FRIENDS BEARING (DEAD) GIFTS

I have this problem.

    As a “monetarily-challenged” undergraduate who sees no option but to lead a lifestyle tempted by fly rods, flies, fish, and travel; whose desk has seen more flies come to life than words written; and whose mind chronically comes to rest on a trout stream (if ever it can be truly captured and imposed on an academic task), I have, like so many before me, come to travel the “resourceful” road. For fuel for tying the flies that keep me in business, I have excitedly scavenged in chicken coops and turkey dust bowls, perused the trash cans of bird-cleaning sheds, spent way too much time examining the subtleties of nail polish, claimed parts of long-expired furred and feathered animals for my own, and gazed at grizzly hackles woven into my female classmates’ hair with jealousy and contempt. Though there are no official testaments to my sanity, similarly outlying actions observed within a member of another species might easily be interpreted as rabies-induced confusion.

Photo by Matt Reilly.

    Likewise, anyone who cruises the drug store’s cosmetic aisle in mud- and fish slime-stiffened garb seeking inspiration on a late-summer night, who derives addictive, blissful, supremely-fulfilling wonder through the process of engineering combinations of animal parts, fixating them on a hook, and feeding them to fish, is both someone generally too far gone by societal standards, and someone of the type I call friend.

    The consequences of my own affliction I’ve long come to terms with. However, it still hurts me to see the characters of those who care for me compromised by my addiction.

    Fellow anglers commonly come to rest their eyes on my dorm room’s thread collection, prompting the inquiry, “You sew?” After scaring them by countering that I “sew dreams of fish,” should they remain interested in my obsessive art, I lay before them the reality of it. Sparing them the empty promise of saving money, I detail fly tying as the other half of fly fishing, more fun and versatile than fishing store-bought flies, an inventive haunting of my favored streambeds in my absence. If they remain unfazed, I welcome them to a new world, and they come to terms by doing.

    Then, seeing my preoccupation with this activity, there are those friends and family members who do not tie flies, but wish to come to terms by giving. Faced with a massively diversified lexicon of materials lists, they arrive at the (altogether not untrue) conclusion that anything can be used to tie flies. This conclusion has led to their generous deliverance of clumps of human hair, synthetic stuffing from various household items, mounds of cat and dog fur, vacuum cleaner lint, plastic wrappings, packing foams, drink mix containers, and dead birds—and my subsequent reflection upon what this says about me as an individual.

    One particular afternoon, I received a call from a friend from home, as I was away at school. She had just found a dead (for quite a while) woodpecker—a northern flicker—with beautiful feathers. Did I want it for fly tying?

    I knew from similar past offerings from others that the fine breast feathers from a male flicker make wonderful wet fly hackles. I further reflected on the apparent gullibility of the species, as I had been offered more flickers than any other federally-protected bird. Nevertheless, conforming to societal norms, I respectfully declined.

    A few days later, I returned the call. Screw “societal norms,” free hackle in bulk is hard to come by and I bet a day’s worth of meal swipes at the café that a “Flicker and Yellow” would make for a damn fine fly on the South Holston. I’ll take it. I apologized for dragging her into this pursuit, and said goodbye, assuming I’d collect the goods upon returning home.

    To avoid unnecessary incrimination, I’ll avoid mentioning the means of transference. For, much to my surprise, the end of the week found me suspiciously weighing a Christmas-wrapped shirt box, markedly light as a feather.

    A wake of World Wildlife Fund wrapping paper and festively colored tissue paper is all there is to account for the creation of a handful of Flicker and Yellows waiting to be swung in “Browntown,” thanks to friends bearing (dead) gifts.□

*Originally published in The Rural Virginian, rewritten from Hatch Magazine

A CELEBRATION OF RIVERS: THE PASSAGE OF TIME

In a moment—a flash in time—a decision was made. A portion of the cobblestone streambed broke free, sprouted fiery wings, and, in a twinkling second of serendipity, broke the water’s surface and engulfed the disheveled form of an olive-bodied Elk Hair Caddis that had fallen out of my vice the night before.

Photo by Matt Reilly.

    I look back on that moment often, never embellished, but as it happened on a favorite, medium-sized native brook trout stream in the Blue Ridge Mountains. The water was running low and slow through a thick August afternoon in Virginia. I could not have been older than 13, but a devoted and starry-eyed fly tyer and fishermen thrilled to have taken my first fish on a self-tied fly.

