Composition

“We’re blue collar guides, my dude. We’re not operating out of a five million dollar lodge with loft railings so clean a surgeon would feel comfortable operating on top of them. We’re not backed by some hoity-toity, over priced fly store where rich dudes find excuses to burn their Silicon Valley cash. We have no net to catch us if we fall. We’re not trust fund babies who “get” to be guides because daddy’s Teton County money is constantly satiating us on the back end. Hell, all of us have regular jobs that we cram into our busy lives, to keep this thing alive. Right now, we’ve got a guide in the southern states oil field for the winter, a carpenter who’s slaving away building one of those fancy lodges we talked about, we’ve got a firefighter who serves full-time as a paramedic, we’ve got another ice angler guide who pads the winter season with carpentry, and me and Hud both spend our time off the water working on cloud seeding generators. We are a composition of rednecks and roughnecks who just love to fish. All we have to offer is our ability to withstand the constant grind and, ultimately, I think it’s exactly this condition which harbors the results you’re seeing today and the presence we’ve cultivated digitally.”

He reached into the net with awestruck eyes and secured a firm grip around the mass of the polka dotted critter. With a tender resolve he hoisted it from the basket and presented it to my camera lens. I had already set my aperture and shutter speed to match the overcast conditions and was waiting with my 85mm lens pointed directly at his chest. When the fish moved into view, it became immediately obvious I would have to take a few steps back. It had filled the frame, leaving its head and tail unfeatured. I moved with careful footsteps, backwards, through the wade. When I found a good spot, I watched Chris through the viewfinder and noticed the enamored expression on his face. Thousands of fish and a lifetime of angling later, here he was, absolutely dumbfounded by the beauty of this wild galoot of the Green River basin. He hadn’t yet grown comfortable or complacent. Each fish he catches, each day he gets to be out on the water, they are all still gifts to him. I can relate. Every single fish I catch is a trophy and I’ll stand by that statement until the day my coal mine weathered shoulder can’t swing the line anymore. 

I snapped a few quick shots and my happy client gently placed the fish in the water, and it scurried back to the labyrinth from which it came. 

“The age of Pisces will someday come to an end but… it ain’t going to happen in our lifetime, my friend.” I announced my conviction with an elated smile across my face, and it was mirrored by Chris. We shared a few fist bumps, some excited bro-dude hype words and, a hearty pull off our open cans of High Noon. “Do it again,” I instructed as I pushed the boat off the bank and began back rowing up the river channel to catch a good drift through the same bucket we yanked that fish from. As I did so, we returned to the conversation we had been sharing prior to the pleasant interruption.

“I haven’t had a bad day fishing with you guys,” my excited angler affirmed. 

I’m always hesitant to inject or facilitate assurances in the conversation about our successful trips. Expectations are fickle and oftentimes fleeting… and it’s important to regulate optimism so that it doesn’t lead to crippling disappointment on those really tough days. 

“I love to hear that man but, be aware that the fish gods never grant a harvest without expecting some suffering in return. Some days down here can absolutely humble an angler – and a guide for that matter. This isn’t a fishery for the faint hearted. Its brutality can be unbridled at times, and I’ve had 1 fish days in the recent past. You never know when these brutes will be on the feed. Some days I come off the water looking like a hero. Other days, I drag my beaten ass to the take-out wondering if the dude will ever book with me again.” 

Chris nodded his head to emulate his understanding. He wore a face that belied his inherent optimism but did his best to assure me that he was having a great time on the water and that everything else from this point on was icing on the cake. 

“I’ve noticed that about fishing with you guys,” he started. “Even when it’s tough, you guys never stop working at it.” 

“That’s all we can do, brother.” I felt a little peace flow over me as I assembled my constitution within my mind and began presenting my philosophy. “The way I approach it is simple: I can’t promise anyone a gigantic fish on any given day. In fact, I can’t promise even a single fish on any given day. What I can promise is that I will work my ass off to try and get you a meeting with one of these critters. I’ll hit every run I know holds fish, I’ll back row slots a hundred times, if my angler is determined and willing I’ll stay on the water until sundown, I’ll change flies, change tactics, change lanes… I’ll do everything and anything I can to help you hunt fish. If I give it all I have and still, we close the day out with little to no yield, I can sleep well that night knowing I didn’t leave anything on the table.”

“See dude, that’s what I’m talking about.” He redirected his focus at me, leaving his fly line unattended for a brief moment so he could drive his point home with eye contact. “I love fishing with you guys because you’re in it to win it. You don’t quit and I get results.” Admittedly, in that moment, his words inspired a sense of pride in my gut. I let it get away from me a bit as I initiated my next rant.   

