Guiding is a funny business. It can be incredibly rewarding and it can be incredibly
frustrating. It can be backbreaking
rowing a boat and it's a long hard day even on the tamest rivers. If you aren't rowing, you are still up
early; prepping and organizing. Maybe you need to put together a box lunch
for your clients--even if it is just running out to the nearest deli and buying
something. Maybe you need to grab some
strike indicators or tie a handful of flies--just in case. Check the oars. Do the trailer tires need air?
...and just one minute: You
forgot the ice for the ice chest.
Granted, you get to do it in some of the most beautiful places on the
planet.
The hardest part of the day just might be your clients, though, especially if you are new to the business. As a seasoned veteran, one can discreetly pick and choose who you want to spend your day with. Sometimes it's the little white lie: "I'm pretty well booked up for that week. I just can't fit you in." I suppose you can tell the client whatever you want. Chances are that if they made your day miserable, they probably weren't enjoying themselves either and won't be back. As a newcomer struggling to make ends meet and pay for that expensive drift boat, you pretty much have to book whomever and whenever you can, however.
...and in all fairness, I know most clients aren't out there to make the guides day difficult. More often than not, it's just a comedy of errors or a little miscommunication. Beginners will put their reels on backwards or don't tighten the reel seat properly only to have the reel fall off while fighting the biggest fish of the day. Knot tying can be a nightmare and yet there is always that one person who insists on doing their own rigging. Knot after knot fails and they want to blame the tippet. Maybe it's too old--or defective, they'd say, or the rod is too stiff--although in some cases, that was true! I was also guilty of all too often putting clients on water that was beyond their skill set, especially when I first started out. I mistakenly assumed that if someone was willing to pay for a day on the river, they knew one end of the rod from the other; could cast a mile; and had a working knowledge of entomology. More often than not, though, many were beginners or intermediate level anglers and they wanted learn. That is a good thing but just the same, it rarely makes a day any shorter or less exhausting.
Then there are the truly difficult clients. Everything is automatically the guides fault, despite the fact that they can't cast 17 feet and have a moth eaten selection of flies that look like they found them in a close out bin at a crafts workshop for the visually impaired. You will end up spending as many as 12 hours in a small cramped space listening to a litany of tasteless jokes and offensive remarks, secretly hoping--praying actually that they will slip and drown in a rapid--although that is always bad for one's reputation. ...and if the Fish and Game rules require a barbless hook, they will be continually trying to put on a barbed hook and arguing with you about that as well. They will insist on using a rod that is far too heavy or one that is far too light--because it's theirs. Some of them will drink too much...and it will be a miracle if no one is impaled with a hook or a rod broken.
Funny stuff--this guiding business. One of the sweetest older gentlemen I ever had the pleasure of guiding was also one of the most difficult. He was a wonderful human being--even if he wasn't actually interested in fly fishing. It seems that he had recently retired and after years at a job that owned him, he was at a loss as to what to do with himself. His wife however made no bones about it. She did not want him underfoot and moping around the house so she bought him a rod and reel--and lessons; and then when he failed to take the hint, she hired me to guide him. He and I bonded almost immediately. We shared a few laughs and we found some rising fish. In fact, we found a lot of rising fish. I put him on a pretty spectacular bite. He couldn't cast--and he didn't care. He was having fun. He couldn't see all that well either so he wasn't hooking a lot of fish but it was one of those days where the brain dead could catch a fish as long as they had a nervous tic. The fish weren't going to hook themselves! It turned out though that he was so arthritic that he would tip over on his back cast. I spent the better part of my day trying to catch him every time he cast. I lived in dread fear he would slip or lose his balance. I'm proud to say that he made it home safely and intact. I however was exhausted. You just cannot send clients home damaged.