    I have since (as I would advise all to do) made many more new memories on this favorite stream—casted to familiar rocks and plunge pools, and even found familiar fish in homey haunts. But as they say, “a man never steps into the same river twice,” for he is a changed man for the experience; and I never did.

    Rivers change, too—constantly. High water and flood events, and even the daily coursing of normal water flows, alter the streambed—moving gravel, debris, stones, and sweepers. Bedrock and boulders are eroded. The Grand Canyon itself is the life’s work of the once-strong Colorado River. It is the nature of flowing water.

    When I look back upon that treasured memory, I can vividly recall the physical geography and divine design of the pool where it occurred. It sits at the foot of a steep bank, just a small pebble’s throw from a cobblestone trail. An oak tree towers over the pool’s middle, its sprawling roots creating an undercut bank that sits three feet above the water’s regular height—a product of springs, rainfall, and runoff.

    The pool begins as many do in the Appalachians, with two stones that split a current into four seams—the first of which runs along the steep bank, while the other splits the pool long-ways. The two run a good distance—maybe 20 feet—before converging in the tail and spilling over into the next. It is best approached across from the steep bank, on a gravel bar inhabited by sycamore saplings and mountain daisies.

    That image stays fresh in my mind because the scene is revisited at least once every year, and while the rocks and the bank and the oak and sycamore trees are all still in their place--as I am when I return--the river is, alas, different. The water that grazed the flanks of that five-inch brook trout when it rose to my poorly-presented fly, and that swirled around my ankles as I released it, was fleeting.

Photo by Matt Reilly.

    In a flick of the trout’s tail, the river water escaped with the moment, downstream, to mix with warmer water and brine, and flush the gills of smallmouth and striped bass and mackerel, leaving its gentle impression wherever it roamed.

    The impression it left on me is romantic, inspiring, and all-consuming. It inspired a musing that found its way with words, which eventually served as a springboard for a writing career and a growing passion for fly fishing that have together carted me all over the East Coast in search of a similar high.

    Today, I have been blessed to have fished a variety of waters in locations near and far, including many places I call “home,” where I often share the passing of time--and the riffles, runs, and eddies about my feet—with the riverbed and cobble stones. And while I continue to spout words of fish and rivers and wildernesses, the river has etched its own words into the rocks as part of the continuation of the story of creation and nature.

    For that very reason, one of the places I have visited on this ongoing adventure, the Catskills Fly Fishing Center in the Catskills Forest of New York, features a path paved with stones from visitors’ home waters as a celebration of such journeys through water and time; for all of us that have known the romantic relationship with rivers and fish have a story to tell much like this one.

    This summer, one of the stones from that favorite stream of mine in the Blue Ridge made its way into the Catskills to gather with others to tell a story. Such a story is not to be read, but comprehended through an intimate relationship with nature. And in that it will be known that part of that story is our own, written on our souls by the very same current patterns that touched the rocks in a moment shared on a freestone mountain stream where it all began.□

*Originally published in the Rural Virginian

CASTIN" & BLASTIN": THE BLUE RIDGE MIX

Today was a successful day, to say the least.  

    I met Phillip at his house in Charlottesville and drove to a small brook trout stream in the Blue Ridge, arriving around 8 AM.  After a short hike, we collectively took 40 brook trout over the course of two hours--all, for the most part, on the wonderful little nymph I will show you all how to tie in the near future.  Be on the lookout.

Photo by Matt Reilly

Photo by Matt Reilly

    After returning home and hitting the local pharmacy for some discount fly tying materials, I hit the woods with my 20 gauge pump shotgun for the last hour and a half of light.  Fishing manager of Orvis Charlottesville, Jeff Greendyk, and I, have been devising a plan to learn how to dye fly tying materials--squirrel tail in particular--and I needed materials.  

    In the first ten minutes in the woods, I busted three squirrels holding tight on the forest floor.  They scattered, and I dropped each on three consecutive moving shots.  A triple, on squirrels, for half a limit of the gray bushytails.  

Photo by Matt Reilly

    Another 45 minutes of stalking put me in position to take another squirrel.  From the base of a ridge, I closed the distance to the scurrying and pouncing on the ridge crest quickly, by hopping and skipping in bursts, imitating the noise made by a moving squirrel.  The first shot was presented when an alarmed gray pounced from the trunk of an oak into the branches of another.  And as he was scrambling to establish footing, I dropped him with a swinging report from the 20 gauge.  The next peeked around the base of another oak tree, presenting a head shot that didn't go unclaimed.  Down went another batch of materials and food.  The third held tight on the forest floor for about 30 seconds before making a mad dash up the nearest hickory tree.  I ran forward ten feet before he began his assent up the trunk, which I interrupted, taking a quick knee and firing a quick rising shot.

