04 August 2010
Written by
joe (
)
Published on August 4th, 2010 @ 04:57:53 pm, using 44 words, 20 views
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Joe
30 July 2010
Written by
joe (
)
Published on July 30th, 2010 @ 07:01:30 am, using 409 words, 30 views
I took a day off. As you probably noticed I have ben less than attentive to my blog posts lately and my videos became less frequent. We have been BUSY and after 82 days in a row without a day off I pretty much crashed and slept. After spending a few days with the family and trying to remind my kids they actually have a father and not a morning boat ghost, I decided to go fishing.
This is my tenth year in the fishing business, and although all of my enthusiam for the game is still intact it has become a bit weird to fish by myself for myself. No clients, no kids, no buddies, just you and some familiar trout. No cheers or whines. Hookup or miss, mine is the only reaction.
When I go fishing it has to be a solitary experience. If you have been guided by me you know how anal I am about where I put in at in relation to river traffic. I want my boats to feel like we are the only anglers on the planet that day on that river.
So I decided to walk down and fish the swirly in front of our property in Huson. By early evening in this spot all the boats are long gone and it being private access I am pretty much guaranteed to have to myself – and I did.
I no longer charge rivers, I wait, watch, enjoy, and to my utter surprise someone put two ice cold Coors in my fishing vest. The big 16 ouncers, nice touch. Better get one down while the PMD’s start their evening trickle through the top slot. Beer is better with Mayflies.
I had three hours scheduled of me fishing time. After I wathched them go between sips of beer, I put myself in positon and picked off three Clark Fork Bullets in a row in the first half hour. As I looked around and saw nothing but more snouts sucking in the evening buffet in the fading butter of a falling sun I decided to call fishing off in leu of another Coors and a bank side seat.
Yes, I could have frantically – got up on point, rammed them, got em good, did the evil, sore mouthed them, holy cow they ate it, used the secret fly, etc..
Instead they did their thing in peace and I did mine.
Not fishing in Montana can be great.
15 June 2010
Written by
joe (
)
Published on June 15th, 2010 @ 03:46:20 pm, using 1019 words, 44 views
Sorry for the long lay off of the Blog. We have been fighting rain and waiting on Salmonflies. We made it through, and its back to Missoula’s normal dry fly parade. It was a hustle of watching us go from no snow, to a month long rain that took us over normal precipitation. Now we are looking good on water for all summer. Its been an odd year so far and keeps proving prognosticators wrong. Outfitting is glorified farming. I thought I had moved off the family ranch 18 years ago, but I find myself watching the weather harder than my father ever did.
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Conclusion -
At this point I was playing it cool with the father-in-law as he bluffed his way through the Morning boat launch ceremonies, but now I am looking at a smoking boat in the middle of the ocean. You can’t fake flames.
Most men would launch in an expletive laced rant that would end in lost eyebrows and smoky hair.
Not so with Dave who although crudely spent our morning drive explaining all the faults of the slow driving dumbasses on the morning freeways now apparently when the stress rises he can’t even throw a dang it at it.
Dave - “You wicked Fudger, so that’s how you want to play you son of duck.”
Dave starts to hothand touch some of the electronics, but the flames keep coming.
Dave - “I swear I am going to send you back to that evil auction that spawned you basic mothergrabber. OWWWWW, that flippen hurt. Snap, that was my best depth finder.”
Joe - “How can I help? What can I do?”
Dave - “Quickly disconnect the gas tank.”
Joe - “Really?”
Dave - “Either that or blow up, you choose.”
I quickly pulled the hoses off off the tanks and filled a bailing bucket with water and waited for the enevitable call for water.
Dave - “Now you demon harlot of the salt, where you going to run to now! Oh, trying to flameout the blasted GPS? Bring it on you fudger. OWWWWWWWW, you’ll pay for the that. Squirrel tails almighty, that hurts.”
Dave kept fighting the battle with this “evil fudger” that was melting through his electronics, but as he lost ground I decided to make an executive decision and doused the whole console which the ensuing hiss of wet smoke signaled the end of the fudging battle.
