Fly Tying Recipe:
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Hooks: #2 and #4 Daiichi 2461
Beads: Gold 5mm and Olive 3D Bead (For Articulation)
Eyes: 6mm gold Holographic Dome
Weight: .020″ lead wire
Connection: Senyo’s Intruder Trailer Wire, thin
Thread: Olive 8/0 Veevus
Spreader: Gold Ice Dub
Collar: Yellow and olive possum
Hackle: Olive and chartreuse mallard flank feathers
Body: Gold Ice Dub
Wing: Light olive, sand, and yellow Ripple Ice Fiber
Head: Light Olive Possum
It’s no secret that I abhor overdressed fly patterns, especially streamers. The proliferation of tie-everything-you-own to a couple of hooks, lash them together, and add some lead eyes makes me just plain bristle, to put it lightly.
I don’t like the design method, and I don’t like the results either. Overdressed flies don’t swim as well, don’t sink as properly, and certainly don’t cast effectively, and these are all major considerations when designing and tying a new pattern.
The Swim Coach and its early permutations have been in my fly boxes for a few years now, and I have to admit, this fly gave me fits—I wasn’t quite happy with the combination of volume, castability, and sink rate for a long time.
I tied heavier dressed versions, sparser dressed versions, and versions in between. Some had little to them and cast beautifully, but failed in representing the silhouette I was after. Some had great shape and swimminess, but were just too darn heavy to cast, and didn’t sink like I wanted. I finally had to just put all the parts and pieces away and go on to other projects to clear my mind. Yep. I quit. I totally forgot about the fly for a few months and went about my usual business.
It was only when my wife and I went up to Cody to fish with our friend, Blake Clark of Wyoming Trout Guides, that this little gem saw the light of day again. We’ve fished with Clark for a few years now, and we have always had a blast with him. He’s a wonderful guy to spend the day with, knows his water like the back of his hand, and is an outstanding oarsman. On this particular day, he suggested a float on a less traveled piece of water that “may be fishing really well, or maybe we’re just going on a nice boat ride.” Sounded perfect to us.
We set out through an astonishingly beautiful valley, Lisa up front and I, nestled tightly in the back of Clark’s raft. We began with dry/dropper rigs and waylaid a fish here and there, but it was starting to look like it was gonna be more of a boat ride than a fishing trip, as the river was still just a bit high to be fishing well.
I decided to toss a few bigger bites from the back of the boat, and asked Clark to take a look in my box and see if there was anything that caught his eye. He quickly pulled out the then-unnamed Swim Coach. I tied the tan version onto a dropper behind a bigger Gonga, and we pushed off into the current.
I’d like to say I immediately started a streamer-fishing clinic, pulling fish and follows on every cast, but that would be an exaggeration. It was only on say, every third or fourth cast. Maybe fifth or sixth. Maybe. But yes, the streamers worked. While the big Gonga did its fair share, the smaller trailing fly closed the deal more often.
The day was highlighted by a nice brown that came from behind a midstream boulder to take a solid swipe at the Gonga in full sight of everyone in the boat. As is often the case when I have an audience, I blew the hook-set and ripped the flies out of the water, leaving the poor fish hanging up near the surface literally searching for his lost meal. Being a true fly-fishing professional, I immediately threw my rig right back in there and was rewarded with a crushing strike on the trailing fly, and in this instance, I actually got the hook-set into a beautiful and now angry brown trout. It was an aggressive and perfectly visible eat, and just the kind of thing that makes memories forever. I still smile when I think of it.
We spent the rest of the float teaching Lisa to throw streamers, her interest piqued by the aggressiveness of the strikes while we all discussed the world in general with a bit of flies and fishing banter thrown in for good measure.
Clark and I talked about the new fly, and he shared a few thoughts on what he looks for in a good streamer pattern. I filed all of this away and promised myself I would revisit this pattern once I got home.
When we returned to Colorado, I did indeed sit down and start playing with the pattern again and came up with the final version you see here. I really like to take each piece of a fly and justify to myself why it’s there, and just for grins, I’m going to do that for you right here.