Photo by Matt Reilly

Photo by Matt Reilly

    With a half hour of light left, I got all the squirrels cleaned and quartered, and landed the tails and one skin in the freezer covered in salt for preservation for dyeing at a later date.  

    To round off the productivity, I was offered two work opportunities--one regarding Adventures Afield, as a column, and another in production fly tying.  More to come on those opportunities!

BIG FLIES FOR BIG FISH

It's been a slow couple of days.  After working hard at my ongoing article for Eastern Fly Fishing through the morning and afternoon, and at a relative standstill on my Fly Tyer profile article on Chuck Kraft until I get the chance to interview Mossy Creek Fly Fishing's Colby Trow, I granted myself a break to tie flies again.  It's a somewhat mindless (when you know what you're doing) endeavor and one that invests in tomorrow's fishing, and something that to me is extremely relaxing.

    Digging out my collection of ultra-suede CK tails from Eastern Trophies Fly Fishing, I took a leap at the biggest of the bunch--large Musky Worm Tails.  What resulted from the next few minutes of concentration was my best shot at emulating a CK Musky Critter Dog in firetiger and black, as William Heresniak of Eastern Trophies Fly Fishing ties them.  The Musky Critter Dog is, in itself, a synthetic fly that emulates the all-popular Bull Dawg soft plastic lure used by conventional musky fishermen.

Photo and fly by Matt Reilly

    As materials were married together, I could almost feel the fever slip in.  I've got a good idea of where I'd like to go in the next few weeks to do some nymphal dragon hunting.  If I get the chance, you will read about it here.□

REPLACING WHAT'S LOST: FLY TYING AND LOSING FLIES IN TREES

I've found over the course of my lifetime, all of which I have spent fishing, that tree gods are integral parts of the mountain brook trout fishing experience.  A day on an intimate stream is not complete without a sacrificed fly or half dozen; and only by appeasing the tree spirits is success granted by the rocks and the water.

    THAT is why when I sit down to tie flies for an outing to a particularly tight stream, I tie a half dozen or dozen of each pattern, weight, and color I anticipate fishing, especially when guiding someone new to fly fishing, or who doesn't have the most control over his/her loops.  Not only that, but in the winter time, when, more than most any other time of year, in my opinion, it pays to get down deep in plunge pools and deep runs, flies and split shot wedged under rocks and logs and broken off happen.

    In reality, I don't lose as many flies as I once did, by a longshot.  However, this evening I sat down for an hour and a half to refill my stock of brook trout flies, as they have been dwindling over the past several months.  Two dozen came off the vise, and are ready for action!□

A handful of buggy nymphs ready for action!

TYING DECEIVERS LAST NIGHT

Thinking forward to the few weeks I will be spending fishing the salt in November, I decided to take a break from writing tonight and tie some flies.

Photo by Matt Reilly

    After cementing some pencil popper bodies, red and white Lefty's Deceivers were on the agenda.  The first was a little skimpy, but that's all it took to get into the swing of saltwater tying again.  More fly pictures to come!

HOW TO TIE THE GOLDEN RETRIEVER

Developed by Jim Finn on Virginia's Mossy Creek, the Golden Retriever is a fly that has seen success the world over for trout, smallmouth, steelhead, salmon, and a host of saltwater species.

Photo by Matt Reilly.

    A typical streamer, the Retriever can be swung, stripped, and some prefer to fish it under an indicator.  It's easy to tie too, and requires many basic skills that make it a great first fly to tie.

    In my own testing of this fly, I have found it deadly on stocked and holdover trout.  In fact, this fly, apart from woolley buggers and the kreelex, is often the first and only fly I tie on when fishing for meat, or simply bullying stocked trout for the fun of it.

    The keys to this fly are the red underbody and the pulsating estaz or cactus chenille.  Make sure you lay a solid base of red threat on the wire core, wrap the eztaz creating even gaps wide enough to let the underbody show through, and palmer the chenille while wrapping to ensure all of the material angles backwards and none is trapped by your forward wraps.  All materials can be purchased at Mossy Creek Fly Fishing, or via their online store.  Tie a few up in peach (below), purple, root beer, and green, and have at it!

