James Matthews'
Fly Tying Page
Ammonite nymph
This is a pattern I first came across in 1998. It was devised by the Lincolnshire-based flytyer Steve Thornton. The ammonite takes its name from ammonite fossils; the shell-like structure of the fossil is echoed in the spirals of the nymph’s body segmentation. It is a generic searching pattern used to represent everything and nothing. Fish will take the ammonite for hydropsyches, rhyacs, stoneflies, mayflies, shrimps, alders and just about anything else you’re likely to encounter under the water, just vary the colour and size. What I will say about this pattern is that grayling and trout find it irresistible. It’s a really robust fly, one that you can drag about the stream bed and it’s virtually indestructible. Another great thing about the fly’s design is its great water entry, slim profile, mobile legs and silhouette, something that the Czechs and Poles have known for a long time. This is a fly to rival their best efforts.
For this pattern you will need:
Hook - Kamasan B100 size 8 – 16 (for me, 10’s most popular size)
Thread - any GSP – Powersilk, Dyneema etc
Abdomen - Flexibody or Flexiskin (clear)
Underbody - Thin lead sheet and tungsten bead (optional)
Thorax - Flexibody or Flexiskin (clear)
Legs - Partridge hackle
Dubbing - Rabbit or SLF River & Stream
Glue - Hard as Nails
Underbody - Flat floss coloured to match dubbing
Colouration - Edding permanent marker - brown
Tying instructions:
Wind your preferred thread from the eye down the shank till you reach a point just short of the middle of the gape. Cut a 1.5 – 2mm wide strip of flexiskin about 14cm long, cutting a small angled tying in tag at one end. Make sure it’s tied in securely. With your lead sheet, I use a scalpel and a steel ruler, cut a thin sliver the same diameter as the hook shank.
Take your thread that’s hanging and wind on towards the hook eye, then pick up your lead and position on top of the hook. You need to leave 2-3mm exposed towards the hook eye ( ie no lead) and 1-2mm before the flexiskin.
Wind your thread over the lead, remembering to stay on top of the hook at all times. Nip off the lead when you reach the tail end of the fly (Powersilk is good for this, just add some tension). Go back to 1mm after where you began tying in the first lead strip, and wind on another layer, stopping 1mm short of the end of your first layer of lead. Repeat as necessary, each time beginning and ending 1mm short of the previous layer until you have built up a profile like an armadillo.
With your thread hanging towards the eye end, tie on your flat floss on top of the hook shank and wind down to meet the flexiskin. Take your thread and wind on towards the eye and half hitch.
Wrap your yarn in touching turns to the top of your lead overbody then back halfway down towards the barb of the hook. Then wind on to the hook eye, whip finish and tie off just before the eye.
Take your flexiskin and stretch it slightly then start to wrap round the yarn, exposing 50% of the previous wraps. Wind towards the hook eye and tie off, then snip off the waste.
Cut a new 4mm wide strip of flexiskin (this is your thorax section) and tie on on top from the eye, winding back to just opposite the hook point. Make sure it’s tied in securely.
Leave your thread hanging just opposite the hook point, then take a partridge feather and with fine tweezers catch the very tip. With wetted thumb and forefinger lightly stroke the fibres, concave side uppermost, and tie in by the very tip. With your thread conveniently hanging opposite the hook point, take your preferred dubbing material and split your thread. Dub into one of the fine strands, spin your bobbin and watch this make a fine rope of secure dubbing (remember less is more).
Take your Hard as Nails and dab on a small amount on top of the dubbed thorax. Pull over the partridge feather and tie off behind the hook eye.
Add on another dab of Hard as Nails on top of the partridge. Try to make sure the legs come down either side. Pull over your thorax of flexiskin, add a couple of wraps, snip off the waste tag and whip finish. Then with your Edding marker stroke from eye to the back of the fly. Add a drop of varnish at the head wraps.
Job done.
This is a fly I really wouldn’t want to be without when I’m nymphing for grayling or trout. The ammonite lends itself to being tied in a variety of colours, as you can see from the picture; hot orange, cream, golden tan and olive being particularly attractive to grayling. I also tied another fly, on a Charles Jardine grayling hook, which was predominantly red except for the thorax section, which was Turrals gold dubbing. One of the aspects of flytying I enjoy most is taking a pattern and tinkering with it, trying new variations and testing them on the fish.
