Thursday, September 11, 2014

Guide School

Guide School



Hubbard's Lodge

Instead of posting individual days, I'll just do a consolidated writeup of my experience at guide school. I have no intentions of guiding professionally, and all I really hoped to get out of this was some enjoyable experiences and improved fishing skills, and my expectations were exceeded. Plus the food here at Hubbard's lodge is damn good and plentiful, and the lodge is situated on the shores of a scenic lake full of of fat rainbows, cuttthroat, and browns, and bald eagles and mule deer are common around the lake. Despite being pretty exhausted at the end of each day, I couldn't resist rowing one of the provided drift boats out to hook into some of these hard fighting and big fish almost every evening after dinner.

One of the pigs from Merrell Lake



Day 1 was some classroom work. Knots, connections, casting, entemology, tying, that sort of stuff. The classroom is outfitted with an enormous amount of fly tying materials and equipment, videos on rowing drift boats, books on bugs and hatches, and lots of stuffed heads and bearskins for a truly rustic feel. In the afternoon, our teacher, Eben, took us down to Tom Miner creek for a little small stream work. We took turns guiding other students and hooked small, feisty cutthroat and browns in pocket water. We prepared for the next day by ordering lunch to go for all the participants, and enjoyed grilled T-bone steaks and cold bottles of Trout Slayer while gazing out at the Yellowstone snaking through the beautiful paradise valley. This one of those places where you have to conciously remind yourself to appreciate it, that you're beginning an experience that you'll never forget.

The view from the Lodge. No, seriously.

The food was great, without exception. But the ribs were especially great.
 
I've met a lot of  great yellow labs named Daisy, and she was no exception.

On Day 2 we got up, ate a gigantic breakfast, prepared a cooler full of drinks and lunch, and headed into Yellowstone park, arriving at Slough Creek after a very scenic hour's drive. To say I was excited for my first day of fishing inside Yellowstone would be a massive understatement. We parked the car, walked a few hundred feet, and immedatiately saw rising fish of considerable size. After a quick primer on the river, we again took turns guiding each other. I caught a handful of decent sized cutthroat and cuttbows, and when it was my turn to guide, I tied on a self tied sparkle dun for my "client", who ended up hooking a good fish. The sparkle dun would be a go-to fly for the remainder of the trip. (That reminds me, I need to tie some more!) 
 

Day 3 heralded a return to the park. We spent the morning fishing the Gardner amidst the occasional rain shower. The fishing was decent, and again, we switched off between guiding and being guided. In the afternoon we visited Lava Creek, which would end up being one of the more memorable parts of my trip, despite the small sizes of the fish. I never really experienced brookie fishing like this, and not only were the fish and the surroundings breathtaking, but catching one fish after another on my Orvis Superfine Glass 3 weight was endlessly entertaining. I did manage to hook and land a brookie of around 14 inches, a beast for a small stream like this, but he slipped out of my hands before I could take a photo. (Spoiler alert, I went back a week later, and got him again, and managed to get a photo this time) Before heading back to the lodge, we stopped at a deep hole on the Gardner to try some deep nymphing with no success. The drive back to the lodge, as it did on most days for the rest of the trip, featured the occasional traffic jam caused by elk or bison watchers. Tomorrow we'd try our hand at floating the Yellowstone, so we watched some videos on how to handle the boats. (Watching my 18 year old fellow guide school students trying to figure out how a VHS machine works was an added and amusing bonus.) I watched the videos attentively, but couldn't shake the feeling that I was somehow unprepared.

Learning to read the water on the Gardner


Lava Creek. One of the most perfect, picturesque little streams I've ever seen.

Brookie on a Royal Wulff

The one that got away.
 (After he got away, when I got him again a week later and he didn't get away.)
 
Hooked into the one that got away the time he didn't get away.


On Day 4 I'd confirm, without a doubt,  that I was somehow unprepared for the rowing a drift boat down the Yellowstone. We put in at Carbella and planned to drift to mile marker 26. After some mistakes, some firm corrections from Eben, and ironing out of bad habits, I got the hang of it. I found it a bit stressful at first, but enjoyable after a few hours. I rowed roughly half the day, and got to fish from the boat for the other half, after the usual streamside lunch. The fishing was slow, we'd land the occasional cutthroat, the less occasional brown, and the ever present whitefish.This was the first time I'd fished from a drift boat, and it was very different from what I'm used to. Constant repetitive casts as close to bank as possible, rarely to rising fish, and generally one shot per likely looking spot. At the end of the day, my arm was exhausted, and I was half dreading, half looking forward to the next day of rowing.
Typical spot for lunch.
 
Rowing, day one.