We both sat there heaving with the boat now streaking melted wires stains like dumped prom queen mascara across the white deck.
As Dave turned I saw he had lost all his eyebrows and reddened the left over swollen stumps. He now had colegen implanted stripper lips for eyebrows, and the smoke had darkened the rest of his expression. He looked like a dumbfounded dirty drunk circus clown, who didn’t get all the makeup off after the show.
Clowns make us laugh, and Dave did as he blinked profusely at me coming down off the adrenaline. In the midst of this fudging disaster I started to laugh from a deep bellied guffaw into huffing tears.
Dave - “It isn’t funny.”
Joe - “I know, I just like clowns a lot.”
He dropped his cologen browlips in a look of confusion and I launched into more guffaws.
Dave - “Clowns? What the squirrel tail is wrong with you”
Joe - “Oh nothing, but maybe you should keep a water squirting flower on your fishing vest for fire safety.” Another look of confusion from Dave and I am in tears again.
Dave - “Stop screwing around, we have to get the boat up and going if we are make it back in. And if you hadn’t made such a mess with the bucket of water it would be alot easier.”
Joe - “Sorry, I felt like continuing to live. At least we can call for help now and not swim for it.”
Dave - “I don’t know why you had to do that, I had this little fudger under control. She does this all the time, I had a plan.”
Joe - “This isn’t your first boat fire?!!!!”
As it turns out this was a common occurance and he was well prepared. Dave had all kinds of extra tools, wires, manuals, and quite a bit of experience in on-the -water restoration. As we worked through getting the boat back up and running Dave started to wax poetic on boat fires through the years, in a way only cologen eyebrowed clowns can do. I fought back heavy snickers as he recounted the flames of years gone by with all the facial contortions that drive disaster stories. These browlips could tell a many a hairless tale.
Joe - “Do all boats have wiring problems? It seems I would hear about of a bunch of recalls or more fires in the news.”
Dave - “You bet they do, that’s why I re-wire every boat I buy.”
Joe - “Is that expensive. Do you have to be a marine electrician?”
Dave - “I am not going to overpay some dumbass electrician with all their fancy workings. I do it so it can be repaired when it flames out. If I did it their way what would we do now? We would be stuck now wouldn’t we?
Joe - “Or not on fire in the first place?”
Dave - “What was that?”
Joe - “Nothing just recalling a circus I once saw.”
I have to give Dave credit he got us back up and running and after having me wrench on the cinder block we had lodging in the dike rocks, we were headed back to the dock. Due to our various mishaps we had officially fished for 28 minutes, but I was still alive and I called it a victory.
When we hit the Dock Dave ran and got the trailer as I sat in the boat.
When he started to back up I saw him screech the brakes and launch into a rant of flippin fudging squirrel tails as the browlips showed in his mirror.
He didn’t laugh, but I sure did.
19 May 2010
Written by
joe (
)
Published on May 19th, 2010 @ 04:45:32 pm, using 1273 words, 46 views
I had been buying in and honestly participating in this early morning race to ocean. As I was looking over the controls and dropping the motors in I saw Dave get a little nervous.
“You are a fishing guide and you don’t know ANYTHING about operating a powerboat? Then how do you go fishing?”
“Hold on Dave, I need to figure this out.”
Just then I accidentally hit the throttle and shot towards the dock and Dave starts screaming.
“Whoa, WHOA, Reverse, Reverse, Reverse!!!!”
Just in the nick of time I pull back and stop short of crunching the dock, but I hanged to long on the reverse move which sends me rocketing towards the ocean wall and Dave starts wailing again about hitting forward.
I get the boat stopped and returned to its heaving position in the dock area and now Dave has turned into a worried boat owner.
Dave - “Maybe I should take her out. You don’t seem to have safe grasp of the controls.”
Me - “I’ll get it eventually, besides this boat looks tough.” I pounded the throttle in neutral for effect.