“We’re blue collar guides, my dude. We’re not operating out of a five million dollar lodge with loft railings so clean a surgeon would feel comfortable operating on top of them. We’re not backed by some hoity-toity, over priced fly store where rich dudes find excuses to burn their Silicon Valley cash. We have no net to catch us if we fall. We’re not trust fund babies who “get” to be guides because daddy’s Teton County money is constantly satiating us on the back end. Hell, all of us have regular jobs that we cram into our busy lives, to keep this thing alive. Right now, we’ve got a guide in the southern states oil field for the winter, a carpenter who’s slaving away building one of those fancy lodges we talked about, we’ve got a firefighter who serves full-time as a paramedic, we’ve got another ice angler guide who pads the winter season with carpentry, and me and Hud both spend our time off the water working on cloud seeding generators. We are a composition of rednecks and roughnecks who just love to fish. All we have to offer is our ability to withstand the constant grind and, ultimately, I think it’s exactly this condition which harbors the results you’re seeing today and the presence we’ve cultivated digitally.”

Chris continued nodding his head, smiling as I concluded then, he chimed in on my sentiment. “That’s it, dude! That’s why I’m bringing my clients to you guys this year and, all this stuff you’re talking about is exactly what will make you more resilient when the hard times come. That’s what my business is built on, too!”

“I think we all hope that’s the truth of it, among our guys. We talk about it a bit on Tuesday nights when we meet up to tie flies together. I think the general consensus is that we are approaching this avenue with a Spartan-like modus operandi. If we’re strategic and deliberate in how we grow this thing, and if we dedicate ourselves to the practice instead of the image, the results we yield will speak for themselves. I also think we’re starting to see some of this theory materialize. I was just browsing over our internet presence the other day and couldn’t help but think to myself about just how righteous last season was. We buried social media in BIG fish pictures and, consequently, it’s starting to snowball. Dudes see those pictures and they can’t wait to book with us and that’s the only side of it I think we should be careful about. It’s certainly possible to oversell this thing. For instance, had you been following Jax’s season last year?”

“I did. Dude caught some amazing fish!”  

“Exactly man. He did. Jax is on a whole other level when it comes to hunting big dogs on this river. He’s a stud and he brought some absolute goliaths to his boat last year and, if you were a random angler browsing social media for a guide to take you down this stretch, it might be easy to look over Jax’s amazing last season and begin to lean into the assumption that you will undoubtedly encounter the same caliber of fish on your own trip. What isn’t talked about so much, and what I think Jax would tell you if he were here as well, is that every one of those big fish took a LOT of work. They don’t come easy. For some of those fish, he spent days with a single angler, yanking out dozens of Whities and picking moss off the fly in an effort to finally wrangle a monster. It’s exactly our outfit’s capability to grind like that which sets us apart, in my opinion.”

“Yea dude. I agree. I think you guys are going to take this thing to the next level.” Chris had returned his focus to his drift. He watched his slackline be manipulated by the inside seam’s current and shot a concise up-river mend just beyond my oar to remedy it. He had a thought and shared it; “I bet it can be tough out here if you don’t hire the right outfit. Been a pretty damn good day for me though…” He said it with a mischievous grin and side-eyed at me. I opened my grill and smiled from ear to ear. I had a very happy client… nah, scratch that. I had a very happy friend in my boat. 

I was about to respond with something witty but, before I could generate the words, his rod bent over again. 

Author’s Note:

Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed this story and all the content associated with it. As an avid sportsman, I hope that this tale inspires you to get outside to enjoy the wild with the ones you love most. I write these stories as a supplement to my lifestyle as a sportsman and guide, and with them comes a certain accountability. The details of my stories are purely based on my recollection alone and in no particular way do they reflect a chronologically factual, indisputable timeline of events. They are in no way intended for official use or as a reference for official purposes. These are simply tall tales meant to entertain the tired mind; best served with a clear evening, a warm fire and, a strong whiskey.

All the photos and content featured in my tall tales are my own, unless expressly cited otherwise, and the unauthorized use or reproduction of them is strictly prohibited. That’s all for now, my friends. If you enjoyed this content and would like to see more like it, I can be found on Instagram by searching “Authentically Wild Out West” and on YouTube by searching the same phrase. Until the next campfire, stay safe out there and look after each other.

On another quick note: I’ve launched a new publication on Substack, specifically to showcase my serialized fiction and poetry! 

I hope you’ll join me there! Follow THIS LINK to have a look. 

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Come Fish & Hunt in Wyoming With Me!

If you’ve been reading my tall tales and outdoor articles for a while, you have probably recognized that much of my writings revolve around anecdotes. I live these stories, here in one of the last truly wild places on Earth and now as a full-time guide, I’d like to extend an invitation to you: 

Come experience this prestigious place with me. 

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