A Sad Day

It was a sad day today...

The Montana era has officially ended.  Back to being from Sconny...

Wedding Woes

After graduating college, it is an inevitability that the love birds that were once soaring up and out of our male comprehension, come crashing down to earth like a peregrine and begin their feast upon the hearts of men everywhere.  The "ring by spring" mentality held true for quite a few of my comrades in college.  At first, I welcomed the idea.  Standing up in a wedding as a 22 year old is something special.  First, it most likely is a new experience, so whether you enjoy broadening your horizons or not, that could always be a plus.  Second, you don't care as much about the price of the tux, but are more concerned with the fact that you actually get to where one.  Third, everyone you know most likely lives in one area.  There aren't any plane tickets, rental cars or crazy hotel accommodations.  Everything is cheap and convenient.  And lastly, the celebration includes loads and loads of single, eligible ladies that are down to have a good time on the dance floor.  There wasn't much working against weddings at that time.  If anything, it was a recommended activity among friends.

Now, at age 26, I am cursed by weddings.  I am happy to take part and support whatever friend it is getting hitched, however, they have an uncanny ability to lump together like pudgy kids around a cake.  A wedding here and there is fun.  They're usually expensive but manageable when faced individually.  But, when you start piling them atop of one another, instead of focusing on the couple at the altar and demonstrating your love and support, visions of dollar signs starting dancing through your head.  And, because I am older and most likely the bride and groom are older, inevitably the entire friend base is older, meaning not too many ringless fingers in the crowd.  I often find myself alone on the dance floor, usually two sheets to the wind, uncomfortably sweaty for me and everyone around me, doing some attempt at a C-walk or performing hip gyrations that should be illegal in multiple states.  

The reason for my rant, is this fall alone from September thru the beginning of October I was in three weddings.  Two groomsman and an usher.  One in Seattle, one in Montana, one in Chicago.  I don't know if you know this, but the three places are not close to each other.  Two of them were back to back weekends.  My stamina isn't what it used to be.  All of the rehearsals, dinners, need to be here, need to be there.  It's exhausting.  And most importantly, I needed to conserve myself for all three dance floors.  Because everyone knows, that is where I shine.  Ha!  

The wedding extravaganza began in the middle of September in Seattle.  This was still within the fishing season at the ranch, so I only got three days for travel and the wedding before I had to head back to work.  Needless to say, it was fun but abbreviated.  I never felt quite settled.  Like I was in a rush the entire time, which, as it turns out I kind of was.  The second lag of weddings began immediately after Vegas.  We hadn't made the Vegas plan until towards the end of our time at the ranch.  So, like a grown up, I planned ahead and booked my flights for Montana well in advance so I didn't suffer the financial toll that procrastination tends to deliver.  I bought the ticket for the morning of October 5th at 8:30 am from Denver, which is a solid 4 1/2 to 5 hour drive from the ranch.  What I didn't know was that we were soon going to make a plan to travel to the Grand Canyon and Las Vegas on October 1st and returning on the night of October 4th.  In hindsight, I should have scrapped the Vegas plan and leisurely arrived in Denver a day or so in advance.  But that would be too easy.  Instead, we left from Vegas at 8:00 am on October 4th and drove the fourteen hours back to Creede, CO arriving at around 10:45 pm, obviously losing an hour along the way due to the change in time zone.  Lovely.  After returning, we then had to empty my truck of everyone's gear and fill the back of my truck with all of my belongings to make my final departure from the ranch for the season and make it to Denver with plenty of time to get to my flight.  I ended up leaving 4UR Ranch at roughly 11:45 pm and disappeared into the darkness.  

I knew I was in bad shape when at 25 minutes into my 5 hour excursion my eyelids began to feel heavy.  I remembered I had one adderall left and immediately started popping pills to stay alert.  When that started to fail, I stopped for a coffee and a coke.  Once caffeine started to slip, I started packing my tin of Copenhagen.  On top of all of these stimulants, I had a steady flow of Eminem blasting on repeat over the speakers.  Finally, after driving straight through the night, I made it to Denver around 5 am and parked my truck in front of my buddy's house who said he would drive me to the airport so I wouldn't have to suffer weeks of parking fees.  Great guy.  Anyway, I made it to the airport with plenty of time only to realize after 20 minutes of arguing with the lady at the United Airlines desk that I was on the 8 o'clock flight to Missoula, that I was actually flying Delta.  Give me a break... I blame this mishap on sleep deprivation.  I got to Missoula, and was picked up by the groom.  We got burgers and beers at the favorite Missoula Club, or "Mo Club" in downtown Missoula, MT.  I immediately vanished to the river and fished for the rest of the afternoon.  I was reminded again how much I love Montana.  There really is nothing like it.  It's hard to explain unless you have ever lived there.  But I digress.  I didn't end up getting to bed until almost 1 am that night meaning that I was officially awake, aside from the unproductive sleep on the plane, for roughly 43 1/2 hours straight.  A NEW RECORD!  I didn't even reach this total from my all nighters in college.  From my understanding, if I would have made it to 48 hours I would have been clinically out of my mind.  Too bad I didn't push through the extra 4 1/2 hours. I hear crazy people have way more fun than us sane brains.   

Overall, I had an awesome time at the weddings.  All three were very good friends of mine and I wouldn't have missed them for the world.  It is fun to bad mouth weddings, however I do it in good fun.  If anything, I am reminded by weddings that I remain a bachelor and to be honest don't see wedding bells anywhere in the near future.  For the time being, I throughly enjoy my freedom as a single guy.  I guess I'll just have to continue to rub it in to all of my married friend's faces that I am having the time of my life and chipping away at my retirement bucket list at age 26.  I'll make sure to send them some post cards.  

 

Life After the Ranch

Since leaving 4UR, life has been an absolute whirlwind.  You work your tail off at the ranch and then nothing.  No immediate responsibilities, nowhere to be, the world is your oyster.  Part of you wants nothing more than to throw on a pair of sweats (shirt optional), find a couch on a Sunday and do nothing but sit, lay down or a combination of both and watch football from noon until the late night game ends, unable to distinguish between meals because you have been in a constant state of grazing on snack food for the entire day.  However, another part of you wants to spend this time exploring, taking advantage of this "free" time to do whatever it is you wanted to do but couldn't due to work.  I chose the latter.

