One of the grave misconceptions shared by many inexperienced or misled fly fishers is that the best flies are those that look most like the insect or other animal we hope to imitate or represent. Experienced hands have just as much appreciation as anyone for a fly that looks exactly like a real mayfly or caddisfly or whatever, yet on the water, they’re generally more inclined to reach for patterns that appear, in hand, to replicate nothing at all encountered along the stream. The list is long, but one need only glance at a lineup of well-loved patterns, from soft hackles to Humpys, Hare’s Ears, Beetle Bugs, and Chernobyl Ants, to resist the dubious claim that the flies we want on the ends of our lines are the ones that look the most, through our eyes, like what we see floating on or swimming in the water.
Take a Wulff, for example. Ignore the royal version, with those absurd Christmas colors, and the Royal Coachman — such ridiculously effective searching dry flies despite there being no stream I’ve visited with tree ornaments fluttering about the surface. Instead, perch a Gray Wulff in your palm and now try to tell me that chunky body and those frizzy calf tail or deer hair or moose hair wings look anything like any part of any real mayfly you’ve seen. Even an Adams puts a Gray Wulff to shame. Yet how well I still remember, forty years ago and counting, the look of a Peter Syka Gray Wulff wobbling down among the big drakes sprinkled about a ribbony pool on Yellowstone’s Pelican Creek and thinking, My God, it’s a perfect match — when suddenly the fly disappeared in a swirl of fish and current that simultaneously pulled me under, a dunking from which, apparently, I’ve never quite emerged.
The notion, of course, is that rather than replicating exactly what we see when we look at an insect or other potential fish fare, many successful patterns are made up of elements that give fish the suggestion or impression of something on which they feed. And even that’s a fairly bold presumption. We often know what fish are feeding on, yet just as often, the pattern that does the trick isn’t one that has anything to do with a particular hatch or whatnot going on. Or maybe it does, but we just don’t see the connection. And it’s also no small matter that we catch fish on the flies we fish with — not ones that remain in our box.
All of which brings me to a new pattern — or, better, pattern type — that’s trying to insinuate itself into my steelhead lineup. Maybe even into my select corps of saltwater flies, as well. The Badger Shrimp comes out of a long tradition of Irish salmon flies, the first of which appears to have been created over a hundred years ago by a fellow named Pat Curry, from Coleraine, on the River Bann. Curry’s Red Shrimp has spawned dozens of other similar Irish shrimp patterns, none of which look particularly shrimplike, at least not to the degree of imitations favored by American tyers: patterns with eyes, antennae, and realistic carapaces, shiny and segmented, just like the shells that pile up while we enjoy our fresh boiled shrimp and a pitcher of mojitos.
Maybe it’s a cultural thing. Across the board, flies tied and fished throughout Ireland and the UK are rarely the sort of precise imitations that we often favor stateside. One glance at, say, a Grey Duster, Greenwell’s Glory, Iron Blue Dun, or any of the Yorkshire or North Country Spiders and it’s easy to shrug your shoulders and think— whatever. Whether patterns fashion need for lough trout, resident river or sea-run trout, or even Atlantic salmon, Irish and UK tyers seem less inclined to attempt a photocopylike image of bug or beast than they are an impressionistic suggestion of the critter or even just the essential elements of the bait.
It might also have to do with historical perspective. Given the long reach of the sport of fly fishing in Irish and UK waters, anglers may be less apt to chase after the latest and greatest pattern or fly-tying product. (Of course, they would if somebody could prove the latest and greatest actually fooled more fish.) I think it’s also safe to say that for whatever reason, you don’t see in Irish and UK f ly-fishing circles nearly as much hype about synthetics and other technologically advanced tying materials as we commonly embrace this side of the Atlantic.
What I’m really trying to get at, however, is that the Badger Shrimp and other shrimp patterns popular for decades in Ireland and Scotland and England trace a lineage inspired by a very different approach to fly tying than many American fly fishers favor. Like the Ally’s Shrimp, the Badger Shrimp caught my attention simply because it appealed to some sense I’ve developed, over two decades of serious steelheading, of what makes a good steelhead fly. Or what I like in a steelhead fly. Truth be known, I’m not sure whether the efficacy of these patterns has anything to do with their shrimpish attitude or appearance. All I know is that the first time I dangled an Ally’s Shrimp, tied on a double hook, in a steady, but no way strong current, precisely the speed that holding steelhead favor, I thought, Wow, look at that thing swim.
Same with the Badger Shrimp. Only in this case, it isn’t just the action of the fly. Rather, something unique happens when the two individual badger hackles get wet and work against the current. These two dark-centered hackles, along with the tail wound from a single golden pheasant red breast feather, common to most Irish and Scottish shrimp patterns, certainly wave and waggle and pulse in the current. But what I had never seen before was how those wet two-tone hackles create the illusion of a much bigger, semitransparent, segmented body — exactly what you expect a real live swimming shrimp to look like in the water.
