First Date Stories

 

Mid-Summer calf elk needing a friend.

It's almost the end of archery season so I wanted to share an update and offer up a story of a particular hunt I had a several years back that may be the most unique first date stories a woman will ever tell. As far as this season's elk hunts go, I've had some pretty epic days hiking around in some crazy burned areas with thick undergrowth and deadfalls and was feeling pretty beat up. However, I got into some great bulls and had some cool encounters but just couldn't seal the deal. It wasn't for lack of effort or even screwing things up as I have in the past--just not the luck I needed but that's how archery hunting goes. With a rifle, my season would have ended quickly but that's not how it works. I'll be back out there when the rifle season starts but for the next few days, I'm working on filling my deer B-tag with a whitetail doe or a decent buck if it presents itself. Now, a first date story. 

As you might expect, the dating pool in Montana isn't very expansive. Put the parameters around that pool that consist of my own personality flaws along with having higher than reasonable expectations, a narrowly focused political perspective, opinions, and most of my time doing 'man' things, and my options for finding my soul mate are pretty slim. However, I have met some amazing women, even felt the love for a couple, but much like my archery hunting for the last few years, I just haven't been able to seal the deal. (Many of my long-time clients suggest that I'm more of the 'catch and release' kind of guy. We could spend hours on why I'm still single but...let's not.) So, in an attempt to broaden the pool of eligible women, at some point years ago, I decided to enter the world of on-line dating. Let me just say this; that world is often cruel and heartless and for every ortho-quinone of dopamine produced by a potential match, it's almost always offset by the norepinephrine released from being ghosted by a majority of the women I have connected with. However, I have had some fun and unique encounters, and this is one that will go down in the books as one of the most unique first dates of all time. 

I was talking with a gal from Idaho who is originally from Australia. We hit it off through text messaging and eventually talking on the phone. She suggested she should come up and visit and see where things go after meeting face-to-face. The problem was, it was September, and I was just about to start my week of time off to chase elk. Trying not to sound disinterested or rude, I danced around the importance of this time of the year to me and suggested there might be a better time like around the beginning of December... (I didn't suggest December, but I was trying to put this meeting off until at least the end of the elk rut. Funny how one time of the year gets one species crazy horny chasing the opposite sex while another species becomes totally oblivious to mates, even if said mate was half-naked sporting a lace teddy with a beer in her hand and the Packers playing on the big screen in the background.) 

The Australian, we'll call her Jenny, was quite persistent and assured me she would love to come hike with me while I chased elk, and she wouldn't screw anything up. She told me she was tough, which she was, as she was raised on a cattle ranch in the Sunburnt Country and can handle her own. 

Not wanting to hurt her feelings I agreed but was emphatic about getting here on-time so we could get up in the mountains before it got too late in the evening. 

"Ok," I said, "But we have to leave my house by 1 o'clock--no later so please get here on-time." 

"I'll be there." She responded. "I promise. Wheels up by one."

Jenny rolled into Helena around 1:40 pm. For those of you that know me, I'm super annal about being on-time--especially when it comes to hunting and/or fishing. I don't make the rules. I don't control how the sun moves across the sky or what time elk decide to wake up and do their thing. I am, however, hyper-aware of the timeframe for getting opportunities at elk and that window only comes once a year for a very brief time. 

As Jenny knocked on the door, my inner-dialog was in the middle of a sort of UFC battle where a nice guy wanting to cut her some slack for putting in the effort and making the trip was getting destroyed by a goon that had him in a headlock, punching him in the face, scolding him for ever agreeing to this. Meanwhile, elk were most likely bugling up a storm right now while I was there trying to be accommodating to some bimbo because she had a hot body and an Australian accent! (To be fair, she wasn't a bimbo. She may, however, have been aggressively pursuing companionship.)

As I opened the door, I tried hard to hide my anxiety for her being late and welcomed her in. I also tried to explain to her, in a kind way, that we needed to get going. I guess she either didn't see the furrowed brow or I was really good at hiding it, because she asked if we might take a few minutes to hang out and then she tried to kiss me. 

I side-stepped and asked her what we needed to get out of her truck before we could get going, which you'd think might be deflating for some women. Jenny, however, was as persistent as a bear on a beehive and somehow, my face must have been covered with honey. She came in for another shot and I realized the only way we were going to move past this incredibly targeted advance was to placate and move on. 

"Ok, we gotta go." I demanded. 

We threw the gear in my truck and headed up into hills. Of course, we wound up trailing another truck going 15 miles an hour. My head was reeling. I just kept cursing myself in my head for caving. I should have just said no but I didn't so I would have to just make the best of it. 

We got to my spot where I would normally park, backed the truck into a little turn-out and turned off the ignition. We both strapped on our boot Gaters, I got my pack on and bow sling, double checked my gear, making sure I had my range finder, release and anything else I might need, and we started up the mountain. Figuring we had a little ways before getting to where the elk might be, I explained the importance staying close to me so I could whisper to her if needed, and so that she always knew what was going on in front of us. If I stopped, she needed to stop. If I got down on my knees, she needed to drop down. She needed to be right on my hip. 

She did a pretty good job of hiking and was a lot quieter than I expected. We hiked straight up a ridge, and she was able to keep up. Along the top of the ridge, and only about 20 minutes into the hike, I swore I heard a cow elk calling. 

"Wait," I said as I put my hand out as a sort of stop sign. "Did you hear that?"

"I think so," she answered. 

"I think that's a cow elk right down there below us." I explained. 

 I pulled my cow call to my mouth and gave out a little, "mee-ewe."

From a couple hundred yards down to the bottom on the drainage, a bull lit up a bugle. 