My month long hiatus began with me getting a tattoo.  I'd show a picture, but I don't have any.  A.J. and Zach got ink as well, adding to the tat fest.  The following day ten of us from the ranch ventured to the Grand Canyon and Las Vegas for a few days.  We left early to 1. Get to the grand canyon in plenty of time to get to our camp site, do some sightseeing, make a fire and inevitably have a few beers in the process and 2. Avoid the giant cross country meet held at the ranch that supposedly hosted every high school in the entire southwest corner of Colorado.  In other words, an absolute fiasco that we wanted no part of.  There were five ladies and five guys going on this trip and obviously we segregated the two cars by sex.  We also utilized the bed of my truck (which has a topper) as both the luggage and gear area as well as the sleeping and entertainment zone.  First off, we loaded the girls' SUV with as much stuff as we could cram, and then organized our gear on either side of the truck bed with my memory foam mattress pad unrolled beneath everything, leaving an alley of comfort for the passenger's movie watching or sleeping pleasure.  Regardless, the car ride was made that much better leaving only four guys up front and the fifth thoroughly enjoying himself in the back.

We had a little scare about two hours shy of the grand canyon.  At the time, without going into the boring details as to why, my truck was unregistered and uninsured.  Pretty much we were riding dirty.  I'm not sure what the consequence of this broken law is, but I can't imagine there's anything good that could come from it.  As we rolled into a gas station to refuel, get snacks and relieve our bladders, some of the crew started talking to this homeless man who asked for a cigarette or change or something to aid his bad habits.  He told us that there was a fugitive on the loose that had broken out of a nearby prison and stole a car.  We didn't think much of it until he continued to say that there was a road block up ahead on the highway we were on where police officers were checking cargo, I.D.s and vehicle REGISTRATIONS!  I wasn't sure what to think of this.  We had already come about six hours and I wasn't about to make the decision to turn back.  I tried to act as cool and collected as I could but inside I felt like I was going to puke on my shoes.  And they weren't even shoes, they were sandals and God knows I didn't feel like puking on my bare feet.  I told everyone that we should keep going.  I figured the police were only looking for names to match up on the registration not for expiration dates and license plate tags.  So we pressed on.  We reached the intersection of the highways the bum had described and... no road block.  Surprisingly, it felt bitter sweet.  I was all amped up, mentally preparing myself to deal with cops.  After we saw that there were no cops, I wanted to head back to the bum and mention to him that his information was false and to take the cigarette back that he obviously did not deserve.  Obviously, we were thrilled to be able to continue on our journey without any hiccups, but you have to wonder whether that guy actually thought there was a road block or if he intentionally was toying with us.  I guess we'll never know.

The rest of the trip to the Grand Canyon was pretty uneventful.  The canyon was really cool.  Bigger than I could have imagined.  The camping was fun.  And the next morning we got up early, bought some breakfast and began our journey to Vegas.

Vegas, for those who haven't been there, is an unbelievable place.  It is definitely somewhere that everyone should visit once in their lives.  However, for me, it might only be once.  I hate Las Vegas.  Yeah, it's unbelievable, overly extravagant, and impressive, but it is like a giant leech.  It almost literally sucks money right from your bank account, it sucks your energy due to lack of sleep, it sucks your sobriety away from you, and sucks the fun out of you due to all of the above.  I was never quite sure what time it was, for the three nights I was there I amounted to about 10 hours of quality sleep, and I never quite knew whether I was drunk or hungover.  It is the only place that at 4:30 am you think it is a good idea to go gamble some more.  The spectrum of emotion that I witnessed and endured is beyond anything I had seen to date.  So again, Las Vegas is an unbelievable place, but it is one that I don't feel a drive to visit again anytime soon.  Maybe when I am a millionaire and losing 50 bucks doesn't hurt as bad as it does now.  Until then, I am just a down and out fisherman who was swallowed up by a beast called Vegas.

More post ranch saga to come...

It's Official

So I have been on the road for awhile and haven't had a whole lot of opportunity to blog, but I promise I will bring everyone up to speed as I become more settled down and inevitably more bored.

A quick but exciting thing has happened in the last couple days.  I bought my tickets for New Zealand!  It's official.  We're leaving on January 11th and returning May 1st.  It feels good to get that done.  A huge relief.  In less than two months, we'll be standing in a river in New Zealand with the opportunity to hook into the fish of our lifetime.  Not too many people get that opportunity.  

I can't put into words how excited I am for this next adventure.  

Fish Out of Water

So it was proven to me a couple weeks ago that I am working in the right department.  It was a slow day on the river with not many trips scheduled for the guides.  I found out the day before that I didn't have a trip and found out that a couple of the ranch hands, Spencer and Zach, and one of the wranglers, another Spencer, were heading up the Soda Creek drainage to do some trail clearing on horseback.  On paper, this sounded like a good idea.  I hadn't done much horseback riding up to that point.  In fact, it wasn't since the first week I was here that I had even thought about riding a horse and before this year, I could count on one hand the amount of times I had taken the sheltered, lazy ride that most horseback riding operations offer in my entire lifetime.  But why not.  It seemed like a good way to spend a work day.  Mix things up a bit.  Try something new.  Spend time with a few good dudes.  Maybe have some laughs.  I'm all about new experiences.

Like an idiot, I went to the bar for open mic night and got all sorts of liquored up.  Abnormally so.  And if you've never partied up at 9,000 feet, the altitude is relentlessly unforgiving to the one extra shot of Wild Turkey that seemed like a good idea at the time.  I wake up nice and early the next day.  I haven't quite received the pounding that is inevitable when you drink like a moron.  Overall, at this point, I didn't feel that bad, especially after a delicious breakfast sandwich that I am known to concoct at the employee dining room.  Everything bagel, cream cheese, eggs and bacon.  You really can't go wrong.  Post breakfast, I was told that we were leaving in 15 minutes and that I should go and get my gear and a sturdy pair of denims and meet back at the barn.  What I found out upon my arrival was we were planning an all day trip with packed lunches.  When I first heard about this, I was picturing more of an easy going couple hours on horseback, getting down periodically to clear some brush and twigs.  What I didn't know was that I signed up for an all day excursion with twin chain saws clearing large trees and limbs.  Manual labor.  To be more specific, manual hungover labor.

So I sprint back to the lodge to make a sandwich.  I'm not gonna lie, I gave this sammy a bit of TLC.  If I was going to suffer, at least I would have something to look forward to.  On my way back to the barn, I could see the crew saddling horses and getting everything packed.  I was soon acquainted with my horse, Tango.  I was told to let him get to know me by smelling the back of my hand.  Not sure if I saw this right, but it seemed as if he cringed when smelling my hand.  The alcohol seeping through my pores must have stung his nostrils.  Either way, Tango and I became tolerant of each other and our journey began.

