I’ve always found other angler’s fly boxes kind of fascinating in a way. They seem to give a snapshot of how that fisherman likes to fish, and if you look hard enough, perhaps even is a glimpse in to that angler’s personality.

My multitude of fly boxes are a motley assortment of some flies that are called in to use very often and others that are just there, taking up space. Those undesirables hold on to a space in my boxes because perhaps there’s a chance that someday they may be brought off “the bench” to save a day of slow fishing. More likely that they will continue to languish in their plastic prison however, as I prefer to fish the same 10 – 20 patterns that I’ve always seemed to use.

My boxes have some organization, but not too much. Of course, they are divided in to streamers, dries, and nymphs, and I have at least two boxes of each, and don’t forget the all important box of terrestrials that aren’t called in to action enough. Too many flies and too little time to throw ’em. A morning of organizing and consolidating those boxes lies ahead …

I’ve also seen exquisitely organized fly boxes as well, probably an indication of an organized (perhaps anal) personality. I found a box once, on the Trophy Stretch. It was bobbing there, just spinning around aimlessly in a back eddy, and I plucked it from a watery grave.

To say my eyes grew several times larger when I opened it is an understatement. There before my eyes were several fishing seasons worth of beadhead nymphs (several hundred dollars in value at a fly shop), all precisely arranged, coincidentally in the patterns that I use often when nymphing – Princes, Pheasant Tails, Copper Johns, Caddis nymphs of all types, etc.

It was beautiful to look at … until closing the box and turning it over. Yes, there was a name and a phone number on the underside of the fly box. It was an out of state number, from a midwestern state (there had been a Trout Unlimited national group that had invaded my home water just a week before), and there very briefly ensued an moral struggle within myself. The struggle ended quickly – my parents’ didn’t raise me to keep someone else’s property, especially with their name and number on it. The box was returned to its rightful owner, and I’m sure that he enjoys them to this day.

The box in the image above this post was another fisherman’s, but it would have looked good in my sling pack. It had a good dose of organization (separate compartments do that), but those compartments were bursting with bushy, fish slaying patterns (Streamers) and plenty of good looking attractor patterns (Worms of all forms) – just the kind of stuff you can imagine a hungry trout slurping down.

Guess I need to do some more organizing of all my boxes …