I’ve always assumed that questions about the mechanics of dubbing stem from the preponderance of fly tiers that attempt to learn the craft from books, Youtube, or blog posts like this one.

Most of us contract the fly fishing bug from someone else, and while casting and simple tasks like knots are shared from one angler to the next, fly tying and its legacy of dead animals parts is an individual journey for most.

I feel the mechanical ritual described to apply fur to thread is made overly complex in most books, and seeing someone else do it is much more enlightening, especially if you can ask questions.

The neophyte usually peers from an audience at some dignitary tying at a club dinner, who’s so enraptured by a future step as to scrub a mass of fur across thread without really describing much other than what preparation is needed for the feather he’s mounting next.

It’s a step glossed over not so much out of meanness or ill temper, so much as the journey fly tyer assumes dubbing is a simplicity shared by all watching, which is not always true.

Like all things, there is a right way and many wrong ways to attempt the fur on thread nightmare.

1. Dubbing isn’t applied by cutting an enormous gout of fur from the hide and dipping your fingers in pancake batter to make it stick.
2. Dubbing isn’t scrubbing fingers together in both directions, it’s scrubbing fingers together in one direction only. Tiers scrubbing fingers in both directions are attempting to make the hole the hook made hurt less.
3. Commercial waxed thread offers no advantage getting fur to stick to thread, that’s because the wax used by Danville and other vendors is meant to plug bobbin barrels, and is much too hard to be tacky.
4. Dubbing isn’t applied, nor can it be tamed, by attacking the middle of the fur with freshly licked fingers dripping with training saliva. Training saliva is only available after drinking milk, the rest of us use mousse.

Most of your trouble starts with your dependence on packaged dubbing. Grabbing a bag of fur allow you to pull an ounce or two as easily as the merest hint of color. Mirroring your drive-thru habits, you insist on supersizing your helping – whose bulk will fight you at each and every subsequent step.

The proper amount should be transparent to the eye, and objects can be seen through the dubbing over its entire bulk.

The second portion is understanding that dubbing cannot be wrapped around thread until it is anchored to the thread at the top, with the balance of the fur then spun around the thread as the fingers move down the fur.

You can’t spin a rubber band tight, or anything tight, unless one end is “immovable” first, dubbing is no different.

It’s a devilishly simple and completely deceptive task, something that even video cannot impart completely, given that sub-steps of “hint of fur” and “anchored” are unknown to the novice, making the overall process simple yet completely foreign.

Bobbing away in some nameless lake last summer, I’d attributed my lack of success to a poorly designed floating midge imitation, and if I combined the air intake of an F-18E Super Hornet with a bit of deer hair, I could  produce a better imitation that could showcase the body color to best advantage.

… that idea turned into me setting the fly fishing world on fire with a new take on dry flies, which in turn spawned other great ideas that sputtered mightily, suggesting the entire branch of thought might not be as great as first assumed …

Dutifully I catalogued each of the truly-great-yet-untested ideas for later development, and refocused on the midge dilemma. Yet after some four months of fiddling I’ve dismissed most of the promising starts as they don’t translate to the small hook as well as envisioned.

… and after another weekend of eliminating even better ideas, I’m back where I started, yet undaunted and utterly convinced there’s still a better mousetrap.

This type of self inflicted pain is a result of fly fishing’s fourth dimension, the freedom and expression that comes with knowing there’s nothing special about a fly pattern. Give any fly a few local successes, and share a handful with pals and you’ve invented another Hare’s Ear, a drab fly in a box filled with similarly drab flies.

Fly fishing being typified by the phases of the angler, how skill is acquired in lockstep with other unsavory habits …

The First Dimension of fly fishing involves listening in bewilderment to the thirty-seven hundred sacred principles of fishing from your initial mentor. Of all those topics only two really take hold; water is cold and bushes eat flies, and everything else showcases your too-limp wrist.

The Second Dimension of fly fishing being the snootiness that comes with clean fingers. How you’re suddenly a scientist amid a parking lot of other scientists, none of which admit to using anything other than flies their entire lives – and half can say it in Latin.

