first time

Growing up in the Ozarks, there aren't too many trickles of water that I don't know better than the back of my hand, just some of have to "refamiliarize". On days off, I'm constantly checking out different ditches I think might have fish at water levels that I haven't fished. Sometimes I strike gold, and sometimes I strike out. If a guide claims he knows everything and still has nothing to learn.....he's flat out lying through his teeth. The day I stop learning is the day I become a complacent guide, and will thus retire from the field.

In past years, I've sometimes guided in up to three different geographical regions in a single season. Some of them have been brand new. Sometimes I've worked, and been handed a map drawn on a napkin with the put in and a takeout (not in Arkansas thank God)....accompanied by a reassuring pat on the back and a "you'll figure it out." Those trips can get western a hurry.

Enter Montana

I had the pleasure of working in Missoula, MT for the 2009 summer season. Images of pods up on rhythm, and big browns crashing salmon flies danced in my head the whole spring before the pilgrimage north. It was every bit as good as I had ever imagined, but again, I was a new guy with a ton of brand new water to learn.

Everything went smooth through the beginning of the season. I started out learning the bunny slopes with a couple guide buddies. Then I started expanding to the sneaky floats, but with hundreds of miles to learn, there were still going to be those days where the professional bull shitter had to clock in and tell the clients about the 30 times I had been down that stretch and the really nice fish I had caught in that tail out outside seam three days ago. Typically it was no big deal. I caught plenty of fish. The saying goes, "Fish are fish, and water is water."

I did have one day when I looked like a true fanewguy(f***ing new guy). I had actually picked up a couple days from a secondary outfitter. I had a couple plans in my head. On that day plan A, B, and C wouldn't pan out. The clients had already fished A and B with another guide that week, and shuttle reports said C was going to have 6 boats on it. I called the outfitter, and he reccomended a stretch of river I had never fished.

No problem. I did remember asking a guide buddy about that stretch and they mentioned a diversion dam named Sleeping Child. No problem normally, but I already had my hard boat trailored and 20 minutes out of town. I talk to the outfitter, and he said, "Yeah no problem you Southern Sally. Just get the clients out, walk them around, walk back up, and shoot the far left side."

So I get to the river, rig up, tell the clients about all the big fish I've caught in the stretch that I've actually never seen before. I was still very confident, but I did notice a funny look from a guide sporting a raft at the boat ramp. I think to myself, "Screw em', I'll show him the new guy's got a couple tricks up his sleeve." It was golden stone time on the Bitterroot. If a guide

can't catch fish at that time, he might as well apply at McDonalds as a fry cook.

Fishing took off better than I had predicted. First good run....three fish. Second good run....7 fish. Multiple doubles. I called (bull shitted) a couple eats from a couple bigger fish in a couple spots. Life was gravy.

We have lunch, and I tell them about the upcoming diversion dam. We keep fishing, whacking fish after fish. I'm the guide of the year at this point. We make a bend and I see another nice and greasy run.....but it disappears on the horizon. Butt cheeks start to clench. Enter Sleeping Child.

I row over, and notice three different boats at the top, all of them rafts. Great. I've got my hard boat, and a low nosed skiff at that. I get the clients out and walk them down all the while inspecting the diversion dam. It looks like no big deal. The outfitter called it just perfect. The clean chute was far left, but it had a big wave train at the bottom. No problem, no recirc waves, just rip on the oars at the bottom and slow it down not to plow the train. I line the boat up and pass the three rafts anchored. They are all on the bank ready to watch the show. I give them all a nod and say "this is pushing it with the skiff huh?" I just get blank looks.

Tough crowd I guess. I keep my boat lined up. I hit the lip, and give it a push. I miss every rock, pivot at the bottom, to hit the wave train. I'm the man.....Montana whimps and their rafts. How'd these dang guys Creme of Wheat Eatin sons a b****** the Civil War again? I hit the bottom and dig on the oars. POW!!! My oar busts. I get a little goofy in the waves, but I manage to some how hit the train straight on. I can't slow down with one oar, and the waves are a couple feet bigger than I had guessed from the bank. Here it comes. I'm taking water on the chin. Going down in flames. Look over, and my clients eyes are as big as saucer plates as they imagine their guide going down in flames. At this point in time, I've got 12 inches of standing water in the boat, one functioning oar with the spare tucked well behind my gear, and thinking to myself "guess those Yanks came to the big show prepared." I stand up and canoe paddle my boat over to the bank about 200 yards below the clients. I pull the boat way up on the slope bank so all five hundred gallons of water will go to the back and start bailing.

