A Story of Three Guides
Flyfishing Stories by
Bob Lawless
This is a story about three guides who
I will use as examples of at least a few of the many good
and bad guides out there.
The first was a bit of a joke but then he was cheap so I wasn't
too badly burned. He was nice enough, lived in Gold River,
B.C., a good gear man (no flies on this guy and no pun intended)
and he knew of holes on the river (the famous Gold River)
that I would never have found in the limited time I had to
fish. Trouble was that each time we reached one of these secret
holes, he would fire his bobber with roe(all Canadiens know
the power of the bobber) straight at the best lie which I
might have been able to figure out on my own given a few minutes.
He would nail a fish or two and then grin at me with that
"this is why I am the guide smile." I asked myself,
"what am I paying for here?"
He kept his fish and was sort of pissed when I released the
one fish I had caught, a wild, 15lb buck, fresh and bright.
The second guide, fishing at Roach Lake, B.C., was one hell
of a fisherman. I asked him if I should go get some gear as
all I had was a flyrod. He said, "Nope,I don't allow
anything but fly gear in my boat." I was a bit shocked
and I asked him what would he do if a dude didn't know how
to fly fish?
He said he would teach the dude and for that reason he always
carried an extra flyrod or two all rigged up. I asked him
if he was going to fish. He said,"Of course I am."
And I suggested that maybe, seeing as how I had been rubbed
up in Canada, I didn't think that was such a good idea.
He said, "Look, what I am going to do today is to locate
some fish for you. I expect to put you over two maybe three
hundred large trout. If I don't fish, you will think that
I'm a liar and that you wasted your money. But when I take
fish after fish, you will know that is not true and also you
will hang on every word I say and I will have your undivided
attention. I am a teacher and I need you to listen to me.
So I will fish."
What followed was possibly the best day on the water I have
ever had.
We released fish after fish, most in the plus two range, and
all were terrific warriors and really tough to bring to the
boat. What a day!
What a guide! And, most importantly, he taught me how to fish
chironomids correctly. What a teacher!
Guide three was maybe the best. He took me
down the Bogachiel in his river boat when the river was
practically dry in early Fall.
We took a few shocks, but, man, was he good with those oars!
He didn't say much when I threw here and there but suddenly
I would notice that the boat was stopped in mid-current
and it was therefore sort of an order to throw. I wanted
sea-run cutts, and I got several to my delight. He suggested
I use dry flies and a muddler minnow would be a good choice.
BAM!
I nailed this big hatchery hen right in front of a row of
rocks and she fought somewhat like a wet mop. I don't think
she understood what was coming down. A big buck, 12lbs.
or more, shot out from under her. Since not much was really
happening I tried to force her to the boat and I had my
rod in one hand and my forcepts in the other. Then she looked
me, bolting like a torpedo run amuck straight down the river.
Like a rookie, I tried to stop her. POW! The end of that.
I felt like a fool. How many big fish have I taken? How
many times have I let fish run against the drag? We had
a boat; do you really think there might have been a problem
with letting the fish run? Like we couldn't follow? Damned
dummy!
The guide was quiet.
The next day I dumped my pontoon boat into the Boggie, remember
that I had never floated this river before, and had one
miserable experience after another every time I hit the
chute at the top of a pool. No water. Big rocks. Slam after
slam. Jaws knocking together. My pontoon boat, a Fish Cat,
took some awesome knocks. Hard to believe the boat could
hold together. Eyes wide. And an "Oh No!" at the
end of each tailout. I could hear it all coming in one deafening
roar after another. I read every current, every ripple,
every swirl or eddy to try to find the deepest water. I
didn't fish.
I knew I had a long way to go and I worried that dark would
come and I would have to spend the night in the woods. My
wife would call the local sheriff when I didn't report as
per my float plan. Coast Guard. Helicopters. That sort of
thing. I had told the shuttle, stupidly, to leave my truck
at the bridge where there is no takeout. But they did as
they were told. When I saw the bridge and the fact that
I would have to drag the boat several hundred feet up through
thick brush, my heart sank. Oh, shit!
Then I kept drifting, remembering that there was a state
ramp below me. I drifted on. It was getting dark and so
I passed the ramp and was on my way to the ocean (a bunch
of miles away) when my guide called out from the woods.
"Hey," he said,"over here." What a man!
He da man!
Boy was I happy! Apparently, he had been keeping an eye
on me at no pay.
So what we have here is sort of a river keeper, a guide,
a man of the water and the woods (he lives in a beautiful
cabin in the forest near the river).
Hell of a dude!
Guide number one is a Canadian and lives in Gold River,
B.C. I can't remember his name.
Guide number two is named Kenny Oshida and can be reached
at Roach Lake Resort in the Kamploops area of B.C.
Guide number three is named Jim (I forgot his last name)
and he can be reached at Three Rivers Campground, Forks,
WA.
Guides cost a lot. But what do you get? It can range from
an annoyance to a life altering, horrible experience avoided.
I'll take my chances with them.
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