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.
Showing posts with label guiding. Show all posts
Showing posts with label guiding. Show all posts
Sunday, August 28, 2011
Wednesday, July 27, 2011
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.
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.
Sunday, June 19, 2011
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.
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.
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.
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.
Saturday, June 11, 2011
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.
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.
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