The ammonite nymph is a fly I’ve sent to friends all over the world, from Australia (apparently it’s big Down Under), Oregon and Sweden to the chalkstreams of Southern England (hi Roger) and throughout all the river systems of Scotland. The verdicts have ranged from ‘I’ll take a dozen in each colour’ to ‘I’ll take a dozen in each colour, in all sizes’.
If you don’t have a few of these in your box, I’d strongly urge you to tie some.
James Matthews
November 2004
Following the publication of James' ammonite nymph pattern we received the following from Roger Fagan, who fishes the River Wylye. Roger was one of James' first customers for ammonites and is a serious trout and grayling fisherman.
We all have those moments, but we would rarely ever speak of them when at the bar with other fisherman or friends because we’d feel embarrassed and a bit soppy - but you know the ones I mean – you must have had them, a fragment of a moment, a sliver of a split second where you suddenly pause, time stands still, breeze drops, silence and stillness, not a leaf tremors, but your brain is still taking in every minute detail, passing birds freeze on the wing, and you know that life’s shutter has just clicked on a crystalline petrified moment and that your consciousness has just burnt the image into your memory. That, - was a moment that will never leave you, one that you will relive and pick over many more times, even when others think you are senile or close to death, a moment such as your first sight of your new born child, or as a small boy watching your clumsy float bobble and wobble as the oversized hook and lobworm is sucked in by an ambitious eight inch Perch. There are thousands of them and they’re all different, special and significant to each person, but they are images and moments that will give you pleasure for the rest of your life.
Fishing has given me a few moments such as this very one today, - the sun making one of its momentary flash guest appearances on the day, flooded the river valley with light as the tired Grayling slid over the wooden edge of the landing net and hovered, current balancing the tension, the river a marbling swirl of indigo and silver, as the Grayling head up, part in the net, part in the river, displayed its full range of colours, from sombre dorsal grey to shimmering lavender silver, the black designer spots spaced and positioned as focal points to lead the eye to its length and depth, giving contrast, sail fin erect and overshot fleshy mouth gaping, protruding from its thick top lip, but holding solid and firm, was the beautiful Ammonite nymph that it had fallen for. Although small, the sun highlighting in critical focus its every detail. The partridge fibre legs, showing their broken colouring, the brown hues of its segmented carapace passing from polished iodine through to a toasted bran colour – how did he get them so realistic, so perfect that each was a minor work of art. They were so beautiful that every time I chose one or two to fish with I pondered about whether I should go for a heavier monofilament because I was afraid of fishing with them in case I snagged or lost one.
The small wooden landing net was perfect for my usual fishing days on the Wylye , classic chalkstream, dry fly and nymphs for wild Brown Trout and the Grayling, but for this particular Grayling here on the Eden, I wasn’t confident that it was up to adequately scooping it from beneath and lifting it clear, this Grayling was larger, deeper in the body, and thicker across the back, I should have brought a different net. As it came back closer to me, falling onto its side I could see that it just wasn’t going to comfortably fit in, despite the cold this observation quickened the pulse as the open length of the net was seventeen inches. I quickly let the net spring back on its cord, splashing in the current behind me, momentarily being picked up in the brisk current before crawling its way back up to the nape of my neck. I swapped hands, and grabbed for the line, running my numb finger and thumb down the line collecting sparkling droplets until they touched the nymph, I held the fish at my thigh facing upstream, and with a quick twist released the nymph. The Grayling seemed to appreciate my supporting hand, which quickly was losing every bit of feeling in the numbing freezing water until it began to hurt, all the while I was admiring the lining effect of its flanks as a gentle aroma of thyme and the cold metallic scent of the river rose to my nostrils. Leisurely, it give a push, a kick and a twist and headed down into the river, I could see it holding a few feet down about four feet away, I began to sort out equipment, the cold had been biting through me for the past half hour and I needed to warm up. I looked down just in time to see it heading into mid river where it could sulk for a while behind a large rock and get its confidence back.
