Lon Ellington, a Phoenix fisherman and outdoorsman once described as "the grandfather of fly-fishing," died the weekend of April 2. He was 85.

Ellington's niece, Peggy Coleman — a photographer and frequent participant in Arizona Highways' photo contests and Friday Fotos — announced Ellington's death on Facebook. She said her uncle had still been tying flies, at least part time, at Phoenix Fishing Supply before his death.

"The best memory I can share, besides his love of fly fishing and especially his hand-tied flies, is that he had a wonderful singing voice and was a great guitar player," Coleman says. "Our family reunions always included some Johnny Cash songs and sing-alongs with my uncles, brothers and cousins."

Coleman says Ellington had a great sense of humor and loved sharing his fly-fishing knowledge with anyone who would listen, especially children he met at camping and sportsman shows.

Readers of Arizona Highways may remember Ellington from when Kathy Ritchie wrote about him in Odd Jobs, a now-defunct section in the Journal section of the magazine. Here's that story:

Lon Ellington is a practical kind of guy. In fact, that's how he got into the fishing-fly-tying business. "I got tired of losing all of these expensive flies," Ellington says. "So, my younger brother and I started tying our own." Ellington parlayed his hobby into a paid gig, hand-tying commercial flies for Phoenix area shops and, eventually, creating custom flies for clients around the globe. In the fly-fishing universe, Ellington is a big deal — a legend, really. The late outdoors writer Bob Hirsch called him "the grandfather of fly-fishing," and illustrator Larry Toschik drew his flies — they carry monikers such as "Grinch," "Arizona Peacock Lady" (Ellington's most popular fly, invented in 1974) and "Lees Ferry Scud" — for the book Outdoors in Arizona. But if you walk into Phoenix Fishing Supply, where Ellington makes his popular flies, you'd likely never know he's someone. "You don't have to look like you stepped out of an Orvis catalog, you know, with all that gear," he says. "I've been fishing for 70 years, and I've never dressed that way. You can't go walking through the middle of the stream like you're killing snakes. You have to stay in the shadows and keep a low profile when you're sneaking up on trout." — Kathy Ritchie

Ellington is survived by two daughters, both of whom live out of state.