Now after a long day, it seems an unusually high number of the guides and river rats that I knew, myself included, would self medicate--usually at a local dive; and it seemed every river worth fishing had a proper dive within a few miles. This "proper dive" concept is important. You've been rowing all day. Maybe you broke a sweat and you are in your ratty Levis so you'd probably stick out like a tuna rod in a float tube in a more upscale establishment. More importantly, you need a place just sketchy enough that you won't get shot but that difficult client won't want to join you either. ...and just as importantly, one needs to be able to afford at least a few rounds on the odd chance that you run into someone who has something to say. Cheap is good--unless we are talking about gin or talk. There is no evil or so foul on this earth as a cheap gin but that is another topic. As for cheap talk, well, some anglers are renowned for their ability to, shall we say, "enhance a story" and add fish and inches to the days tally... Personally I avoid them--and cheap gin.
The Sac is a world class trout fishery that I guided on for a few years, going through a boat and a raft in the process. Access is limited so most anglers end up floating it and it can be wildly unpredictable. There were those days where every second or third cast resulted in a hook up. Fish would be rising every 5 feet in a riffle that was the size of a football field. Then there were those days that drove strong men to drink or at least seek the comfort and solace of other guides --who might also have a tidbit of useful information. The bite would shut off so completely that you were convinced the river had been poisoned by a chemical spill--which did happen in the upper reaches; or the fish would move, which wasn't unusual. Most of the trout were the progeny of steelhead that just stopped heading downstream once Shasta Dam began filling the river with cold water. These fish would move into a slot to feed and then just as quickly drop back downstream, sometimes one hundred yards or more. It was a guessing game as to where they would be on any given day, much less what they would be taking--and it could be incredibly frustrating. It seemed natural that a person might want to wallow in self pity in front of a cold pint or at least talk to the other guides to get an idea of where the trout were and what they were on. I thought I had found such a place on the lower Sacramento River... I may have been mistaken.
There is a bar that almost fits the bill near one of the take outs on the river. It shall for many reasons, remain nameless so let's just call it "the Dock". The beer was cold, the food was almost always edible, almost always hot and the price was almost always right.. What more does a person need? It was a bonafide dive. It's just that the "not getting shot" could have been an issue. The first time I went in there, I thought this was the place! A burger with fries was all of three dollars and three drinks cost less than what I would pay for one in the Bay area. Granted it was too close to a trailer park or two and the owners son fancied himself an outlaw biker but those were minor details. Most of the time, it was quiet, filled with a few folks ekeing out a hard scrabble existence and living paycheck to paycheck. Weekends could get a little more lively with at least a shouting match or two, some dysfunctional family drama thrown in for effect and maybe even some good old fashioned fisticuffs. Generally, though, the evenings were dead and the afternoons even quieter. A few other guides and river rats would stumble in just often enough to keep me coming back. It did sometimes get weird. I suppose the people who like these small towns and backwaters might be a little antisocial to begin with. I'm sure some have a few secrets to hide but an outsider (me) should keep their back to the wall, ears open and mouth shut.
Weird is too kind--too mild a term, actually. It was a Saturday and I had a break between clients. I'd spent the morning sorting out my driftboat--organizing and cleaning up the bits of tippet and funk that can collect in the bottom of a boat. It was a beautiful spring day and a cold beer sounded about right so I headed over to the Dock. The place was empty with the exception of the bartender and one other customer, a despondent looking character who struck me as an alcoholic. He was hunched over, elbows on the bar with his head in his hands and half a beer sitting in front of him. I sat down a few seats to the left of him at the bar and nodded a hello. He grunted. The beer sat there, getting warm. Apparently he wasn't much of a conversationalist or was downright unfriendly, not that it mattered. I'm going to go with "unfriendly" because about a half hour later another customer came in. The newcomer was in a wheelchair being pushed by a dumpy middle aged woman. At first, I thought the three of them knew each other. The drunk at the bar looked
The hardest part of the day just might be your clients, though, especially if you are new to the business. As a seasoned veteran, one can discreetly pick and choose who you want to spend your day with. Sometimes it's the little white lie: "I'm pretty well booked up for that week. I just can't fit you in." I suppose you can tell the client whatever you want. Chances are that if they made your day miserable, they probably weren't enjoying themselves either and won't be back. As a newcomer struggling to make ends meet and pay for that expensive drift boat, you pretty much have to book whomever and whenever you can, however.
