29 December 2009
Written by
joe (
)
Published on December 29th, 2009 @ 11:29:16 am, using 1055 words, 96 views
I used to tie flies in the winter to make ends meet. No winter guide work, no trust fund, and a mortgage that came every month.
I had tied a bit for the shop that I used to work at, maybe 200 dozen an offseason in between phone calls and customers over the winter. Its not like a Missoula fly shop is crushed with business when our rivers are choked with ice. I would do a couple dozen of whatever, then the phone would ring or someone would come in looking for fly tying materials and the winter fly shop b.s. session would eat some time off the clock and vise. 5 dozen flies day would be a good day - I never really grinded it out. It was an slow bleed of work, with plenty of breaks. Its the easiest way to refine your tying skills, but you really aren’t operating on a commercial tyers schedule.
When I left the fly shop and started A Classic Journey Outfitters, I knew I had to find some winter income and tying seemed to be a nice fit.
It wasn’t that hard when I was in the shop…
So I ran the numbers on what I had to do. 5 dozen a day wasn’t going to cut it. I really need to do a gross (12 dozen) a day. On a light day maybe 8. Figured 16 flies an hour and that should keep on par.
No big deal, I AM COMMERCIAL TYER. A HARD CORE MEMBER OF THE FLY FISHING INDUSTRY!!
So I sat down and started to tie,
Day 1 -
1 doz. - no problem.
2 doz. - Not bad, I butchered a couple and had to retie.
3 doz. - Ran out of prepped materials, I am going to be behind on the next batch.
4 doz. - Gotta focus and make it to lunch
5 doz. - Okay. Lunchtime. Not bad for the first morning. Threadwork needs to be more efficient.
6 doz. - Here we go into the afternoon. Sure is warm out, bet they are rising to midges in the Fort Pool today.
7 doz. - Really, I have more 5 doz to go??
8 doz. - Wrists are kind of sore, keep pushing.
9 doz. - Wow, nice pile of flies I got done today. They can all fit in a tupperware container, thats kind of funny to think about.
10 doz - Eyes kind of sting, I need to move my head cement further away.
11 doz - One more to go, back is really tight. I’ll adjust the seat.
12 doz - Last one for today. Sweet. Do they all fit in the Tupperware container? Its going to take a bunch of time to package and ship.
Day 22
1 doz. - Are you kidding I have to sit at this grimacing vise again? Man, my eyes hurt.
2 doz. - I am almost out of thread, I hope someone in town has this shade of olive.
3 doz. - My eyes really hurt, visine didn’t help this morning. The wrists haven’t warmed up yet, they’ll be okay today.
4 doz. - Are you kidding me I forgot the tail on this one. The dam tail, the whole pattern is a wash. Cut and start over. Man, my eyes hurt.
5 doz. - I need a cup of coffee. Maybe I’ll just move the head cement a little closer. Snooooorrrt, yea that’s the stuff.
6 doz. - Cranking it out like a hardcore fly dude, 6 dozen by lunch. Sweet. Eyes still sting.
7 doz. - More head cement. I wonder if the fumes are really that bad for you? They don’t smell bad. Yep, they don’t smell bad. The warning labels probably only apply to other people. Shoot, forgot wings on the last 5. Where was I? Oh yeah warning labels, and wings, I have to remember wings. That was kind of a nasty dozen, I guess those are mine to fish with. I really don’t like this chair and its my third one. Back is killing me!
7 doz (Again) - Okay focus and get it done. Really why am I here, I don’t need this. My eyes are roasted, back is throbbing, wrists feel like bacon wrapped barbed wire, and I am pretty sure I have a nice start on an addiction to huffing head cement. I forgot wings again! I need a break and no more head cement.
7 doz (3rd time) - Mortgage, truck payment, groceries, beer money. Mortgage, truck payment, groceries, beer money. Mortgage, truck payment, groceries, beer money. Mortgage, truck payment, groceries, beer money. There done, and they look good.