The ride began decently.  I really was able to appreciate where I get to call my office.  The air was cool and crisp, the sun was just barely making its way over the ridge and my hip flexors weren't flaring as of yet.  My moment of bliss was soon interrupted by a swift trot.  I thought for a second that my horse had lagged behind and was trying to catch up to the rest of the fleet, however, it was the entire crew of horses in a solid gait continuing down the trail.  After about 20 seconds I yelled up, "Alright.  This isn't going to be how it is the entire time, right?"  Spencer, the wrangler, looked back and saw me sliding to either side of the saddle, feet out of stirrups and looking completely miserable and decided to slow the pace down a bit.  That's when the pain began.  My head was splitting, my hips seemed like they were ready to explode and when we got off the horses for the first time, my hamstrings suffered uncontrollable spasms and cramps that sent me to my knees.  I swear the human body was not meant to sit on, let alone straddle an animal this large and this wide.  My muscles and joints were shot.  I looked at my watch and noticed that only 27 minutes had gone by and I could still see the ranch.  Dammit!  I was then reassured that we were only a fraction of the way up.  Lovely.

So the day went on, we cleared the trail with the help of two chain saws and lots of water.  I slowly forgot about my aches and pains and began to really enjoy the day.  Aside from Tango leading me into every boulder and every tree causing my legs to get pinned up against two immovable objects and his strange Tourette syndrome bob of the head, causing my reins to continually fling off of his neck, I felt as though I was getting the hang of it.  It wasn't until we finished clearing trail and starting our 8 mile journey back to the ranch, when I started to feel pain once again.  Minutes felt like hours and hours felt like days and I was hurting.  What made matters worse, was when we were reaching the final prairie, one of the ranch hands began to lope.  What I soon found out was that horses are very much followers and the other two guys' horses began to sprint after him.  I bet you can guess what ol' Tango had going through his head.  Before I knew it, my horse was in a full sprint and any confidence I had previously was sitting in a pile of horse shit at the top of the mountain.  Sliding from left to right, I tried my hardest to keep my feet stable in the stirrups and make sure my hand holding the reins was steady.  The other hand was so white knuckled onto the horn of that saddle, that I wouldn't be surprised if my fingers left imprints in the leather.  Once Tango felt as though he had successfully caught up to the other horses, all I could hear were the bellowing laughs of the other three guys.  Since I kind of blacked out throughout the entire process, I wasn't aware as to what was coming out of my mouth.  I guess I kept repeating the word "OK!" over and over again mixed with multiple expletives.  Either way, I made it to the destination in one piece, though I was so unbelievably sore.

This experience proved to me that on a horse I am a fish out of water.  Overall, it was a fun day and we definitely got some work done.  I think horses are beautiful animals, however, I have no need to ever ride one again.  If I have the choice, I'll fish instead.

Me and Ol' Tango

Just four semi-good lookin' desperados who love to party

The Grind

So it has been a very long time since my last post.  To be honest, I haven't had the motivation to do it.  It has gotten to the point of the summer where I'm finally feeling the grind of working six days a week for the last 4 months.  It sometimes feels as though the candle is being burned from both ends leaving nothing but a hardened puddle below.

This week, we don't have very many people on the ranch, but of the 20 or so guests, all of them are fishermen and have requested guides for the entire week for both the morning and afternoons.  This is the week we've been working towards.  Our guiding skills will once again be tested not only in getting mediocre fishermen consistently bent, but also in our physical and mental stamina.  After a summer of taking mostly half day trips, the jump into taking a week's worth of morning and afternoon trips wears on you, especially if the fishing gets tough.

Today, I took an older guy out on the stream that was probably in his early 70s.  He is a retired gynecologist from Indiana who served in Vietnam specializing in the prevention of venereal diseases.  Supposedly he did a pretty good job within his section of troops.  I asked him how he prevented the spread of these diseases.  Condoms?  Nope.  Abstinence?  Nope.  They shot these dudes with a ridiculous amount of antibiotics to kill anything that even thought about entering the badlands.  I'd love to see down the road whether anything worked for these vets when they came down with a simple case of strep throat or an infection of some sort.  Regardless, he had endless amounts of jokes about vaginas.  I'd assume that most OBGYNs have at least one or two of those in their back pockets for the dinner table at their gyney medical conventions.

I got everything ready and finished rigging him up and started heading towards the stream at my normal pace when I looked back and noticed he hadn't moved more than about ten feet from the vehicle.  I watched him slowly make his way towards my direction.  I tried my best to walk as slowly as possible, but I could not match his speed and gait.  As a result, I would walk up ahead and check back to see if he was still back there and usually end up waiting for him to slowly catch up.  Later, I found out he had just received heart surgery and couldn't over-exert himself while fishing.  Had I known that, I probably wouldn't have pushed him as hard as I did.  

The morning sloooowly passed by and we had put a few fish to hand, took some pictures, snapped off and tangled plenty and had an overall good morning on the stream.  We head back to the ranch and I dropped him off at his cabin and helped him put away his rod and vest and then turned to leave.  He stopped me and said he wanted to settle up with me.  He unbuckled his waders and flipped out the inside pocket. As he was pulling out his cash I initially notice Abraham Lincoln's smirking face staring me down.  Two thoughts went through my mind.  Either the bills enveloped within honest Abe's folds are Hamiltons or Jacksons or they'll be littered with George Washington's stupid face.  So he asks me, "Do you get paid at all for taking out trips?"  I proceeded to give the sugar coated answer that we don't get paid any of the guiding fees but get paid hourly, AKA, we get paid shit, please tip me generously.  For anyone who relies on tips for a living, that question of "should I tip you?" or "how much should I tip you?" is the most uncomfortable, awkward question known to the service industry.  Meanwhile, as this conversation progressed, I notice him unfolding his five dollar bill to reveal three one dollar bills.  After contemplating whether he should give me the full eight dollars while asking me whether I get paid for my services and me indirectly responding that I only banked around $27 of wages for a half day trip, which after taxes is more like $24, he generously opted to give me the full $8.  He shouldn't have.  I was half expecting him to ask me if I'd like to come mow his lawn for 50 cents.  When your making a minimum of $30-40 and upwards of $100 per trip, eight bucks seems like a slap in the face.  It was almost comical, especially when returning to the other guides eating lunch.  We all had a pretty good chuckle over the whole deal.  I guess, I can get excited for a weeks total of 40 bucks for over 30 hours of guiding him on the river.  Fantastic.

As nice as money is, I have to remind myself that I'm not doing this for the money.  For what he lacks in monetary generosity, he definitely makes up for in vagina jokes.

Celebrations, farewells, anticipation and fishing

It's amazing how much happens here at the ranch.  Consequently, it is difficult to keep up with the documentation.  For example, I neglected to write about our awesome trip to Santa Fe to see a James McMurtry concert or our many floats down the Rio Grande, our excursions to Trout Creek and Red Mountain Creek or our awesome weekend at Lost Lakes.  Anytime we are not working, we try to leave the ranch and experience Colorado like it should be experienced.  I'll do my best to try and keep up with all of the travels we experience.

