ask for the explanation. There is none, really, other than nostalgia, though at one stage I thought that the Silver March Brown is a pretty good imitation of an adult caddis returning to lay her eggs. Who said you can’t dig a little science even out of the most traditional of fly patterns.â€
Thank you, Tom. I see that Neil Collins, writing in The Spectator, also admires the appeal of the Klinkhammer, and tells of getting a four-and-half-pound rainbow. So, you see, it works in Eurocentric settings, too.