 
 
Day 5 was Slough Creek. It wasn't wide open by any means, but the fish were cooperative enough to make the absolutely vicious insect population tolerable. I'd learned from earlier mistakes and wore long pants and a long sleeved shirt to keep the flies at bay. They were still remarkably determined and would crawl in ears, down shirts, and under sunglasses, but mercifully, they were particularly easy to kill, likely because they were bogged down by a tiny stomach full of my flesh. At the end of the day, I was covered in mashed fly bits, but each one represented a tiny bit of satisfaction. Fortunately, the bugs only seemed particularly bad around Slough Creek. Elsewhere they'd vary from mildly annoying to nonexistent.

Most of the morning was spent casting a sparkle dun to a single big rising fish moving sporadically around an eddy. I was determined, and after what was at least two hours, and a missed strike, he took and I landed a pretty 19 inch cutthroat. I'd land a few smaller, less well-deserved fish as the day went on but this one was the most memorable.

Seriously!

19 inch fish on a sparkle dun
 
On the last day, we'd float the Yellowstone again, this time from McConnell to Yankee Jim. I rowed the whole morning under the supervision of Matt, one of the guides at Hubbard's, and the same guy who'd be guiding us for the next week at the Lodge. I felt more comfortable rowing the second day, and the fishing was substantially better than the first day as well. Watching Matt fish while I rowed, and Eben fish earlier in the week was a good learning experience as well, watching a good guide fish is a humbling experience. I can't even begin to estimate how many hooksets I blew on slow moving cutthroat during my trip to Montana, hooksets these guys nailed every time. Another delicious streamside lunch, another pleasant afternoon of fishing, and another sore arm at the end of the day, and my experience at guide school was already behind me. The next morning, after the other students and I exchanged goodbyes, I went for a hot, midday run in the park. I'd be picking up a friend from the Bozeman airport that afternoon, and readying myself for another week at Hubbard's, this time in a slightly different capacity.

Still basically incompetent, but slightly more relaxed on the second day of rowing the Yellowstone
So, in short, guide school was great. It made me a better fisherman, and I got to fish some of the best trout rivers on the planet in the process. However, what a week of guide school can't give you is the years of experience that all these hard working guides have under their belt. It can start you on your journey as a guide, or it can show an experienced and good fisherman with a many years of experience how to put it all together, but there is no shortcut to putting in those hundreds, even thousands of hours on the river you need to put in before you can truly call yourself a guide. (This point would be made over and over again the next week with Matt as our guide.)

My favorite part was fishing inside the park. Having a bison sneak up behind you while fishing and seeing a dazzling array of wildlife on your way to a new pristine fishing destination every day is an unforgettable experience. I have to be honest and say that fishing from a drift boat is a novelty that, while fun, isn't something I'd choose regularly over wade fishing. I miss the stalk, the serenity, the peaceful feeling of gently making your way through and along a river. 

The lodge and staff were amazing, the location is breathtaking, the food plentiful and delicious, and the price, for guide school, is a bargain. Even if you have no intention of becoming a guide, the chance ot hone your skills, fish some of the best rivers the American west has to offer, and stay at a first class lodge is well worth the price of admission.

Friday, August 22, 2014

Conservation in the 13th century





I attended a 2 day work seminar in a castle on the banks of the Rhine this past week, and in between the work events we got a tour of the castle. In one corner of the tower, was a stone with three lines, the lines labeled with F, H, and B:



It turns out that these were the minimum size limits set for fish from Rhine at the time the castle was built, sometime around the year 1200. F for Forelle (Trout), H for Hecht (Pike) and B for Barbe (Barbel). As you can see, the minimum size was tiny by today's standards..I imagine there were more fish, too.
 
 

Friday, July 11, 2014

Montana, day 8. My last day at Sweetgrass

My time at Sweetgrass was coming to an end. Glenn and I started a special order, tent poles. As he dialed in the milling machine, I though that this was sort of like Michelangelo painting some cheap advertisements in between some of his more famous works. But hey, the bills have to get paid too.

Glenn and I split, hollowed, glued and wrapped the poles amidst the usual distractions, Glenn told me the story of two mounts on the wall. One tattered old brown, a 33 inch fish he caught in Hat Creek the day before he joined the army. The other, hidded behind an overgrown bamboo plant, was the seventh permit ever caught on a bamboo rod. 


After we were done, he took me too meet Wayne Maca, a one-time Sweetgrass employee who used to make snowboards for olympians, and now experiments with revolutionary bamboo rods that are entirely hollow, and have graphite ferrules. I cast a 5 weight on the Beaverhead behind his shop and thought it was great. After I was done, Glenn cast a few beautiful loops into the ever-present Montana wind, and while he did so, I asked Wayne about the cryptic markings on both sections of the rod. He explained that he encodes his serial numbers, to throw off collectors and prevent any sort of elitism based on the date that the rod was made. After a good chat, Glenn drove us back to Sweetgrass and said goodbye. I hung around a bit longer, then said my goodbyes, bought a souvenir or two, and headed over to meet one of the Sweetgrass guys for one last evening on the Ruby before heading to Yellowstone and guide school. It was slow, and no one got a fish, but I did manage to trick one fish into taking a PMD, but he popped off. Them's the breaks!