Client: "What happened Forrest?"

Forrest: "My oar broke, guess I don't know my own strength" nervously chuckling.

Client: " I was wondering why you canoe paddled the boat to the bank. I noticed all the other guys were rowing rafts. Did you not know the diversion would be this bad?"

Forrest: "Well it changed quite a bit since the last time I floated it"

Client: "I thought you said you floated it three days ago. You were talking about all those nice ones you whacked in here."

Forrest: Yeah, changed quick, speaking of big ones......there's a really nice brown a bend down on the tail out....let's do a fly switch up drakes are coming off, and the fish really go on this cripple in this stretch."

The other guide boats come through, pick up their clients, and make the voyage past me while I'm bailing out my boat. I see the clients pointing, and the guides chuckling.

Client: "I told you, all those guys are running rafts."

Forrest: "That's because these Montana Sally's don't know how to canoe paddle a hard boat."

Wiley Critters

For the majority of my guiding career, 95% percent of my trips have been trout trips. There are multiple reasons for this, but mainly due to the fact that most of the places I have guided are exclusively trout fisheries like Montana and Chile. In Alaska I guided all five species of salmon and trout. Arkansas is a different story.

I've grown up in this area. I cut my teeth on t

iny warm water creeks, rivers, and lakes. As I progressed as a fisherman, the challenge of trout drew me to the cold tailwaters of the White River Basin. I've guided them for sometime. I really enjoy it. My clients also enjoy it. Who wouldn't? The White River boasts a bajillion fish a mile, and the chance for that monster kicker fish. But I still found myself fishing the warm water species on my days off.

Sound logic kicked in a few years ago. If I enjoy this I'm sure my clients will be tap dancing at the end of the day as well. Thus the warm water portfolio began to develop.........

The season starts off at the end of March with the white bass run. This is a no brainer. Constant action, the occassional striper. More importantly, its a way to keep my sanity after keying on one species (trout) all winter long. They're not picky.....consequently my rusty bass flies from the prior year get used up. Its like fly fishing's version of spring cleaning. Can'

t be too rusty, because I don't want that rogue 20 lb. striper chomping the thing in half.......

Funny I should have mentioned the striper, because its next on the calendar. This one can be tough. I've got a group of clients that are all gung ho on these things. Tough part is

, the stars have to align to get these critters to come shallower then 20 ft. deep. When the conditions are right. I start making despereate phone calls.

Forrest: "Joe Angler.....its on....get here in three days?"

Joe Angler: "ehh...how good is it? taxes are due this week"

Forrest: "Well, we put a dozen in the boat, and three came on top....biggest being a quarter of a century, but we lost a bigger one"

Joe Angler: "Filing an extension, game on."

Unless an angler's very flexible, it is extremely hard to hit as they can come into the shallows in a days time, and leave just as quickly. And everyonce in a blue moon, Joe Angle

r comes, and the fish have gone back down to 15 feet........out comes the lead. It's always a roll of the dice. But just like Vegas, when you hit it, you hit it big.

By the time the stripers dwindle, Ozark's native son (Smallmouth Bass) has finally come out to play. This is my favorite time of year. Early can be tough. Finesse is the game,

but the big ones are dumb, and very eager to eat anything that looks edible coming out of their winter slumber. But its topwater takes that really draws me to the species. Fly Fishermen, travel the world over to see a turd brown slurp a salmon fly. I believe thats due to the fact that the majority of this "mass" hasn't seen a smallmouth come screaming halfway across a river to smash a popper. That's okay with me. There's no shuttle traffic reports, and I can take my time at the boat ramp.

In the previous post, I mentioned that I felt like a "6 month old Jack Russell chasing its tail in circles at mach 12." There's a lot to stay on top of. Its worth it. The trout game is great. Its what pays the bills. But if an angler wants to see what the Ozarks are all about,

then they need to put away the 5 weight and their midge box, and start beating some brush. To chase a lot of these species is like putting one's self in a time warp. Finding that water that hasn't been altered by dams and trout docks. Its not really the bent rod itself, but the journey to find the bend.