...and in all fairness, I know most clients aren't out there to make the guides day difficult. More often than not, it's just a comedy of errors or a little miscommunication. Beginners will put their reels on backwards or don't tighten the reel seat properly only to have the reel fall off while fighting the biggest fish of the day. Knot tying can be a nightmare and yet there is always that one person who insists on doing their own rigging. Knot after knot fails and they want to blame the tippet. Maybe it's too old--or defective, they'd say, or the rod is too stiff--although in some cases, that was true! I was also guilty of all too often putting clients on water that was beyond their skill set, especially when I first started out. I mistakenly assumed that if someone was willing to pay for a day on the river, they knew one end of the rod from the other; could cast a mile; and had a working knowledge of entomology. More often than not, though, many were beginners or intermediate level anglers and they wanted learn. That is a good thing but just the same, it rarely makes a day any shorter or less exhausting.
Then there are the truly difficult clients. Everything is automatically the guides fault, despite the fact that they can't cast 17 feet and have a moth eaten selection of flies that look like they found them in a close out bin at a crafts workshop for the visually impaired. You will end up spending as many as 12 hours in a small cramped space listening to a litany of tasteless jokes and offensive remarks, secretly hoping--praying actually that they will slip and drown in a rapid--although that is always bad for one's reputation. ...and if the Fish and Game rules require a barbless hook, they will be continually trying to put on a barbed hook and arguing with you about that as well. They will insist on using a rod that is far too heavy or one that is far too light--because it's theirs. Some of them will drink too much...and it will be a miracle if no one is impaled with a hook or a rod broken.
Funny stuff--this guiding business. One of the sweetest older gentlemen I ever had the pleasure of guiding was also one of the most difficult. He was a wonderful human being--even if he wasn't actually interested in fly fishing. It seems that he had recently retired and after years at a job that owned him, he was at a loss as to what to do with himself. His wife however made no bones about it. She did not want him underfoot and moping around the house so she bought him a rod and reel--and lessons; and then when he failed to take the hint, she hired me to guide him. He and I bonded almost immediately. We shared a few laughs and we found some rising fish. In fact, we found a lot of rising fish. I put him on a pretty spectacular bite. He couldn't cast--and he didn't care. He was having fun. He couldn't see all that well either so he wasn't hooking a lot of fish but it was one of those days where the brain dead could catch a fish as long as they had a nervous tic. The fish weren't going to hook themselves! It turned out though that he was so arthritic that he would tip over on his back cast. I spent the better part of my day trying to catch him every time he cast. I lived in dread fear he would slip or lose his balance. I'm proud to say that he made it home safely and intact. I however was exhausted. You just cannot send clients home damaged.
Now after a long day, it seems an unusually high number of the guides and river rats that I knew, myself included, would self medicate--usually at a local dive; and it seemed every river worth fishing had a proper dive within a few miles. This "proper dive" concept is important. You've been rowing all day. Maybe you broke a sweat and you are in your ratty Levis so you'd probably stick out like a tuna rod in a float tube in a more upscale establishment. More importantly, you need a place just sketchy enough that you won't get shot but that difficult client won't want to join you either. ...and just as importantly, one needs to be able to afford at least a few rounds on the odd chance that you run into someone who has something to say. Cheap is good--unless we are talking about gin or talk. There is no evil or so foul on this earth as a cheap gin but that is another topic. As for cheap talk, well, some anglers are renowned for their ability to, shall we say, "enhance a story" and add fish and inches to the days tally... Personally I avoid them--and cheap gin.
The Sac is a world class trout fishery that I guided on for a few years, going through a boat and a raft in the process. Access is limited so most anglers end up floating it and it can be wildly unpredictable. There were those days where every second or third cast resulted in a hook up. Fish would be rising every 5 feet in a riffle that was the size of a football field. Then there were those days that drove strong men to drink or at least seek the comfort and solace of other guides --who might also have a tidbit of useful information. The bite would shut off so completely that you were convinced the river had been poisoned by a chemical spill--which did happen in the upper reaches; or the fish would move, which wasn't unusual. Most of the trout were the progeny of steelhead that just stopped heading downstream once Shasta Dam began filling the river with cold water. These fish would move into a slot to feed and then just as quickly drop back downstream, sometimes one hundred yards or more. It was a guessing game as to where they would be on any given day, much less what they would be taking--and it could be incredibly frustrating. It seemed natural that a person might want to wallow in self pity in front of a cold pint or at least talk to the other guides to get an idea of where the trout were and what they were on. I thought I had found such a place on the lower Sacramento River... I may have been mistaken.