The Third Dimension of fly fishing is the angler as gear whore. Suddenly a kerchief has to be a fly fishing kerchief, clothing labels matter, as does titanium, rare metals and a disc drag shared with the space shuttle, actually fishing being secondary to possessing stuff …

While most anglers make it through the first three dimensions easy enough, few make it to the fourth dimension …

"I’m trying to free your mind, Neo. But I can only show you the door. You’re the one that has to walk through it."

… largely because after many years of fishing, we’re all experts. Patterns are too ingrained, and we’ve enjoyed many successes attributed to flies with no thought as to whether an Adams was necessary or any gray-bodied dry fly would work.  Compounding the issue is our skill with the third dimension, oodles of flies chosen by name or reputation, whose very presence is a safety net, assuring good fortune.

Most patterns can be successfully replaced by any fly that contains similar attributes. Lots of deer hair assures high floatation regardless of other components used, as does lots of Pink, or a down-wing surface film presentation – versus upright and divided. There’s nothing about an Elk Hair Caddis that can’t be turned into hundreds of other variants save angler-superstition and its aura of past successes and reputation.

As a guide and commercial tyer, I ran into this paradox more often than most. Nothing being as confounding or as memorable as an angry angler whose fortunes and trip of a lifetime are tied to custom flies he’s ordered, yet rejecting them because I used natural black versus dyed black hair …

“ … that’s not black, that’s a really, really dark brown, and the sample I gave you had black …”

Or the angler that refuses assistance from his guide with the admission that, “I catch all of my trout on an Adams” – and should double as a fortune teller given it’s the only fly ever to grace his tippet.

Whether skunk hair is black when compared to dyed black bucktail is the angler’s perception that a fly’s greatness rests in its unique pattern, which can be larger than the sum of its attributes.

Us forth dimension types don’t see it that way, but we’re so far gone few listen to our plaintive bleating.

It’s unclear what percentage of fly fishermen tie flies, what is certain is unfamiliarity with “rolling your own” adds to pattern mystique. Likewise with age, how a fly invented a couple hundred years ago must also be a fish killing legend to have survived for so long.

Beginning fly tiers frequently substitute materials as they don’t yet possess them all. Their audience of pals will quickly remind them how a Pheasant Tail can’t be called a Pheasant Tail without the pattern being intact. Later, an accomplished tier can add a pink thorax and the same group will nod sagely as it’s a “Pink Thorax’d Pheasant Tail” a separate and distinct variant that’s untested – yet due to its roots, equally as worthy.

It’s still simply a little brown fly, whose name is well known and therefore enjoys a truly unique power as a retail oriented, angler catching juggernaut.

When tying on hackle tip wings you can save yourself grief if you take the time to prune the duff that is part of the tie-in area created when the tips were mounted.

Most tiers simply leave the fibers trapped by the thread, lifting and pushing them back towards the wing when the hackle is wound forward. In most cases that forward-facing tilt will be caught by later turns of the hackle and all those fibers will wind up intermixed with thread, head cement, and the eye of the hook.

Instead take a moment to pull the wing tips back exposing the duff material and removing it completely with a few snips of your scissor. This simple step almost ensures the eye of the fly will be free of fiber when it’s time to finish it off with a whip finish.

With the extra fibers cut short, nothing is left to impede the hackle, roll the stem into an odd position, or is long enough to be bound down by the hackle stem and combine with head cement to block the eye.

This simple step allows the wings and their angle to set and locked into position, less likely to be moved by the subsequent steps of the fly and any accidental materials forced into their path via torque.

“Feelers” and Latin have gone hand in hand with one another for the last half century. Each time we get enamored over insect science via the teachings of some new prophet, we tiers feel compelled to add them to everything that floats, sinks, or simply drifts fetchingly between the two …

… and us fishermen think the idea is doubly grand until we get the first pair intermixed with our Clinch knot and sever both of them with one great yank and the oath to match.

Ditto for counting tails and matching the real insect fiber for fiber.

What’s not shown in Fly Fisherman, is the editor received the flies in a padded envelope where they were hooked into a business card and mussed, and the fellow that dreamt the concoction had them tucked into his fleece path for a fortnight …

Figure 1: Feelers tied in and forced upward due to material under them.

So those beautifully draped feelers that follow the curvature of the hook shank are as artificial as Pamela Anderson’s better half, and now you’re mouthing obscenities because you can’t reproduce either pert or up-thrust.

