Intruder Alert: 130 hours and $500 later

Intruder Alert! Please welcome salmon-crazy Rob Russell to Oregon Fly Fishing Blog.

This winter, after seven years of procrastination, I decided to start tying Intruders. For those of you wondering what I’m referring to, an Intruder is a fly. More specifically, Intruders are steelhead flies that swim like living, breathing sea creatures. They were originally designed by fly-guide Ed Ward for Alaskan king salmon. He was looking for something big and burly with lots of action, but sparse enough to get down. What he came up with is arguably the most important breakthrough in the history of steelhead fly design. A well-dressed Intruder displays a large profile with minimal bulk and maximum movement. Properly rigged, they have the added benefit of being virtually snag-proof. The hook is set to dangle upside down, allowing the fly to skip over boulders and cobbles.

Soon after designing the Intruder, Ed put the pattern to work on the his home steelhead river, Washington’s Skagit. Several Skagit regulars swung big flies, most often tied on long hook shanks. But the long shanks gave steelhead considerable leverage to work their way free. Ed had designed the Intruder to be rigged like a tube fly, allowing him to use a short-shank hook that dangled off the back. The placement of the hook increased the ratio of hook-ups to grabs. The shorter shanks and freedom of movement increased the ratio of hook-ups to landings. Ed had solved a lot of problems with his new design. But would steelhead eat a three- or four-inch Intruder? I think we all know the answer to that question.

Today’s “Compact Skagit” fly lines, referred to as “heads,” all can trace their roots back to the Intruder. When Ed first picked up a two-handed rod, there were few decent lines available. None, actually. Certainly nothing with removable sink-tips. Ed and others made their own, chopping up all kinds of super-thick lines and experimenting out on the river. Ed’s lines were especially thick and short to help him throw his giant intruders. A dozen or so years later, we can all thank Ed for his inventions as we comfortably crack 80- to 100-foot casts across runs and riffles.

I first saw an Intruder in a Dec Hogan photograph. Wild Steelhead and Atlantic Salmon Magazine always featured an article by Dec, the hero of steelhead sickos everywhere. This particular article included a photo of Ed holding up a big Skagit hen. I remember fixating on the giant fly hanging form the fish’s mouth. A short time later I saw the fly again. The Kamchatka Steelhead Project was printing and distributing promotional fish-porn featuring Scott Howell and Monte Ward holding up Russian steelhead, most sporting the same crazy flies. I tried to dig up information on the flies, but there was an obvious repression in play. People refused to talk about these flies outside of their little Alaska-guide club. They literally hid the flies, even from friends. Some shabby interpretations popped up here and there, but the real deal was impossible to find for several years.

In 2001, several years after the Intruder was perfected, I floated the Clackamas with Monte Ward. Monte was sales and marketing director for the Kamchatka Steelhead Project, the eco-tourism branch of the Wild Salmon Center. Early in the day he pulled out a tupperware tub full of flies. He played it down, only giving me a glimpse at first. But he could tell I was desperate, and finally let me check them out. I was blown away. I’d never seen anything so cool. Then he rigged one and let it swim. I lost my mind. It was ALIVE!

That season, Monte and I fished the hell out of the Clackamas. It was a banner steelhead year, with winters and early summers popping up everywhere. It was the season that taught me just how deadly Intruders can be. Not only did they look good, they made steelhead stupid. Monte would let everyone else swing through a run, then come in last and clean up the fish. One day stood out in particular. Monte hooked nine fish, landing six or seven. I hooked two and landed one. His best fish was the most humiliating, as he hooked it within three feet of my wading boots after I had carefully covered the same water. Needless to say, I was convinced of the power of the Intruder.

When the day came that I got to watch Monte tie an Intruder, I was amped. I had no doubt I would pick it up and run with it. How hard could it be? But two hours into it, Monte was still working, tediously brushing every strand of fur, folding and turning and brushing and spinning. It looked ridiculous and expensive, but the result was undeniably effective. I went home and tied a crappy one, then another crappy one, feeling dejected. I needed so much stuff! I didn’t even know where to get it all.

The next trip, Monte took pity on me and handed be a gorgeous purple Intruder. I immediately caught a fish with it. I went on to catch over a dozen fish with that fly, until it finally gave up the ghost. Over the following years, I could usually weasel one or two flies out of Monte, so I always had at least one in my box–my confidence fly.

Today you can find Intruders in the bins here at the Caddis Fly. Some specimens are pretty good–what we steelhead guides call “client flies.” They’re good enough to do the job, and they don’t take two hours to tie. But they’re not Intruders in the true sense. No commercial pattern comes close. Like so many things in life, there’s just no substitute for spending time at the vise.

As for me, I finally took the plunge. Since December I’ve dropped over $500 in materials and spent over 130 hours at the vise. I know this because I have tied 65 Intruders. They average two hours apiece. The one I tied last night took me almost three hours. Of the 65 flies I’ve tied, half of them will end up in the garbage, a quarter will end up in the fly boxes of my friends. So I really only have a handful of flies that I want to use. But I feel a surprising sense of satisfaction when I finish a good fly. I take it to the sink, fill up a bowl of water, and see how it swims. I often feel like I’m breathing life into these things in the final stages. And I think about Ed and Monte, knowing I owe it all to them.

In case you’re wondering, I did actually catch a fish on one. The big Umpqua gave up a 36″ hen the other day. She was my first fish from the Umpqua, ten years after I first swung a fly on that river. Now THAT was the coolest!

RR

Video of Ed Ward at the Sandy Spey Clave.