Dave - “No really, please slowly, slowly bring her around and I’ll jump in.”
Me - “I don’t think I could live with myself bringing bad luck to your new boat on its maiden voyage.”
Dave - “Well, uh, there are exceptions to that rule, and I am making one.”
Me - “You Texas boys are nervous bunch,” And with that I trimmed up the motor and slammed the throttle down in the no wake zone through the tight exit from the Marina. I was like a submarine surfacing and intercontinental missle launching- this warboat had balls.
If this is some Southern test of manhood I am going to show how a Montana boy gets it on. The best policy is always to call a bluff, so I put the “virgin” boat through its paces with a chop eating face spraying sprint across the dark bay right past Devil Dust Dewey’s alleged lair and not a single warning shot was fired from the single wides or the high school kids partying by the bonfire. For effect I came screaming in to the dock and stacked her on a bow wave and kissed up to the dock.
Dave - “First time in a powerboat, huh?
Me - “I guess I’m a natural.”
Dave - “Very funny, now give me back my boat.”
Me - “How about an extra life jacket first.”
He tossed me one with about as much feigned grudgery as what came with the drain plugs. Dave took the wheel and gingerly took us out towards the Texas City Dikes. Along the way out he came clean on the history of the boat - this was an old Coast Guard boat he bought at an auction and he had restored it on the weekends for the last year. The 50 caliber shell stayed aboard for effect even though the empty turret holes were for a search light. The bullet holes were real, but from some vandal kids shooting .22 at it while it wash in auction storage, but the shot pattern gave him some story leverage and made the deal that much cooler for him.
Our first stop was on the leeward side of a big sea wall. Not having done this before I just kept quiet until he told me where to cast. Dave eased us back towards the rocks and then hucked a cinderblock with some frayed rope attached into the rip rap and tied off the boat. Odd to not use an anchor I thought so I asked.
Me - “No anchor Dave?”
Dave - “Why spend $30 on some fancy smancy anchor, when you can find old cinder blocks any where for free.”
Me - “Yeah, I guess so if it works.” Just then I felt the boat pull off its homemade anchor and we started to drift.
Dave - “Hold on, I will try again”
Well we spent the better part of an hour chucking the cinder block over board, coming loose, haul it back in, chuck, repeat. After about the second cycle this part of the boat work became the job of the crew of which I was the only member. Salt soaked and hands raw my last heave found a crevise in the rocks and we held.
Dave - “See, those things work like a charm. Look at all those dumbasses with their fancy anchors fishing up the bank from us.”
Joe - “Exactly.”
Dave - “What was that?”
Joe - “Nothing, just rigging up” and I grabbed rod and started think through how a southern angler might rig up live bait.
Dave quickly explained how to hook the trebles through the shell of the live shrimp and slowly bounce it up tide through the rocks. And away I went - a dry fly junkie from Montana chucking live shrimp into the ocean for fish we were going to club and eat tonight.
I finally figured out about what pace to reel so it stayed above the rocks and still in the fish, only after burning through around a three dozen sinker, bait, leader, treble outfits. After I saw the program I could rig my own setup so I quietly went to re-rigging after each break off. As many flies as my clients go through in a day this seemed to be about right on the learning curve. Dave was so involved his own fishing he didn’t notice. These losses had depleted the small rigging box Dave had given me to work out of and not being able to find more I had to ask the Captain for more iventory.
Me - “Dave, where is the rest of gear?”
Dave - “It’s in the box I gave you.” He didn’t turn his head from the water.
Me - “I used all of that.”
Dave - “Very funny.”
Me - “I am not kidding, its all gone. It was a small rigging box.”
Dave - “Really, that’s all brought for you.”
Me - “What about sharing out of your rigging box there by your foot.”
Dave - “I brought those for me in case I break off. They are specially made for my casting style, they may prove dangerous with your lack of style. This stuff ain’t cheap.”
Me - “I guess that makes me a spectator.”