8 doz - I hate that damn Tupperwear container. I just traded a day of my life for a little fly filled plastic bowl. Whoa, that was weird it looked as if the Tupperware glared at me. It couldn’t hear my thoughts could it? I have to take a break from the head cement.
9 doz - Where would I rather be. Okay, Its March and I have the mid-Bitterroot to myself. Olive are loaded up and Skwalas skitter through all the head riffles. There is a big brownie surfing the back end. There, done. Good dozen.
10 - 12 dozen - Eyes hurt, back throbs, broken thread, bust a hook. Eyes hurt, back throbs, broken thread, bust a hook. Eyes hurt, back throbs, broken thread, bust a hook. Eyes hurt, back throbs, broken thread, bust a hook. Not bad, these will work. I am out of visine again, I am going to have to stretch my back out in the mornings more.
How many more by March? 500 dozen? That can’t be right? It is? Where’s the head cement?
I tied 700 dozen flies that winter. The best two days were my first when I was excited about making money with a hobby I loved, and my last day when the scars set in and I vowed never to tie for money again
The numbers worked out as such -
I worked a ten hour day and when you minus out shipping, prep time, and materials cost, I was making around $10 an hour. Probably closer to $8 and hour, but that would have broke my heart had my calculations arrived there.
I really learned how to tie that winter and while that has served me well during my guide career I don’t know if I would walk through that head cement hazed forest again.
www.classicjourneyoutfitters.com
23 December 2009
Written by
joe (
)
Published on December 23rd, 2009 @ 04:57:33 pm, using 419 words, 124 views
My wife and I are perched on the edge of day when my kids turn into well tuned efficient wrapping paper destructors. I am not sure if their eyes roll in the the back of their little heads before the onslaught begins, but there will be moments when I will don ski goggles or at least glasses to deflect the gift shrapnel.
I have three kids all under 6. If you are single that is code for - We don’t have a bunch of downtime in my house. If you have a tribe of little ones of your own - God Bless you.
My oldest daughter is 5 and just started all day Kindergarden. She wants any number of Barbie toys and a bike - “Preferably a pink bike, do you think Santa can find a pink one Dad?” She moved out of training wheels this summer by practicing a bunch and spending a fair amount of time on the pavement. She is pretty good right now but the cheapo special bike has fallen apart and Santa is targeting a better bike.
My middle 4 year-old daughter has about the same wants, but she would call them “toys I need". But “Please tell Santa I definitely want a BLUE bike, not a pink one, remember Dad a BLUE bike.” We are still in training wheels with her, but this summer should change that.
I remember how excited I was when the Christmas came around that had bikes under the tree. Its odd how you forget that feeling until you see it again in youngsters.
So, its is looking to be a bike Christmas. The nice thing is when they are older all the bikes come assembled. Two years ago it was boxes of the parts for mini bikes and I spent most of Christmas day skinning my knuckles on cheap Chinese hardware, deciphering assembly plans written by little Asian people with seven fingers on each of their three hands, and trying to get the purple sparkly stickers on straight. Not exactly an empowering momemt to be humbled by a Barbie bike. My daughters spent the day pedaling around our living room as the 2 foot deep snow outside prevented riding.
My son is 1 and I think he will be happy with anything he can bang, bounce, or throw.
We are not too cold right now and it has been a nice year, it should be an easy Holiday season.
I wish everyone that tunes into this blog a Merry Christmas from Missoula Montana.
17 December 2009
Written by
joe (
)
Published on December 17th, 2009 @ 10:12:06 am, using 833 words, 120 views
Missoula has so many other facets to its culture that makes it a desireable place to live even if fishing isn’t on your radar - i.e. wives can survive here.