There have been some notable updates on the ranch.  My good pal, roommate and fellow guide, Jesse, accepted an unbelievable job in Seattle working for the company that umbrellas Sage, Rio and Redington products.  He was flown to Seattle for the interview, nailed it and was called the day after returning to the ranch with the good news.  Unfortunately, he will be leaving us earlier than expected in August.  We rallied the other guides after stopping at the liquor store to pick up some nice whiskey and ventured to the top of our property on Goose Creek to celebrate and maybe do a little fishing in the process.

We iced Les at fifteen bridge.  He wasn't pleased.

I told Les to hijack four whiskey glasses and some ice from the bar to better our whiskey drinking experience.  It seems much more classy and better tasting out of a good glass with a cube or two instead of passing the bottle around and inevitably exchanging saliva from a saturated spout.  After bringing in a half dozen fish from under the bridge, we built a fire and clinked our glasses in Jesse's honor and simply enjoyed each other's presence.  It is amazing the direction conversations take when a flame is the centerpiece of a circle of friends.  A certain truth and comfort is unearthed, reaching depths within that are rarely revealed.  Whether it is jokes, pain, religion, politics, struggles or triumphs, our words are sincere, spoken within this steadfast circle of trust.  Even though we are all excited for Jesse, it will be difficult to see him leave.  He's a strong part of the team and a good friend to all of us.  We wish him the best as he turns the page on this next chapter.

The crew.

The nice whiskey glasses lasted for about two rounds and then the inevitable passing of the bottle occurred.  I figure you should always at least make the effort to start classy.  Whatever follows is neither here nor there.

Another bit of news that has been lingering for quite some time is I'm headed to New Zealand in January for three months with Les and a buddy of his from North Carolina.  We had been talking about this for awhile now, but finally bit the bullet and committed.  We are awaiting a good deal on flights and as soon as it comes along, consider it booked.  Jesse did this trip two winters ago and said it was the most unbelievable experience of his life.  He has been showing us the ropes with where to go, what to see, what to bring, etc.  He also has a few connections down there for us to take advantage of.  The nervous excitement is overwhelming, however, I know it is the right thing to do.  When else am I going to be able to have an experience like this?  Never.

Last weekend, we went to a creek, which is only about a half hour from the ranch.

A great start to the trip.  The joys of 9,000 feet.  You should have seen the other guy.

We spent most of the day leap frogging all of the water.  Between 5 guys on a small creek, you cover a lot of water very quickly.  It's an absolutely gorgeous little body of water that holds a decent amount of fish in the 10-14 inch range.  They were a little finicky at first, but once we switched to an ant pattern that Les tied up, we started getting into them pretty consistently.  I was throwing a pretty large hopper pattern with the ant off of the back and ended up catching the fish of the day and probably the most memorable fish of the season for me.  We were sitting down along this run that ran right along a huge cliff.  It was pretty sexy water, but after fishing it pretty thoroughly, it didn't produce.  Above the run, there was a large foam back eddy that looked about as good as it gets.  The term "foam is home" comes to mind.  I drifted my double dry rig through the foam eddy probably ten times before I saw a giant nose break the surface and my fly disappeared in a toilet bowl fashion.  I set the hook to find a large chunk of a rainbow thrashing the surface and attempting to throw my fly.  After a few impressive runs, I finally got his head up and out of the water and dragged him to hand.

It definitely wasn't the biggest fish I have caught this year, but it was one of those fish that from the time you casted your flies out there, to the eat, to bringing him to hand and finally being able to admire its beauty, sticks with you.  It isn't always the largest fish that make the biggest impact.  When I think back to this summer of fishing, that rainbow will be the first memory that surfaces and the first story I'll tell.

Until next time...

Fish Dreams

So it has been kind of a joke between my roommate and fellow guide, Jesse, that we talk in our sleep.  For most people, reoccurring dreams consist of standing naked in front of a crowd of people or having their teeth fall out.  Who knows what those dreams mean?  Stress?  Anxiety?  Who knows...

When I first heard that I got the job at the ranch, I immediately started having anxiety dreams.  It was the same dream over and over again and I always woke up out of breath and nervous.  The dream consisted of me guiding for an outfitter on a large lake, not a river that I am accustomed to fishing, that resembled Lake of the Woods in Ontario, Canada.  It was almost tournament style with a whole bunch of boats leaving from one area.  As a fly fisherman that specializes in catching trout, the dream always starts out on a good note, even though I'm not 100% confident in fishing for them on a lake.  But very soon, I start to realize that it's not trout we are targeting... but walleye.  I obviously have no idea how to catch a walleye on a fly rod, aside from potentially throwing streamers to them while they are spawning in the shallows.  I start to panic and in the end fail to get my clients hooked into fish.  This goes on for two full "dream days" on the water and in the end get fired due to my lack of success.

It was a pretty horrible dream to keep having over and over again, but in the end, it was just a dream that I can attribute to anxiety of the unknown.

So, to get back to Jesse and me, we have both caught the other chatting away in slumberland.  It started with me, very soon after we began guiding guests on Goose Creek.  I was obviously in an intense REM cycle when I started to have the type of sleep where you are clearly dreaming, but feel as though you are awake and when you speak you can hear what you are saying.  Not sure if anyone else has that, but it's the best I can describe it.  I was dreaming of me on the creek with a guest and he or she (can't remember the gender) had the perfect drift of their fly and got a strike but missed the fish.  Out loud I yelled, "SET!  SET! SET!" and out of disappointment, muttered, "Oh man that was a nice fish..."  Jesse, after my first "SET!" was screamed across our humble particle board walled room awoke and heard the entire exchange.  Since I was in such a light sleep and could hear myself yelling this, I was then awake and we both shared a pretty good chuckle in the darkness.

The same thing happened to Jesse a few weeks later where I was awakened by Jesse yelling the same string of words, "SET! SET!" and then silence.  For that one, I simply had a good laugh to myself and went back to bed.

Last night, however, was hilarious.  I woke Jesse up with a repeat session of our previous dreams.  After my second "SET!" I woke up and noticed Jesse had awakened as well.  This was the exchange between us:

Drew:  "Oh shit, not again..."

Jesse:  "Did you get 'em?"

Drew: "Nope..."

We had a pretty hard laugh and then slowly resumed whatever adventures we had previously conjured up within our subconscious.

Goose'n Around

It has been a slow week here at the ranch.  I sit here on my bed, exhausted from cutting and chopping firewood all afternoon, door open, with a nice cool breeze passing through the threshold from the thunderstorm lingering outside.  When business is slow for us guides, we are subject to Kyle Michaels, head ranch hand, and his extensive list of arduous ranch duties.  Before I go on, I have to briefly give a description of Kyle.  Kyle is around 5'10" with a presence of a guy towering at 7 feet.  He's quietly strong, until you get into an alfalfa bail bucking competition, when he proceeds to belittle you through his emasculating distance and power.  He only wears flannel.  When asked what he likes to do by guests, his response is "I like to work".  There was a facebook page created in his name, based on the same concept of the Chuck Norris jokes.  And on top of that, he has an extremely impressive man-beard.  I haven't met anyone who will even come close to out-working Kyle and because of that, it makes you want to work that much harder so as to not feel less of a man.  So as I worked through my third bandana that I use to mop the ridiculous amounts of sweat of my head and face, I proceeded to chainsaw and chop.

