If you’ve been fly fishing for any amount of time, I hope you’ve come to the realization that most outings aren’t going to look like the centerfold of Gray’s Sporting Journal. There’s a few reasons for this: the fish, the river, and you.

Let’s start with you. Never, ever do you fantasize about untangling the nymph rig that has somehow spiderwebbed itself into a cat’s cradle. Yet there you are. You had a few long, picturesque casts. But the last one had a little something off. Maybe it was your wrist. Maybe you were distracted by a fish rising upstream. Maybe your phone buzzed in your front wader pocket. Regardless, you’re no longer shadow casting like Brad Pitt. You’re spending four times as long unweaving your bespoke furled leader as you would if you’d just admit defeat and tie on the streamer you’ll end up using.