Starting with the hook, I chose the Daiichi 2461 because it’s sticky sharp, has a great shank-length-to-gap ratio, and a nice round bend that accommodates a thicker fly.
The tail is made from mixed colors of Ripple Ice Fiber, a relatively stiff flash material. Its inherent stiffness keeps it from fouling around the bend of the hook, and its crinkled shape gives it a multidimensional look.
In front of the folded flash tail I create a short dubbing loop of possum fur.
Possum is a beautiful natural fiber, reminiscent of rabbit in a lot of ways, but slightly stiffer and with dark tips. It comes on strips like rabbit, so it’s very easy to work with. This fur holds its shape well, and using it in a dubbing loop in lieu of wrapping the leather hide leaves much less water weight to cast.
I finish off the front of the rear hook with a mallard flank feather, folded and wrapped tip first to create a large outside halo around the shank. Their speckled appearance, particularly when used in two different colors, creates a scaled appearance.
I tether the two hooks together with soft multi-strand Senyo Trailer Wire, and space out the two hooks using a Hareline Dubbin 3D Bead. The beads come in a host of colors to match or contrast in any way you desire, and they keep the rear hook from fouling on the front of the fly.
The front hook is built much the same way as the rear, with the same design ethic and materials. I add a variable amount of lead wire for the underbody, depending on the water conditions.
I harvested the midshank bead idea from my own Dirty Hippy pattern where the bead is used to spread the collar and add weight without making the fly front-heavy.
I finish the fly off with a pair of realistic eyes attached using Solarez Thin Hard, and then build a small mask on the head of the fly with the same stuff to lock everything in permanently. This resin mask has been a godsend. I have yet to lose an eye from a fly tied in this manner.
And, since you’re gonna ask, here’s how the fly got its name: The day before Clark picked the fly from my box, we fished with him on the North Fork of the Shoshone River just outside Cody. This river is packed with beautiful cutthroats that willingly eat big foam drys like your fat uncle at Thanksgiving. Lisa was in the front of the raft, and I was somewhat precariously perched in the rear.
She was having the time of her life railing those big acrobats, and I was happy to just sit back and watch the show. At some point I decided to re-rig my rod, and I leaned forward to get into my boat bag.
Once I finished changing my flies, I made a cast out the right side of the boat just as Lisa hooked her 798th fish of the day. Clark slipped the oars under his knees and grabbed the net to wrangle her fish, and the next thing I knew I was in the water. There was no split-second thought of, “Oh, hell, I’m falling out.” Nope. I was just out and underwater.
I have floated thousands of river miles, and I must confess I have always been deathly afraid of falling out of the boat. But this little jaunt went off much more smoothly than I could ever have imagined. As I drifted downstream, bobbing my head in and out of the water, I have to say I was cool as a cucumber. There was no panic, no fear, and my senses were heightened to a razor’s edge.
I could see the boat drifting off to my right and the trees on the bank to my left. I could hear the bubbles and water and birds in the trees, as well as the voices from my companions in the boat, and I remember thinking, “Don’t they always say that drowning is peaceful?”
I clearly remember Lisa asking Clark “what’s he doing?” as I drifted like some sort of tranquilized sea creature through the depths. I also clearly recall them both yelling “Swim!”
I kicked my feet a couple times and immediately lost both my shoes, my hat, and my sunglasses before Clark nudged me into shallower water with the boat. After expelling a bit of nose water and untangling the line from the rod I had firmly clenched in my hand the entire time, I was back in the boat and safe and sound.
Poor Clark tried to take credit for my dunking, which just made the whole thing all that much funnier. We laughed for the rest of the day about my “exploratory junket” into the North Fork, and I think we’d all say it was the absolute highlight of the trip. I was able to allay a lifelong fear of going for an unexpected swim, as well as thoroughly entertain both my loving wife and dear friend at the same time. What can I say? I’m a giver.
After our float the next day, we went back to town and had a celebratory beer with the guys at the fly shop. Clark mentioned the new fly to a couple of the other guides, and Lisa said that I ought to name the fly after him and so . . . the Swim Coach was born.