JOSH MILLS’ fly-tying room doubles as an office, so there are two desks—laptop on one, vise on the other. The desk with the vise is covered with stickers and the sort of semi-organized chaos familiar to any fly tyer. Wire, thread, and hooks sit in small drawers against the wall, tools hang close to the vise. Pheasant tails and peacock eyes stand in cups, all flare and potential.
Against the wall to the left, a set of shelves stretches from floor to ceiling, each level occupied by plastic containers overflowing with materials; hair, hackle, marabou in all the colors of a rainbow and then some.
“I’ve got enough stuff here to outfit a Mardis Gras parade,” Mills said.
Most mornings, after he walks the dog and makes coffee, he comes to this room, hunches over the vise, and spins up a few flies. Sometimes for himself, sometimes for friends, and sometimes for more than catching fish.
Over the past five years, Mills has used