*These instructions are for a peach pattern.  To change, simply match the marabou color with the cactus chenille.*

Materials:

Hook:        #10 3X Streamer Hook
Thread:     Red Flat Waxed Nylon
Head:        5/32" Gold Bead
Lead:        .025" Lead Wire
Body:        Gold or Peach Estaz
Tail:          Peach Marabou

Instructions:

1. Crimp down hook barb and slip on bead.
2. Wrap wire about 16 turns and lodge into the bead head to lock in place.
3. Attach thread behind wire and build a dam of thread level with the wire wraps, and tapering towards the bend.  This will allow you to create an even underbody after tying in the tail.
4. Tie in a clump of marabou about 1 1/4 the length of the hook, and cut off tag end at end of the wire wraps.
5. Tie in a strand of Estaz at the hook bend.  Always pay attention to the direction of the fibers, and tie on so that they slant back.
6. Form a smooth, even under-body by wrapping thread towards the bead.  Remember that the thread alone is your under-body, and should be built carefully.
7. Wrap the Estaz forward in 5-6 evenly spaced turns, and tie off behind the head.
8. Form a red collar behind the bead with a few extra turns of the thread, whip finish, and add head cement if desired.

HATCH: THE LITTLE BROWN STONEFLY

        My guides were frozen; and my fly line was a synthetic toothpick hardened by the cold, held fast in their icy grip.  Unslinging my pack, I found a boulder in the river's shallow overflow and covered it in fly boxes and tools, digging for some pre-packaged energy.  I caught movement in the corner of my eye; and a gray bug came into focus, short but slender--an illusion of spring.  A little brown stonefly.

Meet the Bug

Photo by Matt Reilly

        The little brown stonefly, a collective term for stoneflies in the Capniidae family, is a little known secret among many seasonal anglers, but well-known by those who stick it out throughout the winter months--and the trout.  They rarely exceed 1.5 centimeters in lenght; and their body color ranges from their namesake, brown, to a darker black, which helps them absorb heat in the frigid world in which they live.  

        Capniidae hatch throughout the winter--January through April--across the country, and can often be observed crawling around on boulders, vegetation, and snowbanks during that time.  Although hatches are not magnificent and storied, like that of the green drake in the West, or even the sulfur here in the eastern mountains, trout will readily take a stonefly nymph for its calorie-packing size, as opposed to seasonal midges, which seem to be a bit more mainstream in the winter fishing world. 

What Flies?

Photo by Matt Reilly

        According to Robert Younghanz, a.k.a. "The Bug Guy," a western entomologist and guide, these small stoneflies mate under cloudy, cold conditions.  As waters begin to warm towards the end of the stonefly's hatching season, these conditions will have fish keying in on adult females laying eggs on the water's surface.  Brown/black themed Stimulators, Goddard Caddis, Elk Hair Caddis, and other highly-buoyant hackled dry flies in sizes 14-16 are worthy imitations.  My own pattern uses mottled turkey fan feather fibers for a wing parallel to the hook, a brown hackle collar for buoyancy and legs, and hackle quills for antennae.

        Hatches occur on bright, sunny days, when the temperature rises into the mid-30s or 40s.  On these days, appropriately-colored emerging nymph patterns such as the Rubber Legged Stonefly Nymph, Kaufman's Stone, the CK Nymph,  and A.P. Hare's Ear Nymph in sizes 14-16 will be hot tickets.

        Under such conditions, anyway, dark patterns are a must.  Bright light and clear water contrast heavily with black patterns; and as fish will not (generally) actively cruise for food during this time, a highly-visible pattern is vital.

        Winter fishing is a mystery to many; but the regularly-occurring, dependable food source of little brown stones is a standby relevant across the country and on almost every stream.

        Fly high.□

TYING THE GRANDE RETRIEVER

The Grande Retriever and  smallie.
Photo by Matthew Reilly

    Two to three months following the bass spawn, fry in lakes and rivers are growing past the one-inch mark, towards maturity.  This means that baitfish-imitating streamers are good starting points for fishermen looking to “match the hatch.”

    Unfortunately, Mother Nature has left area rivers high and muddy, with little respite, since mid-June, making smallmouth fishing like salmon fishing in Yemen. 

    In periods of dirty water, so concludes a Michigan study, smallmouth feed more often on crayfish, as opposed to baitfish, primarily because when visibility is limited, they can relate to the riverbed that crayfish rest on.

    However, as waters begin to run clearer, as they are now, but still retain some suspended silt, baitfish patterns again become effective.  Increasing a fly’s visibility in this situation can be done with a large profile and some flash.  This gave me a great opportunity to field test a pattern I’ve been working with.