The draw of these cultural amenities make the guiding business tough to break into in Missoula. We have a steady flush of college kids looking for summer guide work that keeps the young guide pool overflowing. Missoula is the only large fishing complex that has city with a reasonably diverse economy. Its alot easier to ask the wife and kids to move to Missoula with good schools, University of Montana, and all the services that are only missed when they aren’t there. For a career veteran guide Missoula can be a really nice fit for the family.
Visualize a snow drifted in winter in Craig, Ennis, Twin Bridges, West Yellowstone, or Fort Smith. Then imagine your wife enjoying the knee deep snow, the hour drive to a movie theater, no health clubs, a lack of fine dining or live music, and your nightlife consists of the same 2 other guide wives staying over for the winter mixed in with the granola chicks drifting in and out “visiting” the other 6 out of work guides in town. You don’t lose your lady in these small towns, you lose your turn. It can work, but mostly the price for the old man’s fishing addiction is too steep and around mid February that cost will be a topic of marital conversation - over and over and over.
Nothing wrong with the grand middle-of-nowhere fishing towns that erupt with trout and tourists in the magical run from June through September. Life is rising and its done in a pair of shorts and sandals. These rural towns have a summer charm that is the tonic for clients looking to blow off the city and guides making a life of hiding out from it. Stroll down Main street Craig at 7:30 a.m. You will see behind the curtains of the great trout show. It happens here because that is all there is. Its a summer love affair that ends when the boats tarp up and rods get put away. She smiles over her shoulder through scrambled hair and promises to return with the June sun as she sways away with October’s Blue Wing olives.
When I was younger I tried to move to one of these fishing beacons in the wilderness. I had just graduated from University of Wyoming and there was a fly shop for sale in Saratoga Wyoming. The rivers are diverse: The North Platte, Miracle Mile, Encampment, and Grey’s Reef are all within striking distance. They don’t have the dry fly fishing of Missoula, but the fishing is good and I have always liked the people of Wyoming. The have more of the matter-of-fact answer to problems than the liberal overthink we can get in Western Montana.
I was twenty five years old with a fishing addiction, no idea how to function without football in my life, and an illusion that the business world shouldn’t be that hard to figure out. Getting rich running my own fly shop seemed perfect. I decided I was going to surprise my new wife with a plan for our fishy future. Hasn’t every city girl from Houston dreamt about being a Fly Shop owner’s wife? Did I mention when we got married I was playing on Sundays in the NFL. Maybe this wasn’t going to play out the way I thought.
So - We hopped in the truck and headed west on I-80 for the 2 hour drive to Saratoga. Except it took a little longer than I planned because the head wind is so heavy I can’t do the speed limit. This is in June.
When we finally got to Saratoga the town was in the mid-morning lull after the get-the-boats-out rush. Small and sleepy.
With my great sense of timing, I sprung into sales mode.
“Honey I know we haven’t made any plans for the future but I think this town’s fly shop is it.”
“NOOOOOOOOOOOO! PLEEEEEEEEEASE NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” Well she didn’t actually say that, but you can’t hide that kind of fear.
What she did say with a forced smile - “Let me see the whole town, and see what you are asking me to do.”
“Uh, well,………..you kinda just did.”
“This is it?” - Her voice starts to crack.
“No there’s is a whole bunch of great water to fish here to.”
“But, I don’t fish.”
And then my pleasant wife who never cusses and has hung in there through all the work of an outfitter’s wife. (She made 335 guide lunches for our crew one summer)
Says - “Please do whatever it is you need to do here today. Take your time. I will be the f-ing car.”
Missoula has turned out to be the perfect fit for my family and my business, but the morning rush is pretty cool when all the commuters are pulling drift boats.
11 December 2009
Written by
joe (
)
Published on December 11th, 2009 @ 08:12:10 am, using 512 words, 79 views
Missoula winters are dark. Not so much cold just cloudy, hazy and mild. Our weather pattern is strife with heavy fog inversions in the valley. Everything above 5000 ft is bright sunshine, while the rest of us live in the lower darkness. In the winter a common shot on the news is the Mount Jumbo Camera at about 5500 feet.
