The ties that bind

Being bequeathed a fly-tying collection by an old friend piqued Soldier Palmer’s interest so he decided to learn the art for himself

An old friend left me with a mountain of fly-tying equipment when he died. He had been badgering me to learn the art of tying flies for many years, and I think he hoped that his bequest would force me into it. He used to turn out all manner of strange and beautiful lures, and he had a small vice that he used to tie flies on the riverbank. It was something like a party trick, but it had its roots in a deep understanding of insect life and how it might be imitated.

In truth, he was so good at making flies and produced them so copiously that I never really had to learn how to do it. When I found that he had left me his fly-tying kit, I could easily imagine him saying: “Now you’ve got to do it yourself, you lazy bugger.”

I went over to his house and found the place in a state of upheaval — rooms piled to the rafters with antlers and back copies of Shooting Times. I don’t know how he had managed to build up such a vast collection of rural curios, but his widow was left sighing and tutting at the depth of it. I recognized a few of the roe heads lying in a cardboard box, and even spotted one that we had stalked together in Hampshire. Not wanting to seem like a scavenger, I carefully asked if I could take care of it.

Horns and bones

Antlers can be time-sensitive trophies, particularly when it comes to large racks of red deer and African game. The horns and bones quickly lose their meaning and significance to different generations unless the specifics are carefully recorded, and even then it can be hard for friends and family to appreciate them if they do not share an interest in field sports.