A bit of nostalga goes with tying. I keep remembering the last time I used that fly and where. Then all those wonderful memories come flooding back. I sure miss old Bruce. That man was a master at wood carving, wood working and fly tying. And he always outfished me too! I am certain the fish are bigger, fight harder, and are more plentyful where he is. And sitting around the campfire drinking his burbon was always special.
Don't know what it is about fly lines that appeal to me so much. The graceful curl out over the water is like poetry in motion.
Dang, I need a fix.