The evening weather man sighs- “And its a beautiful day on top of the Missoula Valley with the sun shining. Oh how magical the sun is. When will that life giver show its gleaming face again. As you can see below Missoula is mired in the dark swill of grim inversions. We continue to hope that our affliction will ease and I will stop day dreaming about maiming other Missoulians to ease my seasonal retreat in to photo starved madness. Whoa - How much of that was out loud………Forget I said that, or most of that, okay I guess forget the whole thing. The forecast is for more of the same, so force a smile and enjoy your grimy Missoula winter weather.”
Missoula is a nice place to leave in the winter. When I was younger I would take winter fishing trips with guide buddies to blow off steam and just get out of Missoula. We all have wives and kids now, so our time is corralled in different directions, but a decade ago it only had to be barely over freezing and not too hungover to chase around some winter fish up on midges.
They do get up pretty darn nice on the right days. From 11-4 on the Bitterroot and Missouri you can get rising fish just as good as the summer. 37 degrees isn’t exactly wet wading weather, but mix in some sun, no wind, cabin fever relief, and a flask it becomes pleasant. They have been left alone since October, so they aren’t the brightest feeders and while you won’t see 2 footers up on such a small food item it is a nice dose of 15-18 inch fish. What the hell, its not home flipping channels and tying the next 5 dozen flies staring out the window at the bleak Missoula winter.
The ride to the river was with windows rolled down cigarretes hanging out and strings of stories of past seasons trout battles. Lots of laughter, lies, prognostication on snowpack, and who will hang in the trout game for another season. Young guys killing time when they really should have picked up a winter job. I guess you realize were a trout bum when you can add up the months not spent working.
I used to coast through the winter with a bunch of young wandering anglers. I guess you can only scramble into cold waders at frozen boat ramps, nipping on whiskey, and rigging up rods on weekday mornings for so long until its time to grow up. Girlfriends turning into pregnant wives really help that realization along.
Or maybe not…we did whack a bunch of trout on little dries in the stunning silence of Montana’s winter rivers.
07 December 2009
Written by
joe (
)
Published on December 7th, 2009 @ 02:26:10 pm, using 398 words, 133 views
You can spot us coming. There is a prerequisite look that says - I’m a guide. The only difference in appearance between a homeless guy and professional Montana fishing guide is the flies in the hat, they both smell about the same.
So if the road to little money, lots of trout, and consistently repelling women (except the hairy legged granola chicks) is your gig then here is the hat code.
Hat - Take whatever shop hat you are working for and after you bend the living hell out of the brim crank it on your head low. It won’t feel right until you sweat through it, sun bleach it, and dunk it boatside on the hot afternoons. It needs to have somewhat salty layers that begin at the hairline and rainbow up from a baked yellow to a dried gray and end in the washed out original hue from the shop. Worn says I have been out in the game.
Don’t forget the trophies. No, not the Western Pennsylvania Trout Unlimited Wild Brown Trout pin. Flies man. You need em. The brim of a hat is not for organization; its the puffed out chest of trout victories. That pig brownie we finally got to eat on the cut bank after and hour of casts on an home-tied beetle - the beetle goes on the brim. The hopper that took 30 rainbows before its haggard foam body became mush - to the brim. The pretty looking shop fly that only attracts dink trout - not on brim. Any new fly - not on the brim. The monster streamer for that one brownie stump shot on the swirly that the big bastard finally ate - front of the brim. Any nymph - not on the brim.
Flies on the hat are scarred soldiers that tell the story of what was offered and accepted.
I retired my fly strewn baseball cap a few years ago, because I was given a hat by client’s wife whose just deceased husband wore the same style and had fished with me for years. Her husband was a rare mix of gentleman and exceptional angler. A guy you could fish with everyday of season. The hat fit him and as it turns out it works for me too.
Although you won’t see flies stuck in my bill anymore there is no shortage memories on my brim.
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