“Mama, why is Dada crying?”
“That’s the sound of failure son. Avert your eyes. It’s impolite to stare at someone’s shame.”
Wyoming winters are long, dark and cold. Not being a snow-sports person, I’ve cast about for years, with increasing desperation, for an activity that will help keep me sane from the end of big game season until ice-out. Fly-tying has long been on the prospect list for obvious reasons. But for all the craft’s purported artistic, spiritual and practical virtues – if nothing else I could use the flies – I’ve thus far steered clear. Fine motor skills and detail orientation just aren’t my strong suits. When my in-laws generously gave me a starter kit though, I decided it was time to take the plunge.
Maybe I should just stick with scotch.