This pattern is a hybrid of a Green Rat body (sans rib) and a traditional Spey fly, and was designed specifically for the beautiful Petite Cascapedia River. The first few days following its baptismal, it accounted for 6 rises, 5 solid takes and 4 lovely June salmon to net. It deserved a proper name! “Brûlé”, its birthplace – “Mc”, in honor of the McWhirter Clan who’ve run Camp Brûlé for 4 generations – “ Sprat”, a contraction of Spey and Rat. Thus born and duly christened, “The Brûlé McSprat” was conceived and tied by Doug Schlink, but this particularly stunning rendition was tied by the eminently more talented hands of master tier, Ben Bilello, www.benbilello.com/salmonflies/.
Born on the porch at Camp Brûlé – June 16th, 2011
Tip: fine gold oval
Rear Body: bright green floss
Veil: bright green floss
Spey Hackle: Blue Earred Pheasant, palmered thru front body
Having worked in the fly fishing travel industry for 25 years, I’m sometimes asked, “what’s your favorite fish to fish for?”. Without hesitation I answer, “if I had to give up all species except one, I would keep Atlantic salmon”. The question that frequently follows is, “why?”. You know, that’s a damn good question. Lord knows I have suffered through long and painful droughts when the salmon had not yet come in, had already gone upriver, or when they were there and for a myriad of reasons, would not rise to the fly.
Yet, they sometimes do rise to the fly, sometimes subtly, sometimes aggressively, and sometimes they try to rip the rod out of your hands. This is what the salmon fisher lives for, or at least what I live for – the “grab”. You methodically search the water with carefully measured casts, swinging the fly through possible lies. And sometimes you approach a known “hot spot”, or from years of experience, you recognize a likely taking spot – a “bucket”. The anticipation builds as you approach the bucket, each cast bringing you a bit closer. Finally, you get to that cast, the one you know in your heart and mind should be the one. The fly swings oh so seductively down and across the stream and slides into the bucket and BAM, the “grab”. Oh it might be a subtle take – just a slight tug, or the line might just stop, or a solid “pull”. Or it might be that explosive attempt to destroy the fly (the kind I love). But they’re all “grabs”, and your heart stops in momentary disbelief as you await further proof that there’s actually a fish at the end of your line.
Such proof might come in the form of a majestic leap or series of leaps, or an immediate burst of speed into a searing, backing-melting run. Or you might just feel a constant resistance, causing you to wonder if you simply snagged a rock – until the head shakes tell you differently. There are many kinds, but they are all “grabs”. And no matter how many I experience, no matter how sweet the bucket looks, or how well I know this is a “sure thing” taking lie, when the grab comes, it still surprises the hell out of me – every time. Like some kind of miracle just occurred! For me, actually landing the fish is secondary. I fish for the grab!
