Fishing Journal: 5/14/06

        Let’s just say that being a fishing guide is not always what is cracked up to be.  Sometimes things can go very wrong, and not having your client catch a fish is the least of those traumas.  You occasionally have the guy who says he’s been to Montana, Wyoming, and Seychelles in the last year and caught the best fish he’s ever caught in each place.  When you get him on the stream, you realize he can’t cast 15 feet, is standing where he should be fishing, and generally doesn’t know what he is talking about.  Of course, he won’t take any directions from you even though that’s what he hired you for and seems to get more pissed off as each hour passes and he goes without the biggest trout he’s ever caught.  Let’s just say this makes for a long day.

        Then you have my clients from the Sunday.
        Terry called me up to see if I was available for some Mother’s Day fishing.  Apparently, his wife and his friend Phil’s wife were out of town, so the day was available.  He said he had lived out west for a number of years and wanted to see if there was any good fishing back east.  I would have taken him out to the North Branch of the Potomac, but you see it was Mother’s Day, so getting away for the weekend would be impossible, never mind just the day.

        Hey Sweetie guess what,” (I always use the “sweetie” when I know I will be groveling; I highly recommend it; sometimes it is better than the Parachute Adams, although not always.), “I’ve got a trip for this Sunday.  Is it okay?

        Sure.
        It’s Mother’s Day.
        Do they sound like good guys?
        Yeah.
        Then take it.
        God I love that woman.

        Now Terry and Phil are what I will call with tremendous accuracy, the perfect clients.  They brought to the stream a great attitude, some fishing skill, and an appreciation for not just the fishing but where the fish lived as well.  What they left behind was their egos, which makes for what would be a great day.

        Terry is a Justice Department lawyer used to bust up large narcotics rings and Phil is a recovering federal agent who now runs his own security firm.  These two guys met some years ago doing cases together and have used their love of fly fishing to get them away from the serious work (although Terry is extremely serious on the stream).  They are two guys used to putting real bad asses in jail and themselves at risk life events that could make them testosterone heads.  But they are two of the nicest guys you will meet, and I don’t mean that in the cliché way that a girl tells you when she doesn’t want to go out with you.  They are good guys who are doing things for us Americans that most of us probably don’t even realize but should.

        We met at eight in the upper parking area, did all the niceties and got ready to fish.  Now Phil had brought the wrong rod, the yellow one that would have spooked every fish in the stream, and had done something else in the water that Terry doesn’t know and I still won’t give him up for, but these were about the only setbacks we had.  Luckily, the tackle junkie, that’s me, has plenty of rods in the back of the truck (don’t tell the thieves out there).

       
        I gave them the general history of the river, the story about water management principals that left no summer flow…and at the bend pool I hear:

        This place is beautiful.
        Yup.
        On the stream there were some caddis coming off and the occasional morning sulfur, so we hiked up the dam to let the hatches get going in earnest.  The rest is pretty much picture perfect: it is Mother’s Day so not many fishermen are out and there is a threat of rain which we never saw which kept everybody off the water.  You couldn’t order it better.

It was one of those days where I said, “Tie this on, cast there, and take two steps down river to increase the drift.
To which the reply came, Paul, I did exactly what you said and got a fish.
Time on the water, you can’t replace it.
All in all it was a great day, in great company, and yes I get paid for this.

        Okay there was this one issue.  You see Phil hooked a rainbow, which is rare in the Gunpowder, they are mostly browns; and it happened to be a 16-inch rainbow, which is even more rare.  So I admit it:  I panicked, got crazy, expired, whatever you want to call it.

        Now Terry and Phil are two guys used to fishing out west where the rainbows are big and prolific.  They probably didn’t understand why I was screaming, why I dropped all the gear, lost the hemostats, scrambled in the water, missed with the net on the first attempt.  I am the guide, right?

        Phil landed the fish despite my many shortcomings and we got a glory shot and put the fish back.  I’ll be better next time; I promise.