FL U FF
John Barr’s meat whistle W I TH CONRAD BOT E S
My brother Herman and I have got this standing annual smallmouth bass trip. Every spring or early summer we’ll hit some part of the Olifants River system, eager to smash some trophy smallies and always happy to bag a few Clanwilliam yellowfish along the way. For me, the most fascinating part of preparing for the trip is the fly-tying and pattern research that precedes this mission. Herman always excels in this department and inevitably comes with a box lined with new patterns that the smallies cannot resist. Unsurprisingly, I spend the first couple of mornings of the trip tying a bunch of Harry’s patterns that proved hot the previous day. Or easier still, I’d convince him to tie them for me. I remember a few years ago Herman showed me a bunch of new flies. Something that fascinated me more than the new patterns and what they looked like, were their names. Psycho Prince. Moose Turd. Montreal Whore. And then there was Kelly Galloup’s fly patterns. I never tied any, but hell, they sounded like nothing could resist them; Butt Monkey. Sex Dungeon. Barely Legal. Stacked Blonde. I mean, come on! What fish could swim past a Stacked Blonde! And they look every bit as good as the sound; hackle, rubber, marabou, fur, flash, you name it; it was all in there. A year later we were back on a remote part of the Olifants for our an-
Take out the Meat Whistle and score big with fat pre-spawn smallies. nual smallie spring bash. It was early season and we caught the tail end of a frontal system. We had to deal with lots of post-frontal run-off, high water levels and fast flow velocity. I was battling my balls off one morning to get my fly into the deeper pocket water where I knew the smallies were holding. Herman walked over and handed me a good-looking pattern with lots of marabou and zonker. Tungsten conehead on a jig hook, mmmm, very nice! “Tie it on a 14ft leader and drift it through that eddie under an indicator” he advised. It wasn’t long before
the indicator quivered, I lifted the rod and came tight into a fat pre-spawn smallie. By the end of the afternoon session it not only accounted for a good number of smallmouth bass, but a clanwilliam yellowfish to boot. Back at camp I couldn’t stop raving about this new fly. “Dude, we gotta give it some crazy-ass name like those intrusion streamers, man. How about The Homesick Mole?” I said. “Because, you know, nothing goes down like a Homesick Mole! Waddaya think?” Harry laughed and replied “No can do brother. It already has a name; it’s called John Barr’s Meat Whistle”.
“hell, they sounded like nothing could resist them; Butt Monkey. Sex Dungeon. Barely Legal. Stacked Blonde. I mean, come on! What fish could swim past a Stacked Blonde!” 96
w w w. t h e m i s s i o n f ly m a g . C OM