Killer flies

By V. Paul Reynolds

Any fly fisherman worth his salt is ever vigilant for that so-called “killer fly.” Now, truth be known, there is a lot of  subjectivity here, when we start bragging and getting all dogmatic about our “killer fly.”

For example, the trouter who has a field day on the water with a specific fly is suddenly in the possession of a “killer fly.” And, unless he is a selfish sort, will share his conviction with at least his closest angling buddies. Killer flies come and go. Given the vagaries and seductive unknowns of trout feeding habits, a killer fly can become a dud in a heartbeat.

A true killer fly, of which there are just a handful, will stand the test of time. One such artificial is the classic Alexandra, which dates back to the 1800s in jolly Olde England. As the story goes, the fly angling aristocrats actually banned the use of this colorful wet fly on the fabled chalk streams. Because the fly impersonated a bait fish instead of an insect, the hoi poloi of the British angling fraternity ruled the Alexandra persona non grata. A sneaky angler caught streamside putting a double clinch knot to an Alexandra was lucky if he did not end up pilloried in the town square. The unseemly scoundrel would be cornered by indignant purists with their noses in the air. “I say old boy, sniff sniff, your terminal tackle, is a bit unsporting, wouldn’t you say?”

There is a modern version of the Alexandra that is readily available for purchase at most fly outlets. The key features of the original were heavy peacock herl wing, silver tinsel body, red tail cheeks and soft hackle. 

The fly was named after Princess Alexandra of Denmark, who later became Queen of England. She was widely admired for her beauty and grace — qualities anglers felt the fly itself reflected. 

Of course, we have evolved socially and technically since that Victorian angling era and, insofar as I know, we don’t name fishing flies after gracious ladies. Although Maine outdoor writer and fly craftsman Bob Leeman often said that a good fly is “like a good woman: it has form, wiggle and flash.”

For my money, the only killer fly is the Hornberg, which was created back in the 1920s by Donald Hornberg. This fly shouts versatility: you can fish it dry as an insect or wet as small bait fish. The late Maine outdoor angler and writer Ken Allen, once insisted to me that the Hornberg was so deadly that it was unsporting and, like the Alexandra of yore, should be banned by the fly fishing community.

Although I, one who feels not an iota of guilt putting a wild trout in a buttered iron skillet, have found myself in later years looking over my shoulder when tying on the dreaded Hornberg. Is Ken Allen looking down on me from his Silver Canoe, with a furrowed brown and a scowl of derision?

Honestly, I only resort to the Hornberg out of desperation. Most of the time, I lean on another fly to keep me away from the Hornberg and in Ken Allen’s good graces. It is  a No 16 Parachute Adams that, amazingly so, has neither form, flash or wiggle. It is just very buggy and would pass muster even with British angling aristocrats a century ago on the fabled  River Test.

The author is editor of the Northwoods Sporting Journal. He is also a Maine Guide and host of a weekly radio program “Maine Outdoors” heard Sundays at 7 p.m. on The Voice of Maine News-Talk Network. He has authored three books. Online purchase information is available at www.sportingjournal.com, Outdoor Books.