That’s my point. Since 3-D printers can now produce perfect models of eyes, elbows, and other human organs, I’m sure they could create a precise facsimile of a lowly shrimp. But would it fool fish? Aren’t there, in fact, other elements besides photocopy realism that make some flies more successful than others?
Certainly, we’ll never know much more than that some flies work better than others. And often, one day’s different from the next. That’s the good news; few of us go fishing because we like to step in the river to do exactly what other anglers do. In Flies of Ireland, author Peter O’Reilly offers a list created by “renowned gillie” Robert Gillespie of his top 10 shrimp patterns. To my eyes, all 10 of these flies look pretty much the same — variations, that is, on the same basic theme. And none of them looks particularly shrimpy — not as something you would set on a shelf and expect people to look at and recognize as the animal in question. But obviously, Irish and other UK fly fishers have come to an agreement on the general look of their shrimp patterns, and they wouldn’t have arrived there if these flies didn’t work.
The Badger Shrimp might well open eyes — and minds — to new ideas about the compelling aspects of a successful fly. Maybe it’s time some of us moved beyond the one-dimensional idea that the pattern that looks the most “realistic” in the vise is one that will catch the most fish. The inherent alchemy of successful patterns in different regions and different waters should be embraced, not ignored. If nothing else, the Badger Shrimp and many other shrimp patterns from Ireland and the rest of the UK should inspire you to go out and purchase a complete golden pheasant skin, one of the great deals left for creative fly tyers anywhere. (I paid just over $10 US a couple of years ago.)
And, for the record, a Badger Shrimp does catch steelhead.
Materials
Hook: Single or double salmon hook, size 6 to 12
Thread: Fire orange Uni 8/0
Tag: Oval or flat silver tinsel
Tail: Golden pheasant red breast feather, wound
Rear body: Golden olive seal fur
Rib: Oval or flat silver tinsel
Middle hackle: Creamy badger
Front body: Black seal fur
Rib: Oval or flat silver tinsel
Front hackle: Creamy badger
Head: Fire orange thread
Tying Instructions
Step 1: In Flies of Ireland, Peter O’Reilly claims that many anglers “make the mistake of fishing too big a Shrimp Fly.” Size 10 is the most popular. Secure the hook in the vise and start the thread in the middle of the hook shank. Starting the thread in the middle of the hook helps clarify where the rear body ends and the middle hackle is placed. Secure a length of silver tinsel, covering it as you wind the thread back to the bend of the hook or, on traditionally curved salmon hooks, back to the point where the thread hangs about even with the barb (not the point) of the hook.
Step 2: Advance the thread a half dozen turns, then create the tag with three or four turns of tinsel. After securing the tinsel with thread wraps, leave the tinsel lying forward for now, so that it doesn’t get in the way while tying in the tail of the fly.
Step 3: The common feature in almost all Irish shrimp flies is the tail created by winding a single reddish feather from the breast of a golden pheasant. There are many ways to go about this. All of them share the problem of the feather’s delicate stem, especially toward the tip, which is the part of the feather with the best color. What you’re trying to do is much the same as winding any soft hackle, with the barbs of the feather lying, in this case, aft of the bend of the hook. I tie my feather in by the tip and wind forward two or three turns, trying my best to stroke the barbs of the feather so they don’t get caught under the stem wraps. At the same time, the tail should end up splayed; that’s part of the reason for the tag, which keeps the tail from lying in a tight bundle. A look at other Irish shrimp patterns will show you just how bold and untidy this tail generally is.
Step 4: Before dubbing the rear body of the fly, make sure you catch the tinsel under the thread and get it back where you can use it for ribbing. With the thread at the root of the tail, add dubbing material to the thread. Here, I’m tying what’s really called a Badger and Golden Olive Shrimp, however, there are endless variations of body color combinations, although most are a lighter color in back than in front. Wind the body to the midpoint of the hook shank, then rib this portion of the body with two or three turns of tinsel.
Step 5: Clip a large hackle feather from a creamy badger neck — you’re looking for feathers with pronounced dark centers running down the length of them. You want the hackle fibers to be one and a half to two times the hook gap. If your feather is long enough, hold the convex side toward you, tip pointing to your right, and strip the barbs off the top side. Tie in the feather by the tip; hold the base of the stem and wind forward, each turn tight against the last, trying to keep the stem twisted so that the hackle fibers point aft, not perpendicular to the hook shank. Make four to six turns of hackle, secure it, and clip the excess.
Step 6: Again, make sure the tinsel is now aft of the front body. Add dubbing material to the thread. When you start winding the body, you can force any errant hackle fibers you just tied in to align in a rearward direction. Wrap the front body, leaving plenty of room for the hackle and head. Then rib the body with two or three turns of tinsel.
Step 7: For the forward hackle, repeat the steps for the middle hackle. Clip the excess, then form a tidy head with thread wraps. Again, at this stage, you can also use thread wraps to help shape the lie of the forward hackles. Then whip finish and saturate the head with lacquer or head cement. (For an image of the completed fly, see the previous page.)