Dave - “Yeah, but I always perform better with an audience. Plus, we are going to need to have something to fry for dinner and you look to be short on that skill. You do throw that cinder block like a champ however. Stick to your strengths. Maybe this fishing thing isn’t for you.”
Me - “I am fishing guide for a living Dave.”
Dave - “So people pay you to teach how to fish like I just saw you do?, Wow, good work if you can get it.”
Before I flared about the the lack of art belying this particular redneck bait chunking trip in a war boat Dave threw me his rigging box. Just as I made my next cast to get back in the game and I noticed smoke coming from Devil Dust Dewey’s console.
Dave - “She does that, it will go out eventually.”
Me - “Drowning, not burning is downside of torched boats.”
Dave - “Boy, you Montana boys can whine.”
Just then the console makes a loud boom and Dave’s attention lept from fish to flames and he starts in on the Dewey’s boat like an ex-wife at a alimony hearing.
Remember Joe, he didn’t smile.
Part 3 coming soon.
03 May 2010
Written by
joe (
)
Published on May 3rd, 2010 @ 02:05:10 pm, using 1423 words, 46 views
I married a gal from Houston Texas whose father is quite a sportsman and through the years we have had a few adventures together with his hand on the wheel of powerboats in the Texas salt chasing redfish and trying to stay alive.
Three kids later and 15 years of being together with his daughter things have mellowed between us.
It was not always that way - When I was first introduced to him as his daughter’s new boyfriend he graciously said “Good to meet you.” and then turned to his daughter and said not in a whisper “Its okay to date the locals sweety, just don’t breed with them.” I nervously laughed, he didn’t.
That he didn’t laugh has always stuck with me and has taught me to keep one eye open.
During my first visit to Houston to meet my wife’s family my father-in-law invited me to go fishing in the Gulf of Mexico during our stay. Dave wasn’t a fly angler then, so it was going to be treble hooks and live shrimp on the bottom. Not my gig, but still a kick to go fishing and not have to sit around the house with the female in-laws and learn the intricacies of southern shopping protocol in Houston. I hadn’t ever caught a redfish so this sounded cool to chase a new species even if it was flyless.
We loaded up at O’Dark thirty in the morning with all kinds of bait casters, spin rods, bell sinkers, spider wire, and live wells full of shrimp. Not exactly size 18 Blue Wing Olive cripples. I hadn’t seen the offshore boat yet due to the darkness, so it was just a hulking shape behind the suburban as we backed up to the hitch. When we dropped the hitch down on the Suburban she groaned and dropped her battered bumper so low that it tilted the cab up like a airplane on a steep takeoff.
Joe - “Dave, is that trailer balanced? We are really bumper heavy.”
Dave - “I thought you Montana boys had a little more courage? Besides bumpers can be replaced, fishing time is lost forever.”
Fair enough. At this point I was going to lean against the passenger door and catch a nap as we drove in the dark to Texas City about an hour away. It would have worked, but apparently at 3 a.m. in the morning Dave turns into the Bo Duke and the white groaning suburban into the General Lee. He actually had that famous horn on his truck and blared it as we peeled out of the driveway spewing sparks from our bumper like a cat with sparklers tied its tail on the Fourth of July.
Ha, Ha, mess with the tired Montana boy and then slow down to a sane speed. Fine, I don’t have to sleep. But oh no, we kept picking up steam as we hit I-10. Now you would think the roads would be empty this early, but not so in the 8 million population of Houston. All lanes were being used and according to Dave was full of slow driving idiots. I didn’t really think a bottomed out suburban towing a monster offshore boat was the correct tool for “Dodging Dumbasses” rudely obeying the speed limit. Apparently I’m not southern. I am awake now, and suddenly quite aware that I am not wearing a seat belt. As I reached for the buckle Dave turned told me it wasn’t necesary -
Dave - “No need for that son, unless you are skeered.”
Joe - “But you are wearing one.”
Dave - “It helps me hold on the wheel. You aint driving, so just take your little nap. Heh, Heh.”