    Inspired by Jim Finn’s Golden Retriever, this fly utilizes flash and a colored underbody for added allure.  Jim Finn’s fly is a local favorite for trout, bass, and panfish, but I found myself looking for a larger profile that wouldn’t get lost in stained water, and that would be more appealing to calorie-burning summer-time lunkers.  Ultra chenille and “grande,” as opposed to medium, estaz enables this.  Here’s how to tie it as I do.

Materials.  Photo by Matthew
Reilly

Materials:            Mustad C52S BLN, Size 2 stinger hook

                           .025 lead wire

                           White flat waxed nylon thread

                           White marabou

                           Wine ultra chenille

                           white grande opalescent estaz

                           ¼” hologram Mirage Eyes

                           Super glue or head cement

1.       Secure the hook in the vise and make 20-25 turns of wire between the hook point and the eye, leaving enough space for a head and tail.

2.       Start the thread behind the wire.  Wrap sparsely over wire turns to lock in place, and return to the bend of the hook.

3.       Create a thread dam just behind the wire, tapering towards the bend of the hook.

4.       Tie in 1 or 2 marabou feathers for the tail  on the bend, and clip the tag so that the securing thread wraps create a body uniform in thickness.  Trim the tail so that the fibers are a constant length, which I feel creates a more lifelike tail and makes the fly track better.

5.       Secure a length of estaz at the back of the hook, making sure the natural slant of the fibers point backwards.  Then tie on a length of ultra chenille.  Run the thread to the eye of the hook.

6.       Wrap the ultra chenille forward in touching wraps, stopping with space for a head.  Secure the end, and trim the tag.

7.       Place a wrap of estaz behind the butt of the chenille body.  Going forward, place several more even wraps in between wraps of the ultra chenille, stroking the material backwards to minimize trapped fibers.  Finish off with multiple wraps at the head.  Tie off, and trim the tag.

8.       Fashion a tight head, whip finish, clip the thread, and add a drop of head cement.

9.       To finish the fly, select a pair of Mirage Eyes, place a drop of super glue on the back and on the body of the fly, and glue to the appropriate location on the estaz body.

The Finished Product.  Photo by Matthew
Reilly.

    This fly is still being proven, but has caught a few smallmouth I would consider to be trophies of 12 inches or bigger.

    I use wine as the color for the underbody because it accompanies the greens, blues, and whites of the pearl-colored estaz well, and is suggestive of the herring fry that inhabit our state’s rivers.

    When super-gluing the eyes on, I make backward strokes with superglue on the body to strengthen and flatten it, reinforcing the baitfish profile.  This also makes gluing the eyes easier, and makes for a fly with a surprising amount of buoyancy for its weight.

    Variations can be made with different colored chenilles, estazes, and marabous; trading stick-on eyes for a bead head; and excluding the wire wraps for a weightless fly.

    As Dave Hughes says, fly tying is the other half of fly fishing.  This definition encourages improvisation and variation.  So this summer, in between trips or when Mother Nature rains down on your favorite fishing spot, spend some creative time at the bench working on a fly to produce on your home water.

Originally published in the Rural Virginian

THE CHRISTENING OF THE SWAMP DONKEY

Flies undergo the worst kind of hazing.  

Every fly box has its out-of-place, ambitious, yet unproven member, and it is he who is relentlessly subjected to every hungry fish's temperament until he has proven himself and finds himself equal with his buggy peers, all because of a difference in status.

Such is the tale of The Swamp Donkey.

Photo by Matt Reilly

Anxious for spring, and in preparation for the oncoming pickerel bite that arrives as a foreshadow, I sat at my fly tying desk, occupying my mind with the task of creating a fly with the right combination of gross, creepy-crawly, creature-from-the-abyss qualities to attract Old Chainsides, but that still retained an attractive punctilious structure as to also be capable of fooling hefty smallmouth, who seem to dine with the demeanor of a fine food critic.

Just as often happens when you've no idea what the end goal is, what formed in my vice was a creation unique in my eyes.  I dubbed it Swamp Donkey (though no dubbing was used and no rabbits harmed in the process, save for the ones that offered up their hides).

One slump-busting attempt at a fish on one of Fluvanna County's reoccurring snow days yielded nothing but a few rose bush cuts and cold hands.

Photo by Matt Reilly

My next chance to initiate the fly came on a much warmer day, the third of spring.  Air temperatures were comfortably clinging to the 50s, and the water temperature too was making its way there at 51 degrees.  The light at the end of the tunnel was becoming visible, and the fish had just made the landmark decision to eat throughout the day.  Swamp Donkey was there.