There is a bar that almost fits the bill near one of the take outs on the river. It shall for many reasons, remain nameless so let's just call it "the Dock". The beer was cold, the food was almost always edible, almost always hot and the price was almost always right.. What more does a person need? It was a bonafide dive. It's just that the "not getting shot" could have been an issue. The first time I went in there, I thought this was the place! A burger with fries was all of three dollars and three drinks cost less than what I would pay for one in the Bay area. Granted it was too close to a trailer park or two and the owners son fancied himself an outlaw biker but those were minor details. Most of the time, it was quiet, filled with a few folks ekeing out a hard scrabble existence and living paycheck to paycheck. Weekends could get a little more lively with at least a shouting match or two, some dysfunctional family drama thrown in for effect and maybe even some good old fashioned fisticuffs. Generally, though, the evenings were dead and the afternoons even quieter. A few other guides and river rats would stumble in just often enough to keep me coming back. It did sometimes get weird. I suppose the people who like these small towns and backwaters might be a little antisocial to begin with. I'm sure some have a few secrets to hide but an outsider (me) should keep their back to the wall, ears open and mouth shut.
Weird is too kind--too mild a term, actually. It was a Saturday and I had a break between clients. I'd spent the morning sorting out my driftboat--organizing and cleaning up the bits of tippet and funk that can collect in the bottom of a boat. It was a beautiful spring day and a cold beer sounded about right so I headed over to the Dock. The place was empty with the exception of the bartender and one other customer, a despondent looking character who struck me as an alcoholic. He was hunched over, elbows on the bar with his head in his hands and half a beer sitting in front of him. I sat down a few seats to the left of him at the bar and nodded a hello. He grunted. The beer sat there, getting warm. Apparently he wasn't much of a conversationalist or was downright unfriendly, not that it mattered. I'm going to go with "unfriendly" because about a half hour later another customer came in. The newcomer was in a wheelchair being pushed by a dumpy middle aged woman. At first, I thought the three of them knew each other. The drunk at the bar looked
The drunk had ordered another beer and after 10 minutes or so, looked over at the newcomer, staring intently. He then, very matter of fact, said "You're a pussy." What planet was I on, what god forsaken place was I in that someone would pick a bar fight with a paraplegic? The newcomer, however, had a pained look on his face--a look that suggested he had once before been accused of being a fraud; of sitting on a street corner with a cardboard sign that said "Disabled vet. Will work for food". He stammered, "No man. I got shot up pretty bad." The drunk spat back "You're a pussy. I was there." A long drawn out silence ensued. I wanted no part of that scene so I was the one with head down at that point but I could see the drunk fidgeting. Suddenly something went flying over my head. It was a leg, a fucking artificial leg, heavily tattooed. The drunk had taken off his artificial leg and thrown it at the newcomer in the wheelchair! Clearly I was on another planet. At any moment Elvis will enter the room. The drunk was screaming "You're a pussy. You're a pussy!" and suddenly another limb went flying over my head. Now the drunk is on the ground hopping around on his stump legs, still screaming at the guy in the wheelchair "You're a pussy. You're a pussy!" Had they been speaking Italian, this could have been a scene right out of Fellini or worthy of David Lynch. I was in awe of the heavily tattooed prosthetics. The entire scene was beyond surreal...
The drunk eventually calmed down. and hopped back up on his bar stool. I have no idea what happened to the artificial legs. I think the newcomer offered to buy him a drink and the two began trading war stories. Meanwhile, I no longer guide but I am still searching for a proper dive to get a beer after a long day on the water --a place where the customers wont be throwing prosthetic limbs at each other.
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