You ever notice how trout go absolutely bonkers for tiny, wiggly things in late spring? Yeah, me too—and that’s why I always keep a handful of these stupid-simple inchworm flies in my box. Seriously, they’re barely even a "pattern" at all, just a stretchy little worm impression on a hook, but man, do they work when the oak trees start dropping caterpillars like confetti.

Here’s the deal: Grab a size 12 or 14 hook (anything bigger and it starts looking like a mutant worm, which, okay, might still catch fish, but why mess with what works?). I’m partial to that ultra-chenille stuff—you know, the kind with just enough stretch to jiggle like the real deal when the current tugs it. Green’s my go-to, sort of that sickly lime shade you see on the worms dangling from tree branches, but pale yellow slays too, especially if the sun’s high and the water’s clear.

Tying it? Dumb easy. Wrap the chenille in little segmented blobs—no fancy ribbing needed, just leave gaps between wraps so it bunches up like a real inchworm’s accordion body. Leave the head bare except for your thread wraps; these things aren’t winning beauty contests, and trout aren’t exactly inspecting for craftsmanship when they’re snatching snacks off the surface.

Timing’s everything. Early summer, when the trees are thick with those geometer moth larvae? Gold rush. Fish’ll key in on them hard, especially under overhanging branches where the dumb things plop into the water. I’ve had days where a dead-drifted inchworm out-fished every fancy dry fly in my box.

Pro tip: Don’t overthink the retrieve. Real inchworms don’t swim—they just kinda… exist. Let it drift, twitch it if you’re feeling spicy, but mostly let the fish tell you what they want. Sometimes they’ll hammer it the second it hits the water; other times, they’ll stare at it like you’re insulting their intelligence. That’s fishing, right?