Seventy degrees with a cool breeze was welcomed, given the snow had barely left the northern shadows of the barn at home. I was surrounded by waterfowl and songbirds warbling, cackling, bickering, and flapping to attract mates. An all-around beautiful day to be on the water, yet I was well beyond bored as I bobbed on my pontoon watching my fishing buddy, Sean, yard in rainbow trout. Most days, I catch about ten percent of Sean's count, but this day, absolutely nothing would entertain my many offerings.

Persnickety trout are downright frustrating, particularly those that key in on tiny midge larvae. Washington's desert lakes are dense with midges, which are tiny fly larvae that resemble worms with a head. They can be smaller than a quarter inch in length and less than the diameter of pencil lead. These tiny fly larvae are plentiful enough to make trout fat and happy, requiring little effort to capture the meal. Trout commonly focus on midges when the feeding is right, ignoring all else.

Sean was doing nothing special. He had a fly on a sinking line just hanging out in the middle of the lake while he fished midge nymphs on his other rod. Boredom overcame my pride, so I caved and sought guidance from my fly-fishing sensei.

"What are they biting on?" I asked.

"Booby fly," Sean responded.

"That explains it," I replied with a laugh. "But seriously, what magic are you working over there?"

"A booby fly. Seriously," Sean said as he held out a flashy pink gumball of a fly for my inspection.

Thirty years of chasing trout with a fly rod have filled my mental pages with a wealth of knowledge on the subject, but the lesson I continually learned when fishing with Sean is that I know nothing in comparison.

By definition, a "booby" is a foolish person or a species of seabird of the genus Sula. The "blue-footed booby" is a well-known seabird with a comical appearance owed to its tottering around on bright blue clown-like feet. Like the blue-footed booby, the booby fly boasts an absurdity of brilliant colors and gaudy features.

Large foam eyes serve as the main feature of the fly, which are often wildly disproportionate to the body to keep the fly buoyant. The fly is intended to be fished on a sinking line because it floats above the line, making it effective for fishing deep and avoiding snags on wood or wedging between rocks. Additionally, the floating fly presents a unique dive and rise behavior when stripped. The peculiar rise between strips often triggers a strike from lazy and curious fish.

Sinking and stripping streamers is a standard trout fishing technique, and the booby fly can be fished the same way. I recently fished Quail Lake in the Columbia National Wildlife Refuge. Quail Lake is a fly-fishing-only, catch-and-release lake open to fishing year-round. The rainbows in that lake are feisty, sizeable, and see a lot of flies. Midge patterns like Callibaetis are often productive, but unique and colorful flies can be far more productive, possibly because the fish have seen everything else. In early March, the forty-six-degree water had the fish acting lethargic, but they could not resist a tawdry ball of pink foam and fuzz bobbing along at about twenty feet deep.

Tradition is deeply embedded in fly fishing, dating as far back as Izaak Walton's "Compleat Angler," first published in 1653. Fly fishing is founded upon imitating living creatures that trout commonly feed on, so the mystery behind modern fly styles like the booby fly lies within questions like "Who learned that a ball of pink fuzz was an effective 'fly', how did they discover this, and what made them want to tie something like this and fish it intentionally?"

I rarely enter a sporting goods store without browsing the fly selection, and I've never seen a booby fly among the hundreds of traditional patterns. Why? Logically, there are far more "classic" patterns that are classics for a reason. Sticking to the standards is probably a good business model because every fly-fisherman fishes them. Additionally, a traditionalist may think it an embarrassment to cast an obnoxious fly resembling no living thing. Perhaps greater embarrassment would come from a finely tied conventional pattern being outperformed by the court jester. But not all fly shops are owned by staunch purists, and not every endeavor is focused on the catch count.

Tying your own or stealing from your buddies (if they dare expose their progressive ways) are the only reliable procurement options, and being forced into tying flies is not a bad thing. Fly-tying can be therapeutic, like reading, listening to Mozart, or burning incense and aromatic candles, and it is easily done with a choice beverage – Mozart and smoldering scents optional.

Whipping up goofy flies exercises the right side of the brain, and they can hardly be tied "wrong." Sometimes, the uglier, the better, and unleashing your inner child's creativity at the vise can produce flies that are ineffably deadly, which is part of the allure of fishing them. One caveat on fly-tying – it panders to the addiction center of the brain. Common side effects are late nights in the basement cooking up new patterns, sudden loss of hours to weeks and cash, hoarding materials, and homes dusted in a thin layer of marabou, peacock herl, and tying thread strands that waft in hot-pink waves with the slightest whisp of air.

A cheap fly-tying kit is an easy find on Amazon, but don't be put off by the cost of materials. Flies sell for dollars but cost only cents when tied at home, and material goes a long way, typically paying for itself over time when bought in reasonable quantities. Additionally, upland bird and chicken feathers and deer and elk hair are staple materials readily available to fisher folk.

The next time you take to the lake with your fly rod, sneak a few boobies into your box. When the bite wanes or the fish present with a refined palate, sink that foam-headed clown fly and prepare to tempt the pickiest partakers. Just keep it on the down-low in the company of your purist pals.