Loving the Ugly Fly

Dispelling the Myth of Perfection in Fly Design

It’s been many years since I first dipped my toes into the world of fly fishing. Like so many others, my journey began with western fly fishing, where I quickly discovered the allure of tying my own flies. With more enthusiasm than expertise, I bought a cheap vise, some basic tools, and an assortment of hooks and materials. Eager to get started, I turned to YouTube University for guidance. Before long, I was piling layers of feathers onto a size 6 x-long hook, attempting to mimic a grasshopper pattern. I’d heard the phrase “match the hatch” more times than I could count, though I had no clue what a mayfly or salmon fly even looked like.

My first grasshopper fly, complete with long, spindly legs and far too many layers, was a disaster. I never fished it, but part of me wishes I still had that mangled creation—it was the starting point of everything.

Recently, while rummaging through an old tackle box where I once stored my fly-tying gear, I stumbled upon a yellow Kodak film canister. Inside were some of my earlier flies, still rough around the edges compared to today. My grasshopper phase had given way to caddis flies and leeches, tied on more appropriately sized hooks and with fewer unnecessary layers. Over the next couple of years, I gradually honed my skills. I bought books, attended fly shop demonstrations, practiced often, and began envisioning my flies before I even touched the thread. Patterns like the Parachute Adams, Pheasant Tail, and midge flies became staples in my repertoire, marking steady progress.

As with any art form, learning the basics was essential before I could explore true creativity—or bend the rules. Back then, I was full of confidence, convinced I was crafting great flies simply because they caught fish. Yet, fly tying quickly became more than just a functional task; it turned into an outlet for artistic expression. Emboldened by small successes, I started experimenting, even creating my own version of a mysis shrimp that performed admirably on the Blue River below Dillon Dam in Silverthorne, Colorado.

Like many tyers, I went through phases of experimentation, playing with colored marabou, tinsel ribbing, rubber legs, and bead heads. Not every session yielded perfection; in fact, many flies were downright awful. I learned that instead of discarding the duds, I could strip them down with a razor blade, salvaging the hooks for another attempt. Each fly, good or bad, was part of the journey—a testament to the process of learning, experimenting, and refining.

Discovering tenkara transformed my approach to fly design and selection. Patterns I once relied on—streamers, woolly buggers, and other western-style flies really lost all practicality with a tenkara rod. Instead, I became captivated by the simplicity and elegance of the sakasa kebari, a fascination that continues to this day.

Tenkara opened my eyes to a different philosophy, challenging the deeply ingrained idea that trout are impossibly picky and that matching the hatch is essential. It taught me to view flies, materials, and even the behavior of trout through a simpler, more effective lens.

Aspiring to walk in the footsteps of traditional tenkara anglers in Japan, I embraced the minimalist approach embodied by the kebari. These flies proved more than sufficient for my needs, stripping away the overcomplication that had once consumed my fly-tying process. Though I might occasionally tie on a caddis or a Griffith’s Gnat, the kebari has become my steadfast companion, reminding me that simplicity often holds the greatest power.

Fly tying is as much an art form as it is a practical skill. Within this craft, some fly tyers adhere to strict discipline, focusing on meticulous attention to detail and exact replication of patterns.

There’s nothing wrong with this approach—each tyer finds their own balance between precision and creativity. However, there’s a cultural tendency to glorify immaculate, symmetrical flies that blur the line between practicality and perfection. These works of art can be so flawless that casting them into a muddy river feels almost sacrilegious.

But fish don’t judge our flies the way we do. They’re far less critical than we give them credit for, and often, it’s the simplest, scrappiest fly that gets the job done.

Anglers often anthropomorphize fish, attributing to them cunning thought. We’ve all heard the stories: the “educated trout” that inspects every fly, the fish that turns its nose up at anything less than a perfect imitation. But are fish really that discerning? While fish are marvelously adapted to their environments, their primary motivators are hunger and survival, not aesthetics. A scraggly tuft of fur on a hook might elicit a strike just as effectively as a meticulously tied fly.

