A day in the life of a fishing guide

There is peace at the end of the day to sit before a crackling fire along a fast river beneath a big tree as the sunset paints the colors of the fall leaves to garish shades of red and give thanks that you survived another day in the life of a fishing guide.

City folks laugh and say being a fishing guide ain't work because you're just fishing and that's what you like to do anyway but fishing and guiding are two different things.

When most people go fishing, they usually don't expect to catch anything. People, who travel to the Olympic Peninsula from all over the world to go on guided fishing trips, do expect to catch something. They bring gigantic coolers and great expectations of catching a salmon. 

This may be a lifelong dream they have only one day to fulfill. They expect a guide to make a sincere effort to catch a giant fish. If you can fake that you may have a future as a fishing guide.

Size does matter.

People want to catch a fish that's bigger than the one their buddy caught. Exact figures can vary widely. Some fish continue to grow long after they are freezer burnt but the sad fact is you have to catch a fish before you can brag about it.

That's where I come in. I help people with fishing problems.

Disturbed people are constantly calling me for the fishing report. A while back I got a call from a guy from back East. For me back East always meant Montana, but this guy was further back East than that — Chicago.

He said he was an investigative journalist, film critic and all around smart guy. 

While investigating the Twilight phenomena, he had stumbled upon my website and decided I needed investigating.

I was told that dealing with journalists was a lot like handling a rattlesnake, don't trust them or they will bite you. Then there is Mark Twain's warning to not pick a fight with someone who uses “ink by the barrel.” 

So I did. I took a journalist fishing. He said he wanted to ask me some questions about guiding. Did I really have a guide school? Did the fishing trips include past-like regression therapy?  Was I really an unlicensed relationship counselor?

Questions are the curse of the fishing guide because we constantly have to answer all kinds of  them like, how high is the mountain? How deep is the river? When will this fishing trip be over? Or, where is my car? And my favorite, where are my keys?

Small  wonder the guides have developed a series of hazing rituals for the clients that separate the true fishermen from the wannabes and keep them from asking annoying questions. These hazing rituals usually involve a form of sleep deprivation where the valued client is roused from a sound sleep in the middle of the night and raced around in circles on muddy roads in the dark.

 This generally leaves the person disoriented to the point where they forget all about catching a fish. They just want a cup of coffee and a warm place to go to the bathroom.

Instead they are hustled into a boat and hurried down river in the dark while the guide insists they levitate to avoid hitting rocks.

So it's no small wonder the journalist called me “a malignant sociopath spewing misanthropic venom in a crude attempt at humor.” 

Someone finally understands.

The journalist caught a salmon anyway, which was revenge enough for one day.

It was good to be alive.