Use the Ribbon-Scissor trick to induce a more concise and compact edit of the original, and in so doing, tame any unruly and misguided fibers so they point where intended – versus the drape induced only by a damp fleece.

Figure 2: Feelers scraped over the scissor blade like curling ribbon

Simply anchor the feeler fibers well with thread, put the scissor blade under the feeler and press the material against the edge with your thumb. Pull the material over the scissor edge like you were curling ribbon to induce a light or heavy drape to the fibers. Repeat until you’ve got the curvature you desire.

Magazine and book plates don’t always reflect the abuse the fly has received, especially on older flies that may have been fished many times. Us poor tiers are left to guess what elements were made by Man and which were caused by misfortune – and it’s not always obvious.

Whether you’re following the teachings of some past master or merely becoming enamored of steelhead fishing, at some point you’ll enter a tangled web of materials poorly suited to fly tying – all of which will be proof against brute force or coaxing …

Most Atlantic Salmon tiers will admit to being frustrated by many aspects of the “olde flyes”, but endure their complexities to remain authentic, knowing so many tiers before them have given up in disgust.

Whether it’s the tail on a steelhead fly or the topping on a salmon hairwing, pheasant crests have always driven tiers to drink, as they’re a three dimensional tie whose bend has to be matched to hook size.

After the bird is scalped these feathers hang forgotten for a couple decades until moth damage requires someone replaces their supply of Royal Coachmen tailing – by then the golden crest is warped into a number of odd directions which we hope will tie flat but know better. 

Subdue the unruly by licking the offending feathers onto a beer can and allow them to dry. They will retain both the shape and drape of the can diameter – as well as all point in the same direction.

If a sharper bend is needed, simply wet the crests and use a smaller diameter bottle like a pill container. To ensure the crest is perfectly straight, pull the stem once it’s affixed to the beer bottle via spittle. The fibers will pull themselves perfectly straight as a result of your yanking on the stem.

Fly tiers are no strangers to licking beer bottles nor are they reluctant to nurse the leftovers once the cigarette butts are removed. It’s all part of the same downward spiral.

The nature of our business typically has us arriving a week too late and a dollar short. If it’s not the fishing, then its the enormous fabled garage full of old bamboo rods, or a couple wandering crates of Jungle Cock necks, or something rarer that we’d gladly divorce the spouse over.

I see it akin to any mythical treasure of myth or legend, from King Solomon’s Mines to the room of gold Cortez was promised for Montezuma.

The “ … old dude had a garage full of [insert_desirable_here], only it got tossed last week … If I’d known you wanted some I would’ve backed up the truck, bro … “ fable.

So, when a buddy at work holds out a set of forceps to me and mentions offhand, “I got these from this old dude and you use these fly fishing so’s I figured you could use a set.” I examine the 6” forceps, spy the “Miltex” label and am on his leg like a half-beagle, half-bulldog in full lovemaking ardor …

“Some old janitor dude cleaned out his friends office and found a box of these, so he offers me one.”

I recognize “Miltex” as the German surgical manufacturer, makers of scissors and implements that cost a bloody fortune – not to mention whose scissors never dull, even after cutting hundreds of bead chain eyes, concrete, and the hood off a ‘38 Plymouth …

I mention that fact, how most of the implements they make are a hundred bucks or more each – and how any fisherman in his right mind could make do with a couple handfuls, not to mention how useful fine pointed surgical scissors would be to them as tied flies …

And the entire trove shows up on my desk. The finest set of micro tweezers I’ve had the pleasure to witness, about 100 forceps with both cutting edges and clamped tips, and best of all …

A really nice mixture of fine pointed surgical scissors in the 4.5” to 5.5” models. Semi-curved and flat bladed, sharp as razors and looking for some fellow daring enough to wield these in anger.

Now I can equip a couple of extra vests with clamps and forceps – and the rest will be window dressing for “Uncle Kiki’s Animal Hospital and Road-kill Emporium” – which will give all those grieving pet owners the illusion that I might be able to fixed the mashed SOB …

… when the plan is to skin it.

Note: Any time you get access to surgical goodies, boil them thoroughly, there’s no telling what type of doctor the original owner might have been – nor the history of the implements above. It pays to be extra cautious when it comes to disfiguring diseases and something sharp enough to prick you.