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."
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