There is a room in my brother Sean’s house where he can close the door, leave the family and various dogs on the other side, and settle down to tie up some flies. I know the room well—that’s where I sleep when I visit. There’s a single bed with a Munster rugby duvet cover. Sean coaches one of the local Ballincollig rugby teams, and his sons, John and Dan, along with his daughter Nancy, are all club rugby stars. A few feet from the end of my bed, there’s a desk nestled under a skylight, with Sean’s work computer and paraphernalia—and, of much more interest to me—his fly-tying vice.

I have a similar bolt-hole myself, up in the loft, and I know how nice it can be—and how time just slips away—when you sit at the vice, perhaps with a smuggled glass of red wine, and whip up a few little fishing flies. I’d guess that, for those of us who tie our own flies, the vast majority are never seen by anyone else but us. They make their way from vice to some fly box or another, and then—eventually—onto the skinny end of a leader. Whatever we may think of them, it’s not for us to decide whether they’re any good or not. The final arbiter of whether they’re up to scratch will be the trout—or whatever other kind of fish we’re hoping to dupe. After all, apart from ourselves, these will be the first things to take a good, close look at them.

Every now and again, both Sean and I share photos of our creations in a shared WhatsApp group. Sean’s flies look great to me, so I thought I’d include a small selection of images here, to give you an idea of what he gets up to when he sneaks away from domestic responsibilities—perhaps with a bottle of red in tow. These are a selection of small (size 18) marine invertebrate patterns that he hopes will tempt the local mullet.

Mullet are notoriously fussy but this looks like the business to me.

And if that one doesn´t do the trick there are always these…….