Earlier today, since we didn't have any guide trips, we were fortunate to take a trip to upper Goose Creek which is beyond the property line of 4UR, through the Humphrey's ranch and into the Weminuche Wilderness.  The creek flows into the reservoir that feeds Goose Creek below the dam, which then flows through 4UR.  We are able to bring guests up to Upper Goose Creek by request, so the GM wanted us to see it and fish it before we were in the position to bring guests up there.  Shucks... I guess I'll go fish unbelievable water...

The four of us head up there and hike the half mile or so into the creek.

We only brought one rod between the four of us and would switch off every few fish caught.  It is pretty small water with many overhanging branches that seem to swallow up flies like a hoover, so part of the switching was also brought on by too many fails or loss of flies in trees.  It didn't happen very many times but as soon as you lose your focus on what you are doing, it seemed that branches started to appear out of nowhere.

 Jesse with a round of applause and a few good laughs as A.J. snaps off on a nice fish.  Nothing worse than snapping off and then being mocked by three other dudes.

We fished for about two and half hours and probably netted a dozen fish without really fishing that hard.

Beautiful brookie.

Every seam, pocket, run, riffle or pool seemed to hold fish that would eat a dry fly.  We had a couple nice upper-teens fish eat that were either farmed or popped off once hooked but plenty of 12-16 inch chubby rainbows, cuttbows and brookies were hoisted by the end of the day.

Jesse hooked up.

Making this cuttbow feel stupid.

If someone wanted to catch ridiculous numbers of fish, upper Goose Creek would produce and produce and produce.  Oh, and after that, you'd probably catch a couple more.  The 4UR property is gorgeous, but this area is as breathtaking if not a touch more.  It's a special place that not too many people get the privilege of experiencing and I feel fortunate to have had the opportunity to go.  Overall, it was a really fun way to compensate for a lack of trips and it is always fun to see new water with a few good friends.

The hike out.

Unfortunately, after lunch, the chopping began.    

You Can Lead A Horse To Water...

My mom had a phrase for us growing up.  "You can lead a horse to water, but you can't make him drink".  She would say this to us when we procrastinated on a project in school that she would remind us about weeks in advance or in any situation that may better our lives either in the present or the future that we refused to listen to or ignore.  I feel that I have finally fully understood the phrase.  Not that I didn't understand before, but during my time at the ranch, I have had a guest here and there that it seems impossible for them to catch fish.  Whether it is their inability to listen, the incompatibility of my teaching to their learning style, lack of coordination or overall athletic ability or the fact that I may be a shitty guide, it's hard to say.  All I know is when I take people out on the river, 98% of them catch fish.  That should be good enough to be content.  However, it is the lingering 2% that eat away at my soul, making me question what the hell it is that I am doing out here.

I've had lengthy discussions with some of the other guides about the "tough days" out on the water.  They've all had their difficulties since their first time guiding clients and emphasize the fact that I shouldn't let it get to me.  But, inevitably it does.  I'm not losing sleep over it, but the perfectionist in me hates failure and will stew over every scenario and what could have been done differently or better.  But, in the end, I can only do so much.  Occasionally, it takes every inch of my being not to grab the rod out of the persons hand, tell them they lost their privilege to fish and are done for the day and fish by myself for the rest of the trip making them watch how it's done from the bank.

And I'm a patient person!  I can't imagine someone who lacks even a fraction of patience trying to do what fly fishing guides do.  To the outsider, this job seems easy.  Why wouldn't it?  I spend all of my work day standing in a river, under the sun, teaching people how to fly fish.  What the average person doesn't understand, is the amount of pressure, stress and patience is involved.  People are paying a lot of money for my services and if I'm unable to produce, what then?  Until I catch my first fish, I am wrangling butterflies in the gut.  Once the fish hits net, the pressure is off, the skunk is out of the bag, or any other phrase you would like and we can finally just fish.

I'm not saying that I hate my job or sit and wish I was doing something else.  I'm not.  I love what I do and I wouldn't change it for anything.  But, like any job, there are some days, but more specifically, some people, whose inability, stubbornness, or incomprehension after 4 hours can take you to your breaking point and cause severe cravings for a beer and a dip in solitude as soon as you fake your thank yous, smile and wave good bye.

You can lead a horse to water, but you can't make him drink.  I will amend this motherly cliche to, "You can teach a person to fish, but you can't make him catch them.  At some point, I can only provide so much.  The rod is in their hands and unless they are able to learn and perform, I am simply a guy with a net standing knee deep in a river with wet pants open to conversation.

I truly do love my job.

 

Kids

After almost two weeks since we started guiding clients, I definitely encountered my most difficult challenge to date.  I just pray to all that is holy that I got the worst out of the way because if not, I will most likely try to get my hands on some lorazapam or a few zanex to ease my stress level.  If you're wondering what could have possibly made this week so hard I have two words for you:  8 Kids.

Now don't get me wrong.  Anyone who knows me knows that I love kids.  I will never shy away from spending time with young kids and teenagers.  However, when you only have three guides for 8 kids ranging from ages 8-16, things get interesting very quickly.

Taking three people is a challenge to begin with.  On top of trying to split yourself three ways and trying to give everyone the same amount of attention, there are other factors working against you.  First, is you only have a limited amount of water to fish.  A half mile of water is a lot of water for one person.  In fact, you need to keep a pretty good pace to get through all of that water before your time is over.  However, when you try to fish the stretch with three people, the amount of water for each person is split in thirds and as a result you have to fish specific spots harder than you would like.  Second, safety and efficiency come into play.  With three people, you can't always be there to help the guest cross the river or ensure they don't continually foul up their line or snap off their flies.  It's amazing how quickly things go wrong when you are not around to hold their hand.

Now, you read what I just wrote and then imagine three kids, ages 8, 12 and 15.  All beginner fly fisherman.  When I think back to these trips, a vein slowly bulges from my forehead.  I started this trip on a stretch of river that is notoriously good for both numbers and size of fish.  I right away established that the 15 year old would fish on his own for most of the day so I could focus my attention towards the younger two.  I set him up on a good run that had produced fish the day before and then headed up river with the others to fish a plunge pool that also holds a bunch of fish.  I began by having the two brothers paper, scissors, rock, best two out of three, to see who would fish first.  The older of the two won and started casting.  About three casts into the first hole, I hear "DREW!!!" from below.  Thinking the older cousin had a fish on, I got excited only to find his entire rig balled up to the size of a softball.  I waved him up to me so I could untangle his mess while still working with the other two.  As soon as he got up to me, the younger boy who was sitting on the bank waiting his turn was mindlessly dangling his rod over the river, right in the path of the other kid's casting lane.  It's like it happened in slow motion, but sure enough, I had three rods, all with rat's nests that we like to call "Career enders".  This means that I had to clip all of the line off and start from scratch.  I had to determine who I wanted to fix first and ended up getting the oldest back onto the water so I could make sure at least one person was fishing.  Overall, a great start to the day.

