The Montana era has officially ended. Back to being from Sconny...
Friday, December 2, 2011
A Sad Day
It was a sad day today...
The Montana era has officially ended. Back to being from Sconny...
The Montana era has officially ended. Back to being from Sconny...
Saturday, November 19, 2011
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.
Thursday, November 17, 2011
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...
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...
Wednesday, November 9, 2011
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.
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.
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...
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