Spinner in Reverse

When I was 11, I saw this guy at the counter of a western Massachusetts package store picking up nips and a puck of Skoal with a fishing hook affixed to the brim of his hat. I studied him and thought how cool he looked, but the idea of adorning the hat felt contrived. Later I would see the movie “Honey, I Shrunk the Kids,” and one of the characters had flies pinned to his hat, too, like badges codifying membership in a club I wanted into. Still, decorating the hat seemed fabricated. I felt they needed to be earned.

Twenty years later happenstance would pin a fly on the side of my beanie. It was late summer on the New York side of the Upper West Branch Delaware, the sun had dipped below the mountains and the last-light picky risers were working, eating anything but my flies. Waist deep in 48-degree water and dressed for summer, I was pre-hypothermic and making lousy casts. With no respect for my back cast’s load, I cast forward too early and the tailing loop snagged my head.

The fly was special, a hackle wing spinner offered to me from a secret box behind the counter of my local fly shop. With the mystique of a beaded curtain in an old video rental store, the shop employee whispered to me, “Want to see some serious flies?” He revealed a box of perfectly tied patterns. They were simple yet decadent, with mostly hackle wings. The shop hand divulged: “They’re from this guy up in Sussex. He works at a gas station and ties in the booth by the pumps between fill-ups.” I bought half the box.

They lasted me about a year. One size 10 with a skinny body and giant puff of CDC would bring my personal best, a giant brown caught alone under the moonlight. I didn’t tape it or get a picture, but the way it sagged on both ends when I held its midsection was something I only saw in magazines. However, the real stars were the hackle wing spinners, split with a white foam wing case and trimmed flush on the bottom. Unlike poly and CDC wings, they never wilted with use. It didn’t matter how many times they were eaten or drowned—one false cast was enough to dry them back into action. I used them until they were lost or destroyed.

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