As we continued up stream, I think by that time, I had re-rigged the kids at least a few times a piece.  In between rigging sessions, they would tell me, "maybe we should try some different flies..." or "I need to catch a fish..." or "Are you sure there are fish in here?".  After a while, especially with kids, you have to become a little bit of a hard ass and bust there balls a bit.  Sometimes you have to get pissed at them and let them know that if they don't improve, I'll put them in the penalty box, which is a guide term for tying on a fly that has no chance of catching a fish and then telling them later that they were in the penalty box.  As I say this, don't think that I was verbally abusing these kids.  I would bitch them out light heartedly so it was still fun for them but that they understood deep down I was serious.

A tough thing with these youngsters is that they cannot be in the river by themselves.  When we would cross the river, I would be up stream of them and break the current for them as we trudged along arm in arm.  I did look down at the 8 year old in a particularly fast stretch of current, only to see his feet skipping along the surface of the water, holding on for dear life.  I got a little chuckle at that, even though it could have ended very poorly.  Another time, I had to get the youngest boy on my back so he didn't fill his waders with water.

It is interesting taking brothers and in this case, brothers and cousin on the river.  As any brotherly competitive feud, they are always trying to one up the other, whether it is catching more fish, bigger fish or trying to spoil the other's success or self confidence.  I'd be intently watching one's flies, and from behind me, I'd hear, "SET!!!" causing the kid fishing to yank his flies out of the water most often than not right when the flies were about to drift over fish.  There were words used by 8 and 12 year olds that I hadn't even heard of at their age.  They'd poke each other in the ear with their rod tips.  There was punching, shoving and tripping.  I served as fishing guide, life guard and baby sitter this week.  As good as these kids were, I was glad to see them leave.  We had a lot of fun, regardless of our success on the water and I think overall they appreciated us guides treating them more like adults.  All I can say is that it was pretty nice today to get a single, somewhat capable fisherman on the river.  That vein in my forehead has finally relaxed a bit.

Let It Begin

Well, my first week guiding clients has officially ended and after my one day off on Saturday have started right back up with a new group of guests.  So far, I have received a snap shot of what guiding fisherman, or to be more accurate, non-fisherman, is all about.  I can see that the inability, lack of knowledge and the mistakes of others will teach me more about fly fishing than any on the water experience I have had thus far.  Each person is completely different and has a unique approach to learning and a specific set of issues to focus on.

Last week, I guided two different people for the week.  One man, one woman.  The guy, I'll call him Larry, was a nice enough guy, but had a difficult time listening and comprehending what I was saying, which resulted in a ridiculous amount of repetition and patience and aggressive pointing to where I actually wanted him to cast his fly.  He also didn't quite understand the fundamentals of the cast and usually ended up over compensating with a HeMan haul on the forward cast, similar to trying to cast a musky plug as far as you can with a grunt and possibly a fart escaping in the process.  This masculine approach to a technique that requires only finesse and rhythm, results in many flies dangling innocently from branches or drowned, clinging to submerged snags below the swift currents.  Zero regard was given to his surroundings or to the amount of time and effort I spend at the vise, tying those damn flies.  I did the math, and I can confidently say that there were roughly three dozen flies lost during this last week alone, which at about ten minutes per fly of tying time equates to 6 hours of my life viciously stolen from me, one bad cast at a time.

A gorgeous 22 inch rainbow.  Caught by Larry.

The lady, I'll call her Martha, wasn't too bad.  She had never touched a fly rod before in her life and after about a half hour of casting instruction in the lawn, she was able to at least progress the flies in some sort of direction.  Goal number one, get the flies into the water.  You can't catch too many fish when your flies are wedged into foliage.  I can't say that we destroyed fish, however, we had some great conversations, had some laughs and ended up netting a few fish in the process.  For someone who has never caught a fish on a fly rod, it is an exciting experience.  It's fun for me to witness this process unfold.  From the initial cast, to the presentation of the flies, to me yelling "SET!", to the line getting tight and awakened with life, to the fight, to eventually getting the fish into the net, it is just as exciting for me as her guide as it is for her. What I have heard and now what I have experienced, is women are the easiest people to guide.  They listen, which results in better form and technique and they don't have that inner need to dominate a fly rod with muscle and brawn.  Those two factors alone will allow someone to catch on quickly and in the end catch more fish.

Martha with her first fish on a fly rod.  Exciting stuff!

It was kind of funny, at the end of our last outing, Martha and I were fishing below a bridge that when you stand on it and look down you can see absolute behemoths ranging from 20-30 inches.  These fish honestly look like decent sized steelhead, but because of their size and as a result, smarts and awareness to their surroundings, will have nothing to do with your flies.  It's fun to fish to them anyway.  She was getting some good drifts but couldn't quite get her flies far enough under the bridge to allow her flies to get down to the larger fish.  It was about time to head back and I asked if I could make a cast for her and then hand her the rod.  She agreed and I got low and put a tight loop about half way under the bridge.  Before I could get the rod back into her hands, the indicator went down and on instinct, I set the hook into a nice 20 inch chunk of a rainbow.  I tried to give the rod back to Martha, but she claimed her arm was hurting and wanted to instead have me fight the fish and for her to net the fish for me.  So that was how my trip ended with Martha.  We switched roles and I became the fisherman and she netted the fish.  I'm not gonna lie, it was a pretty good change of pace from the rest of the morning.

Overall, the week was a success.  I never got skunked with a guest and I think all of them had a pretty good time in the process.  Each person is teaching me something new, not only in different teaching methods, but also about the tiny intricacies of the sport.  I'm always on my toes and am required to think outside the box at times.  I can't say that I have ever been required to approach fly fishing in this way before.  I look forward to everyday on the water.  I am fortunate to call this my job.

 

Twas the night before...

I sit here in anticipation.  I just found out a couple hours ago who my client is and which station of river I will be guiding him on.  I have no idea what to expect.  Butterflies are in flight within.  Not quite able to sleep yet.  Going over in my head everything needed for tomorrow.  Flies?  Check.  Tippet?  Check.  Nerves?  Check.

Which flies will I begin with?  What will the river look like?  Which holes will produce?  I heard my guest is a beginner that has fly fished once... a week ago.  How bad will he be?  How many snags and knots will I be unraveling?  What if I can't get him to catch fish?