I snuck the belt on later when we were roaring past a “stupid” ferrari. When he noticed I was safe from catastrophic traffic damage he seemed disappointed and slowed a little.
Remember Joe, he didn’t laugh.
Finally we arrived in Texas City and tail whipped through the sleepy town towards the gas station to fuel up. As we pulled under the lights I got a good look at the boat that we were going to take offshore. Dave is an extremely successful executive so I expected to see something from the Grady White Catalog wraped in custom aluminm and draping multiple monster outboards off the back, but rather I saw something resurrected from a military boat graveyard. As I looked closer I saw filled in bullet holes riddled across the bow. A sinister crack filled with orange putty spanned the transom and gave a scarred sneer. You could see where a turrett of some kind had been mounted on the bow, later I found some .50 cal shell casings when I was frantically searching for a life vest and its history became clear.
Joe - “Dave, where did you get the boat?”
Dave - “I bought it last week. Maiden Voyage today.”
Joe - “WHERE did you get it.”
Dave - “Oh, just around. Pretty cool, boat huh. This gal was selling it for her old man that got in some trouble. She said ole Devil Dust Dewey sure loved his baby boat. I was surprised she sold it at all.”
Joe - “What kind of trouble.”
Dave - “She said he was an importer and was being falsely accused by the damn government.” And then in an off thought quiet tone Dave said - “Wouldn’t sell me the guns.”
Joe - “What was that?”
Dave - “Oh, nothing. She sold it to me cheap, but asked that I don’t run it in certain bays around Texas City.”
Joe - “WE ARE IN TEXAS CITY, DAVE.”
Dave - “Did I say Texas City, I meant New Mexico.
Joe - “New Mexcico is land locked.”
Dave - “You Montana boys are a nervous bunch.”
Remember, he didn’t laugh.
When we hit the boat ramp I was looking over my shoulder like an owl on meth. For what I imagined would be a ranting just released Devil Dust Dewey or his clan come to retrieve his baby war boat. As we backed into the water at the ramp Dave’s mood suddenly changed.
Dave - “Now that you are going to be part of our family. I would consider it an honor for you to take her for her first launch.”
Joe - “I row drift boats, Dave. I don’t know much about power boats.”
Dave - “Its as easy as falling in the ocean. Drop the motor in, throttle forward, and reversed to slow. You’ll figure it out.”
Joe - “You know Dave it’s still dark and its your new boat. You really should go first.”
Dave - “Nonsense we were….er… I mean are family, jump in and let it rip. Once you get her up on plane take her all the way around the bay. Kind of where you see the bonfire and single wide trailers in the distance.”
Joe - “Okay. I guess so.”
As I jumbed in the center console and got ready for the launch I realized we didn’t check the plugs.
Joe - “Dave, we don’t have the drain plugs in.”
Dave - “Sorry, can’t here you over the motor.”
Joe - “WE DON’T HAVE THE PLUGS IN.”
Dave - “Yes, I will put the boat in.”
Joe - “WE DON’T HAVE THE STUPID PLUGS IN!!!! STOP!!!”
Dave - “Okay fine, here are the plugs.”
To this day I have never met another boat owner that grudgingly puts the drain plugs in.
As I was bobbing around in the boat launch area fiddling with the boat I realized I there were no lifejackets on board. I called to Dave to throw me a set, but he must not have been able to hear me as he parked the trailer. As he walked up I noticed he was wearing a jacket.
Joe - “Do you have one for me?”
Dave - “One what?”
Joe - “A life jacket.”
Dave - “You skeered again Montana?”
Joe - “But you wearing one.”
Dave - “It’s merely for dock safety. You will be fine, you are surrouned by a fine boat. Now take her for a spin and don’t forget to bank hard by that bonfire and single wide trailers.”
Joe - “You aren’t coming along?”
Dave - “Ah no, its a southern tradition for Maiden Voyages to be solo gigs. You wouldn’t want to put bad luck on my new boat would you?”
Remember he didn’t laugh.
To be continued, I hope.
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