All in all, a great week with a great bunch of artists, keeping an important craft alive and relevant in an age of high modulus graphite.

Montana, day 7. Sweetgrass, and skunked.

Today I had the honor and pleasure of working with Glenn all day. He was very patient as we milled, glued, and wrapped strips. People poked their heads into our working area on a regular basis, mostly just to shake the hand of THE Glenn Brackett, or tell a story or two about a Winston or Sweetgrass rod that had passed through Glenn's hands. He was gracious and genuinely enjoyed meeting these people, despite the interruptions. Earlier in the week I had mistaken one nondescript Sedan for another, and sat in a strangers car, trying to fit my key in the ignition until I noticed that the passenger seat was filled with completely different sorts of junk than the junk in my own passenger seat. Glenn enjoyed this story and relayed it to visitors, as well as my success with carp, which I had hoped to replicate this afternoon on a bamboo loaner rod. As the day went on, Glenn thanked me for "pulling my weight and then some" around the shop, and that meant quite a bit, I know it's a busy time of year and having a curious amateur fumble around the shop doesn't particularly help things run smoothly. 




It was 3pm before I knew it, and I had a busy afternoon planned. First, back to the Beaverhead with an 8 foot 5 weight rod from the shop and hopes of another carp. Alas, it was not be. I hooked a substantially larger carp than my last one, but he broke me off almost immediately. Likely for the best, I think I would have had a very hard time landing him. I hooked a sucker, but couldn't tempt abother carp, so I left and headed for Notch Bottom on the Big Hole. It was a long, beautiful drive, all for naught. The river was far too high and dangerous to wade. I tried some streamers along the bank, but the current, mosquitos, and lack of any fish action drove me off the river in short order. Back I drove, and decided to try streamers on the Ruby again, only this time with no luck. On my way back to Sheridan, I had a burger, fries, and two pints of Trout Slayer ale amidst dancing cowboys/girls and a playlist of alternating mournful and jingoistic country songs.

Thursday, July 10, 2014

Montana, day 6. Splitting bamboo, and redemption on the Ruby

After a breakfast of fresh eggs and bear (or maybe caribou) sausage, I spent the day milling bamboo strips, and marking and splitting some culms. After that, I headed over to RL Winston to check out the museum along with the new guy at Sweetgrass. It was interesting to see equipment we'd just used that morning here under glass at the museum. Seeing photos of Glenn and Tom Morgan in their early days just drove home how lucky I am to be able spend a week here, and on a more somber note,a stark reminder that this was the end of an era.


 

In the evening I headed back to the Ruby with a wooly bugger. Even though I hadn't caught anything the night before, it's such a gorgeous, varied river that I had to go back. Plenty of fish were rising but I needed a confidence booster on this river, which is why I decided on a streamer. Swinging them through tailouts and around bends got plenty of interest, and at the end of the night as I made my way back through tall grass, hoping not to startle a moose, I'd caught 4 browns, the biggest being 15 inches, and missed at least twice that many strikes. A delicous dinner of venison stir fry and a few cold beers awaited me upon my return.


Montana, day 5. Sweetgrass and the Lower Ruby

Another day, up at 5AM. After a quick trip to the local gas station for a huge cup of coffee, a video chat with my wife and kids, I started preparing breakfast over my camp stove. The Beaverhead runs right by my campsite, and I watched a few trout rise while eating my bacon and slightly burnt egg sandwich. I cleaned up, grabbed the bamboo rod, and caught two browns on a beadhead pheasant tail under a wulff. I headed back over to Twin Bridges, and spent the day milling strips and sanding blanks.

In the evening, I made plans with one of the Sweetgrass guys to fish the Beaverhead. The river was disappointingly low, and the river warm enough to ensure that the cold beer we put in the river was warmer than when we put in. We changed plans, and headed to the Lower Ruby instead. We moved very quickly among the clouds of PMDs, casting to rising fish once or twice and moving on, because he wanted to show me the whole section so I could go myself the next day. We ended up with just one whitefish, and made our way back to the car in the dark, being careful not to bump into any of the moose that use this area to bed down in. The Ruby is gorgeous, but humbling!



I spent the night on the floor at the cabin of the Sweetgrass builder after a hearty dinner of elk burgers and beans. Tomorrow I'll check out of the KOA and move over here until Saturday, it saves me a hundred and twenty bucks and I'll get a little respite from the mosquitoes.