As I sit here, trying to predict what tomorrow will bring, it gets me excited.  It gets me excited because now my summer of guiding has finally begun.  I came out here to guide people into fish and tomorrow is judgement day.  The pressure is on.  I get to see what I'm made of.  I finally get to put my knowledge, patience, skills and character to the test.

And I say bring it on.

  

A Humble Game

Two days ago, I got my ass kicked.  I have to be clear for my mom's sake that it was not in the physical sense, but more along the emotional realm.  I was riding sky high only to be shot down to crash and burn, wallow in my sorrow or whatever other phrase you want to use.  I'm painting a pretty dreary picture, when in fact, things aren't that bad.  I get paid to do "stream research", live in an unbelievable panorama of beauty and get to work with a few pretty stellar dudes in the process.

I have been working at the ranch for about 3 weeks now, and I have fished most of the days while here.  Most of the days, my skills are up to par and I feel like an adequate part of the guiding team.  However, there are days, such as two days ago, where I question whether I am able to do this job the way it needs to be done.

I work with two veteran guides that know this water inside and out.  The water isn't terribly hard to read, however, knowing where to fish is half the battle.  As in anything, it doesn't matter how good you are at something, there will always be someone better than you.  In my case, the vets are fly fishing studs that can put a fly wherever they want, no matter the conditions.  It is easy to fall into beginner mode and lose the confidence or swagger I once had and resort to being passive while resurrecting bad habits.  Instead of approaching a spot and knowing that you will make the cast, I start to question everything I know and over think what should be basic fundamentals.  When this happens, frustration sets in causing a vicious cycle of angry, unproductive fishing.

It doesn't matter the circumstance, if anger intrudes into your fishing, something is wrong.  No one should ever be angry on the water with fishing being the epicenter of their stress.  If that is the case, that person should not be fishing, or at least take a few lessons in either fly fishing fundamentals or anger management.  Fly fishing is pure.  Fly fishing is beauty.  Fly fishing is the one thing I will do for the rest of my life where stress vanishes and I can escape to fill my senses with untouchable peace.  If anger enters my being on the water, I stop fishing and take a look around me.  I am reminded as to why I do what I do and to how blessed I am to have the opportunity.

As a new fishing guide, humility is number one.  As far as I see it, I know nothing.  I am a sponge to the wisdom the returning guides are willing to share.  When I am not performing, I sure as hell will figure out why so I can continue to learn and build my arsenal.  I hope these "bad" days continue to be few and far in between and that I can harness my confidence to perform when asked.  First clients come on Saturday.  The true test awaits.

Birthdays, Beers and Bears

Its been awhile since my last post but a lot has been happening and I've been steadily at work, doing odd jobs, getting ready for guests to arrive.  My birthday has come and gone and as many birthdays, good times were had, some fish were caught and too many beers were consumed.  One thing I've noticed is when you are 26 years old and you live and work with 18-22 year olds, it becomes more and more difficult to keep up with their pace.  Not to say I am "over the hill", in fact I'm far from it, but at some point you lose that ability to stay up late, drink til you can't see, and get up the next day and feel as though you could do it all over again.  I'm not sure when that transition occurs, however, I do know that for me that transition is complete.  Needless to say, the following day of work consisted of endless water consumption, excessive sweating and a much needed positive attitude.  Eventually my helmet was loosened, however the sweating inevitably persisted.

Before all of the festivities, I did manage to catch some fish.  The three other guides took me out before dinner to try and catch my birthday fish.  It pretty much consisted of the three of them standing on the bank drinking beers while I fished.  Since the rivers are pretty high and muddy, the timing wasn't ideal and the fishing was tough, however, I did manage to hook into a small brown, which I successfully distance released and brought a nice cutt-bow to hand.  Overall, a good start to a great 26th birthday.

Birthday fish

Two days later, the staff was treated to a white water rafting trip with Mountain Men Rafting, based in Creede.  It was a fun way to let loose and have a little fun as a group and get away from the grind of work for an afternoon.  We floated about 14 miles down the Rio Grande through the Wason Ranch property and ended at the Palisade camp ground near 4UR.

Studly group.

Yesterday, on our day off, two of the guides and I ventured to a reservoir about an hour and a half away to fish for carp.  The forecast stated that the winds were supposed to die down, but we all know how accurate weathermen can be.  What was supposed to be 5-10 mph turned into about 20-25 mph with gusts most likely in the 30s.  Normally, this type of fishing is done with heavy rods, spotting fish, casting to them and using a slow retrieve only to have a 10-25 lb. slab slurp your fly and spool you multiple times before you bring them to hand, the hook slips through their soft mouths or they eventually bust you off in an impressive last ditch effort for freedom.  This was my first time carp fishing with a fly rod and I was excited.  Little did we know that the winds would pick up, causing white caps that made it near impossible to spot fish due to the broken water and the chalky, turbid water that resulted.  We fished for around two hours, decided that we were spending way to much effort hauling flies and slapping water and chose the always appealing alternate: Burgers and beers at the local brewery.  We packed up our gear, headed into town, sipped on some delicious I.P.A., ate some burgers, had some laughs and returned home to the ranch.  All in all a pretty above average day and as a bonus, we scared up a couple of bears rummaging along the road leading to the ranch.  

Geared up for whatever comes our way.

Reminiscent of saltwater flats fishing.

Excellent burger and beer combo

You can just see the second bears head poking out from the top of the hill on the left next to the second tree.

This is why fishing is worth every bit of effort.  Even when you don't find what you were originally looking for, the journey along the way is always an unpredictable adventure.  

Rotten Parking

Sometimes the last parking spot at the end of the lot isn't so rotten after all...

Week One

Well, I made it.  After a long winter of unemployment and a seemingly longer drive across country, I am now trapped in paradise, getting paid hourly to do something I love to do.  Fly fish.

I've spent almost a week here already and right away I can tell that this is going to be a great summer.  I rolled into 4UR Ranch last Tuesday and began work on Wednesday.  We did quite a bit of work around the ranch the first couple days but managed to get a few floats down the Rio Grande ripping streamers for whatever gave chase.  Once we exhausted the duties needed around the ranch, the real "work" began and I have since been spending all of my days walking the rivers and fishing the highlighted holes (and getting paid for it).  The two veteran guides Les and Jesse have been showing me and the other new guide A.J. the ropes, telling us where the fish are and how to fish them.  Most of the creek is pretty self explanatory but there are some sneaky spots that I wouldn't necessarily fish unless the fishing was crap, because at that point, you will try just about anything.

The fishing on Goose Creek is just dumb.  I know that it will eventually become pretty technical and we will have to really work to get our guests on fish, but for right now, the fish have not seen flies for the entire winter and don't think twice about eating a #2 girdle bug or giant foam on top.  The fish that are coming up to eat on the surface have no business eating what we are throwing at them.  So to repeat myself, the fishing is absolutely dumb.