Though small specimens, I managed to pull two largemouth from a local reservoir, both caught on the Swamp Donkey.  After a long winter, my confidence in this creation of mine has been established, and I, with the willing participation of all species of fish (yet hopefully greater in size), hope to experiment with the pattern in the coming season.

Tie flies with confidence, and experiment with your own patterns tailoring to your local conditions.  Send/post pictures if you've got 'em!

Tying the CK Nymph

    Fly patterns that are versatile, easy to fish, and relatively simple to tie are truly gems to have in the fly box.  The CK Nymph, tied by Charlottesville's Chuck Kraft, is one such, and has seen national success.  Tied in an array of colors and sizes, the "CK" is a staple for trout and panfish, in small waters and big, moving and still.

*These instructions are for a black pattern.  To change, simply match the body color with the thread.*

Materials:

Hook:        # 8-14 2X long nymph

Thread:     6/0 Black

Tail:           Mallard flank feathers died wood  
                        duck

Body:         Black yarn

Weight:      .015" lead wire

Hackle:      Grizzly hackle, trimmed

Instructions:

1. Secure the hook in the vice, and place wraps of lead to cover the hook shank from opposite the barb to ~1/4 of the hook length from the eye.
2. Start the thread in front of the lead wraps, and build up a thread dam in front of the wraps to prevent the weight from sliding.  Do the same on the tail end of the wraps, and fill the lead wraps with thread.
3. Select a single wood duck flank feather, group the fiber tips, and secure with a few wraps a tail with a length equal to, or slightly longer than, the distance between the bend and the hook point.
4. Tie in a short length of black yarn to form the underbody and take one wrap forward on the hook shank.  Tie off with the thread, creating a small bump of yarn.
5. Tie in a piece of webby, grade 2 grizzly hackle by the quill, having stripped the fine (marabou) fibers from the stem.  
6. Take hold, again, of the yarn, and make evenly-spaced wraps forward to the head, leaving a small gap between wraps to fit your hackle's stem as you wrap it forward.  Tie off the yarn just above the wraps of wire.
7. Begin taking wraps of grizzly hackle forward, doing your best to land the stem in the gaps left in the yarn.  This, along with the bump on the hind end of the fly, will provide increased durability to the fly, keeping the hackle's stem buried and out of reach of teeth.
8. Make single wraps in each slot left by your yarn wraps, and finish up the collar with two wraps and a few securing turns of thread.
9. Build up a solid, tapered head of thread, whip finish, and cement (or not).
10. To complete the pattern, trim the grizzly hackle short--stubbly, with a tapered length, leaving the fibers longest (but still short) at the collar.

Recycling Your Squirrels: Fur

   
    For fly tiers like myself, squirrel fur can be a very frugal substitute to the conventional rabbit fur dubbing that can be purchased specifically for fly tying.  Squirrel fur is suitable for fly tying and has been emerging on the market in the last several years as a cheaper alternative to rabbit.
    Before you can begin making squirrel dubbing it is necessary to have a preserved skin to work with.  When skinning your squirrel, begin under the tail, make a long cut up the center of the belly to the shoulders, and make four diagonal cuts along the inside of the legs to the feet.  Nail the raw skin, flesh side up, to a piece of plywood with finishing nails and apply a generous amount of salt to pull moisture from the skin and keep it from rotting.  After a few days, scrape the salt from the skin, and remove from the board if dry.  If the skin is still moist, repeat the salting process.  You now have a preserved squirrel skin that can be reused until all the hair is used.
    First, the method that provides the highest quality dubbing involves a bit of machinery.  Using your hands, or a wire brush, gather a good amount of squirrel hair, including both the underfur and the guard hairs.  After you have gathered enough fur, run water over it to prepare it for the next step.  Next, use a blender on the pulse setting to blend your squirrel fur to the desired consistency.  After blending, fluff the fur out by running it through a grinder and allowing it to dry.
    The easy alternative to the blend and grind method above takes relatively no time at all.  Just pinch a good handful of underfur, and a few guard hairs from the dried skin, mix, and store in a handy pill bottle.
    Without any coloring, natural gray squirrel dubbing is ideal for fly patterns requiring gray dubbing such as the Adams, Adams Parachute, and Mosquito patterns.  Just like with rabbit fur, squirrel fur can be dyed to accompany any popular fly pattern.