Instead, approach fly tying with the mindset that “fish are curious creatures.” Movement, shape, and color trigger their instincts more than an exact match to a mayfly’s wing structure. Imperfect flies—those that are lopsided, sparsely tied, or lacking precision—still capture the essence of life. That’s often all it takes to coax a fish into biting.

The ethos of tenkara is all about simplicity. A straightforward sakasa kebari with a thread body and reverse hackle has been catching fish for centuries. So why do we sometimes feel compelled to add dubbing, wire ribbing, peacock herl, or glass beads? If we’re honest, most of these additions are more about our own curiosity and need to be creative tyers than to attracting fish. We like to think we’re modernizing tenkara, but often, these embellishments are just the tyer’s personal whim, with only a hopeful nod toward improving performance.

That said, there are times when additions genuinely enhance a fly’s effectiveness. Certain materials might improve movement, buoyancy, durability—or help the fly sink faster. Still, the essentials remain the same: a few simple materials, subtle motion, and the right presentation are often all it takes to interest a fish.

When you tie a fly that catches a fish, you’ve succeeded. The fish doesn’t care if the hackle is uneven or if the thread whip finish is a little bulky. What matters is the life you’ve imbued into the fly, not its adherence to an arbitrary standard.

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5 Tips for Fly Tyers of Every Skill Level

If your flies make you happy and catch fish, you’re already winning. Each session at the vise and every cast on the water is an opportunity to learn, grow, and connect with your craft. Here are five tips to keep your fly tying easy, enjoyable, and meaningful. These ideas will help you reflect on your relationship with the flies you create.

1.  Decide Why You Want to Tie Flies

Before you start tying, ask yourself, “What’s my motivation?” Are you tying flies to save money, express your creativity, or stock your own tackle box? Maybe you’re interested in the historical aspects of fly design or exploring the craft as a scholarly pursuit. Being clear about your purpose will shape your approach and make the experience more rewarding.

2.  Learn the Basics – Try Different Techniques

Every skilled artist starts by mastering the fundamentals, and fly tying is no different. Take time to learn how to use your tools and practice basic techniques. Online tutorials, books, and local fly-tying groups are great resources. Watch experienced tyers, ask questions, and experiment. There’s no shame in going back to basics, even if you’ve been tying for years—it’s all part of the journey.

3.  Hone Your Skills, Not Your Desire for Perfection

While it’s great to aim for polished, catalog-worthy flies, don’t let the pursuit of perfection overshadow your enjoyment. Fly tying is a creative outlet, and honing your skills should feel satisfying—not stressful. Take pride in your progress, focus on being present while tying, and remember it’s okay if your flies don’t look perfect.

4.  Don’t Go Broke Buying Tools or Materials

Fly tying can become expensive if you let it. Resist the temptation to splurge on every tool or top-tier material you see. Learn about the different grades of materials, like hackle feathers, and know that high-quality doesn’t always mean “top-grade.” Stick to the essentials and let your creativity shine through simplicity.

5.  Celebrate Your Ugly Flies

Set aside the pressure to create perfect flies. Instead, tie something scrappy, experimental, or even downright ugly—and keep a small collection of your “worst” flies as a reminder of how far you’ve come. These imperfect creations often have their own charm and can still catch fish. Unless you’re tying for commercial purposes, consistency doesn’t matter. Let the differences inspire you. Ask “what if?” The magic lies in sparking curiosity in a fish and finding joy in the process.

In fly tying, just as in life, success isn’t about flawlessness. It’s about being willing to try, learn, and grow. So… hold up your scrappy creations with pride, and let the fish be the final judge their worth. Enjoy the journey.

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Dennis Vander Houwen is an early adopter of tenkara, he lives and fishes all over Colorado.  For more information on living simply or approaching a richer life with fewer things check out his blog, Tenkara Path, where you can also support his tenkara lifestyle by purchasing one of his amazing, handmade tenkara line spool, fly keepers. Learn more about Tenkara Lifestyles here.

This article originally appeared in the 2025 print issue of Tenkara Angler magazine.

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