Yesterday, the three other guides and I were on our way to the water to do what's called "mock guiding" where the two veteran guides act like idiots and fish left handed.  They will act out every bad habit that they have ever seen to put us on the spot and correct them.  It was a particularly windy day yesterday and on our way to the river, we spotted a mini tornado, whipping up dust and debris into a sporadic vortex.  I have to take a moment and remind you that this is a dude ranch.  With horses.  That crap.  Everywhere.  So what we saw as flying debris, was soon realized to be horse shit whipping us in the face and getting all over us.  A good old fashioned poop twister.  Anyway, after wiping off all of the fecal layer that we were so blessed to be baptized in, we eventually got to the water.  Les was my "guest" and he acted like he had never seen a fly rod before.  He proceeded to bring out every bad habit and mistake that every guest has ever done while guiding them.  Tangling his line, walking into good fishing water, asked every ridiculous question known to a fly fishing guide, and then when I finally got him into a fish, he straight lined the fish by pointing his rod tip right at about an 18 inch brown trout, nearly breaking him off before I corrected him.  If this is what it will be like, I will not be at a lack of patience before this summer is through.

I've almost seen the entire river as of today.  I only have two more stations to fish before I have fished the entire 6 miles of river.  I'm looking forward to spending more time on my own and really breaking this water down and figuring out its secrets.  When the fishing gets tough, every guide needs his bag of tricks to make sure the day is a success.  I'm not a magician yet, but I will try my best to at least have a couple of go-to places where I know I will have the opportunity for fish.

Until then, I am enjoying meeting all of the staff here and living in one of the most beautiful places I have seen.  There isn't an angle of this valley that doesn't take my breath away.  The great thing is, it will only get better from here.

Concrete Jungle

My trip began on a Wednesday.  With my compass pointed west, I dedicated myself to a solid 13 hours on the road with plans to sleep in the bed of my truck that night.  Some might say that snoozing in your car is uncomfortable and arduous.  However, after purchasing a cheap 4 inch foam mattress pad and a plastic zip up cover that you would buy for a toddler who pisses himself at night, my capped truck bed has been transformed into a cozy suite.  I often sleep better while car camping than I do at home in my own bed.  Anyway... after a much needed burger and a beer (ok, maybe more than one beer), I began the familiar search for a place to park my truck for the night without being awakened by a flashlight tapping the glass.  I found a spot that looked comfortable and legal, threw the truck into "Park" and began the process of preparing my bed.

It is always interesting when camping whether it is in a tent, a car or out in open space with nothing between you and nature.  The best and sometimes the worst part of camping is the vulnerability to the sounds of your surroundings.  The meditating sounds of chirping crickets or rain drops on your tent are always welcomed.  However, the sounds of breaking branches, foot steps, blood curdling screams from some animal that probably didn't make it, leave your curiosity and imagination at work, painting horrible pictures of potentiality in your mind.

Once my bed was ready, I climbed in, closed the hatch and lay there in darkness, left only to my thoughts and the prevailing sounds.  This was a different experience, however.  The sounds were different.  On many occasions, I shot up to look out the windows because it sounded as if something was walking outside my truck.  I could hear voices in the distance, uttering incomprehensible dialogue, random laughter and yelling.  Screeching tires.  Occasional honking horns.  Sirens sounded.  And as I am listening to all of this, I realized that it doesn't matter where or when you camp, each place will be distinct, conversing its own language of sounds.  As I looked up the final time, I felt the comfort of the giant blue and white sign and realized that the people of Wal Mart never sleep.

Never.  

Change

Change is a funny thing.  It is as ambiguous as it is direct and final.  It is a process that can be out of our control but can also be chosen.  It can have positive or negative effects on our lives and it can be feared or embraced.  Individuals react to change differently, which is why each of us are able to carve out our own unique path and the different experiences we encounter.  In fly fishing, change never sleeps.  The river lives and breathes and is in a constant state of motion, never seizing, relentless.  We, as fisherman, must embrace the change laid out before us and adjust, knowing that failure will always linger, but serve as the all-knowing teacher of veracity and adaptability.  It is change that keeps the fire within burning strong.  It keeps us driven and coming back for more even if we are continually humbled by Mother Nature’s intricacies.   

But, change soars well beyond the confines of the river’s edge.  It is easy to see why change can be terrifying.  The type of change we cannot control haunts every one of us.  It is the shadow we will never escape, looming in the distance until abruptly masking our lives with blinding pain and sorrow.  From the worldly effects of war and terror to the more personal (and often most difficult) effects of depression, divorce, unemployment, foreclosure, sickness and death, change can often be a dish served cold and bitter.  Having experienced most of these already in my life, it is easy for me to understand why we as a society strive to remain stagnant, stuck in a rut of insecurity and fear of the unknown.  We are concerned not only about the pain in our own lives, but the effects of our decisions on the ones we love most.  Many choose to remain still, paralyzed by the fear that their insignificant ripples may spread and develop into capsizing swells of emotion.

For many people, however, change is a welcomed part of life and sought after.  Without change, life for these individuals is left bland and fruitless.  Curiosity and adventure rule their decisions with very little regard to consequence or expectation. There is a willingness to live life on the edge, try new things, to take the leap of faith with no comprehension of who or what is there to catch them other than hope and the inability to accept failure.  

I somehow straddle the line between the yin and the yang of change.  I have always looked to broaden my range of experiences whether it is trying new foods, traveling, learning new hobbies or dedicating my life to a specific skill.  I more recently have ditched a devout path towards medicine, pointed my compass west and enjoyed three years of Montana living only to get hired a year later as a fly fishing guide in Colorado.  What I have discovered about myself is that I love the results and rewards that change creates.  However, as much as I need change in my life, I do dread the transitional process involved.  My moves from Wisconsin to Montana, from Montana back to Wisconsin and now from Wisconsin to Colorado each initially left me feeling alone and overwhelmed by doubt and emotion.  I understand and anticipate the benefit and growth that will result from the process, yet I am abandoning everything that is good about the life I have previously known.  Why do I choose to continually leave, especially when it means leaving my family that I need by my side?  What is it that is driving me to desert the security of the present and seek the unknown future?  Curiosity is a difficult beast to tame.

At this stage of my life, I refuse to not take advantage of my youth and settle.  There are too many stones that are unturned in my life to allow myself to ignore what it is that calls to me.  I don’t want to be the man looking back on his life with regret wishing I had done things differently.  I have decided to take the path that my gut has dictated and embrace the changes, good and bad.  “What if?” can only be answered by exploring what it is in question and hoping for the best.  As we wade through turbulent waters, we can be blinded to the possible stepping-stones laid before us.  If we cannot dedicate our focus toward the other shore with a certain excitement, dedication and optimism, we risk being swept away by the relentless currents of negativity, further keeping us from reaching our lives’ true potential.