I’m well aware that fish eat something like 80% of their diet underwater. I know they don’t eat dry flies all the time. And I’m acutely acquainted with the fact that, if you want to catch fish year-round, you’ll need to be on a first-name basis with a variety of nymphs.
Despite that, there’s one fly I never leave the house without (even in the dead of winter): the Sparkle Dun.
I’m partial to the version of the Sparkle Dun tied in the video above, but I’ll start with why I love this fly so much.
Versatile Hatch-Matching Machine
During early and late-season mayfly hatches, one of the biggest problems you face as an angler is both identifying what stage of the hatch fish are currently eating, and picking a good imitation for that stage.
The Sparkle Dun is primarily fished as an emerger, but I believe fish eat it as a cripple, too. Regardless of how you fish it, it fits in well during blue-winged olive, pale morning dun, and even some Drake hatches, all across the country. If you’re casting to fish that are particular about color, it’s easy to match your Sparkle Duns by swapping out your thread and dubbing colors.
I’ve fished it everywhere from Yellowstone’s Firehole, to tundra spring creeks in Alaska, to picky tailwater browns throughout the Rockies, and the Sparkle Dun fits in everywhere. Tied in a few different sizes (I prefer 18s and 20s), and on different hooks (Tiemco 2488s are my go-to, but extended-body curved nymph hooks are also great), I’ve yet to find a river where the Sparkle Dun didn’t belong.
It Almost Always Works
A sure thing doesn’t exist in fly fishing, but the Sparkle Dun might be the closest you’ll come to it. There’s no fly that works 100% of the time, but it’s rare that the Sparkle Dun doesn’t solve the problem of a tough hatch and picky fish.
I’ve had the opportunity to fish some of the country’s pickiest tailwaters, and with a few exceptions, the Sparkle Dun almost always fools a few of the fish. And yes, I know that how you fish a fly is much more important than what fly you fish, but you’ll have a lot less frustration if you fish the right fly in the first place.
Whenever I’m facing a hatch with fish that seem far too picky for their own good, I bust out the Sparkle Dun, and it rarely lets me down.
I Like ‘Em Easy
I tie my Sparkle Duns a bit differently than most. Like I mentioned earlier, I follow the idea of the Improved Sparkle Dun, but I only ever use a thread body (some folks dub their bodies) and I go pretty sparse with the dubbing around the wing. I use white poly-yarn for the tail and wing, and then select cow elk hair for the hair wing. I like my wings bent forward, as opposed to straight up, and I always tie my Sparkle Duns on curved hooks.
They’re easy to tie, since the most complicated step is stacking the hair. Even a novice tier can probably knock a half-dozen out in 20 minutes. And they’re surprisingly durable, too.
One tweak I’ve made lately is tying some of these with a rusty orange body, still paired with a dark olive dubbing around the wing. I think the added contrast of the orange helps this fly stand out, especially when the hatch is thick and fish are faced with hundreds of naturals.
The majority of my Sparkle Duns are tied with blue-dun, Adams gray, or black thread. I rarely deviate from the dark olive dubbing (I use natural beaver because it floats better). I’ll grease it up with a bit of Loon Aquel, but I’m always fishing the Sparkle Dun behind a dry fly, so when it starts to sink in the surface film, I can still see a fish eat it.
Emerger and cripple patterns are important for any dry fly angler, and it’s great to have a variety. But the Sparkle Dun simplifies your fly choice, and I always have a dozen or so in the box. This fly is responsible for more big fish than any other dry fly I’ve fished. I’ve watched fish turn down other emerger and cripple patterns, only to smack a well-presented Sparkle Dun on the first drift.
Sure, there’s an emotional attachment here. And picking an emerger as my “best fly ever” flies in the face of reality, since fish eat four nymphs for every dry fly. But fly fishing is emotional, and our love affair with it doesn’t make much sense. So I reckon I’m entitled to an emotional (and I’d like to think well-reasoned) love affair with this simple fly.