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.
Wednesday, November 9, 2011
Tuesday, September 20, 2011
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.
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
Sunday, August 28, 2011
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.
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.
Wednesday, August 3, 2011
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.
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 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.
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...
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...
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.
Thursday, July 21, 2011
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.
We fished for about two and half hours and probably netted a dozen fish without really fishing that hard.
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.
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.
Unfortunately, after lunch, the chopping began.
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...
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.
Monday, July 11, 2011
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.
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.
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