Two or three minutes earlier the precious and beautiful Ammonite nymph had been bouncing along the rocky bottom the river. An unplanned opportunity to fish meant that I had to do my best with a five weight rod, sinking Roman Moser leader, and nine feet of nylon. At the very tip a couple of large soft BB shot that was easier to sacrifice than my nymph in the event of becoming snagged in the rocks. Three feet back up toward the rod tip on a five inch leader the red tinted ammonite nymph, three feet further up again, a second dropper with the brown ammonite. I could feel the shot tumbling and bouncing along the bottom, as I tested pools and eddies in my shuffling journey through this stunningly beautiful river valley, and then an unmistakeable rapid fire tug tug, tug, - immediately strike at everything, consider everything to be a bite, and lo the deep surging, angry thrashing. Out of sight, the fish rocketed past me in the racing current and then hurled itself sideways, and from then on I was in a struggle with a heavy and peevishly startled fish to get some semblance of control. My pressure was winning, as I felt it quickly slip in the current before taking up another strategic jagging hold. I coaxed and mumbled a plea for it to be sensible and come to the surface, assuring it that I was a catch and release angler, and eventually forced it a rocky side pool with a reverse current, at which point it came to the surface ready to be unhooked. This had been the fifth of the afternoon of this size, interspersed with smaller brethren.
I was happy that it was recovered and comfortable back in its environment, but exquisitely and painfully aware that I couldn’t feel my feet or legs, cold striking through my waders, and a longer lasting chill was setting in. The cold had crept in too far on me threatening to sever my body at the waist, I had been able to ignore it while I was snicking the beautiful Ammonites from the protruding upper fleshy lips of a dozen good Grayling, but now I couldn’t stand it any longer.
Pushing my boots through the strong current, only putting weight on the forward foot when I was certain it was stable I cautiously made my way to the bank, unsteady, holding rod in one hand, precious ammonites in the other, appearing to any secret watcher as if I was performing some kind of Tai Chi Kata in the river. I stumbled up the rocky edge out of the water, the cold making me unsteady and uncoordinated as I negotiated the rocky path up to where I had left my car parked on the riverside track. Thanks to whoever spent half a day of his life putting the rope ‘rail’ up the path that I hauled myself along with.
Moments later, a cup of hot home made soup from the thermos held in two stone like hands, plastic sheet on the car seat, engine running and heater on full blast, I began to unfreeze – that fizzy light feeling in my thighs and calves as the nerves came back on line. It’s a sacrilege to sit in a car when you’re alongside a river and in a valley as beautiful as this. Early October and the whole valley was mine, well, mine and a pair of Goshawks that were hunting up and down a mile or so of the valley, fast broad wings and long glides reminiscent of disturbed partridge, they were scouring out any of their smaller winged brethren that weren’t on their mettle this day, every time they put an appearance in the open, immediately catching the attention and hostility of any nearby corvidae, who pestered mobbed and squawked at them, intent on not giving the menacing hunters a moments peace until they swerved back amongst the natural avenues of the trees to pursue another victim.
The pool upstream of where I was looking thundered out of its tail through rocks and boulders brilliant white, frothing, struck through with the black of the rocks, creating a maze of little pools and reverse eddies before another pool was begun, the banks and the top of every rock protruding through the river, as far as I could see was crowned in a range of gold’s from the falling autumnal leaves of rowans, oaks and beech, eddies full of trapped leaves, swirled like psychedelic soup through red, orange, yellow, gold and russet.
The feeling was almost back in my legs. I felt my pocket for my tin of nymphs, the selection chosen for the day, cold hands fumbling with the hook catch, fearful of dropping these priceless representations into the speeding current. Just how did James Matthews manage to create these active and mobile nymphs? from where had he developed this talent? the eye for critical detail, the awareness and empathy with such a range of colours and harmonies, this understanding for the shape and form of the moving creatures of the river, he hasn’t had enough years in his life to practice to this level of perfection.
We can all tie a fly, - of sorts, and so to envy his skill and his perceptive eye for micro detail such as that of Mr Matthews is not a sin, it’s a spur to ones own imitative ambitions, but to desire to match or be in the same category of ability as him in being ably and confidently set out to recreate the finer etymological details that nature creates is arrant foolishness, his ability is something that will quash most tiers ambition, trust me on this, his is very rare.
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