"Shit," I said. "It's right down there. We gotta make a move. Stay right on my hip." 

We took off down the ridge at a little quicker pace than what we were at on the way up. I wanted to get down to where the elk were before they moved out. On the way, I caught movement and stopped.

"Fuck," I whispered as we bumped right into a spike elk, which in this area, isn't legal to shoot. "Don't move," I whispered back to Jenny. 

The young bull was fixed on us for a few seconds, trying to figure us out. It didn't take long, and he spun and lumbered down the side of the ridge back to where I was sure the rest of the herd was.

"Shit," I whispered to Jenny. "That could be all she wrote." 

I cow called again and again the bull bugled back. This time he was much closer. 

"Let's get down to the creek bottom," I whispered. "Then we'll call and see if we can't get him to come in. But stay right next to me and if I stop, you gotta stop." 

"Ok," she agreed. "This is so cool." 

We got to the bottom of the drainage and crossed the creek. There were a few junipers that lined the creek and created a bit of a curtain between us and where the woods opened up into sporadic aspens and lodge poles. I took my bow off its sling and knocked an arrow. I cow called as we peered out from the curtain of junipers. 

"Russ," I heard Jenny whisper. 

I looked back at her. She was to my left and little behind me. 

"What?" I mouthed the word without making it audible. 

"It's right there," she half whispered while nodding a gesture towards the bull.

With her vantage point being just off of mine, she could see the bull making his way towards us from our right to our left. It was behind an aspen where she could see it, but I couldn't. 

"Just don't move." I whispered. 

The bull stepped out in front of us. It wasn't huge but definitely a bull I would shoot. I quickly took inventory of his head gear and was sure I saw five tines on both sides. He hadn't seen us or winded us, but he knew something wasn't right. He turned to walk back to his harem to make sure he kept his cow group intact. 

I took up my grunt tube to my mouth, wedged the diaphragm call between my tongue and the roof of my mouth and gave a bugle that wasn't too aggressive, resembling a smaller bull trying to get in on his action. 

This either created just enough curiosity for the bull or frustration causing him to turn back to investigate. He walked right back to where he had retreated from just a few seconds before and stopped broadside, well within my bow range. 

I drew my bow back, settled the 40-yard pin right behind the bull's shoulder, and gently pulled the trigger on my release. I then watched as my arrow sailed right over the back of this bull. The bull spun as the arrow smacked a log behind him and he busted out of sight. 

It was only then that I took the time to do what I should have done before drawing the bow back. I pulled my range finder out and ranged a log the bull was standing next to. The log was only 25 yards out. With the terrain, I was sure this bull was between 35 and 45 yards away. My 40-yard pin should have been the right pin but, I was off, and the bull was gone; fortunately, unscathed. 

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck," I whispered with the intervals between the word becoming shorter and shorter with every utterance of it. 

"That was incredible," she whispered. 

"I missed, though," I said with absolute defeat. 

"Yah, but, oh my god....that was so intense." 

The "what-ifs" occupied every synapse of my brain for the rest of the hunt. Had I shot that bull, it would have only been a few hundred yards from the truck and downhill the whole way. How easy that would have been? And how crazy would it have been to have to pack this thing out with a woman who had never done anything like that before? A woman I had literally just met a couple hours ago.

That was Jenny and my first and only date. Turns out, she was a bit of an adrenaline junky who had different ways to find her fix that were manifested more through chemicals than experiencing life. We talked a couple times after that but we both knew we had different plans for sharing time with a partner. We both got a good story out of the deal, and I guess should be grateful for that. I also grabbed another box to check on the ever-growing inventory of characteristics I should be screening for in the dating scheme. 

Well, it's another day and the 2024 archery season is about to come to a close. I better get out there chasing another story. By the way, keep tuned in for another dating story that ends with a much better outcome.

Keep 'em where they live...

Youngster

Just a quick update as I only have a couple days left to my scheduled time off to chase elk. It's been pretty cool. I've checked out some new areas and have gotten into a lot of elk. This little spike I called in to about 20 yards and watched him for a good twenty minutes before he buggered out. I'm a meat hunter and would be happy to shoot anything legal for a freezer full of elk steaks but spikes are not legal to harvest in this area. 

I've spent a fair amount of time in the Lincoln area this archery season. The hiking has been brutal with all the dead fall in the burn areas. At times, I find myself practicing my balance beam routine on these logs as it's the only way to get through the tangled mess of dead and down, underbrush, and pecker poles. The good thing is I feel like I can safely rule out in any neurological or balance issues. 

Today I got within 50 yards of a huge bull that looked like a Clydesdale walking through the woods. He was with a couple rag horns but couldn't get a shot through the trees. I'm not sure what I would have done had I put one down in that kind of stuff. 

I did locate a bull last night in an area much easier to get to and with it being mid-week, I feel like I may have the mountain to myself. I've killed many elk in this area so let's keep our fingers crossed. Only two days to go!

Keep 'em where they live...

Day One--Happy Birthday to the Ex...

I know this is going to sound a little crass, but I usually mark the time I want to be out chasing elk by my ex's birthday. I've shot more elk on that day, or within a day or two of that day, than any other day. I told that to a client once and he asked if that's because that's when the elk are the most active or is it a coincidence, that I'm usually out hunting on that day instead of with her? And is that why she's an ex? It's a fair point. Regardless, this is go-time for me and this year, it is day one and an epic day one at that. (To be fair, I did spend a couple days last week, scouting and found some elk, which led to this opportunity.)

Last week I did locate these elk across the drainage from my neighbor's property near Lincoln, MT. He has a camper set up on 50 acres and elk often cross through there. When I went up there last week to scout it out, I spotted what I thought were about 25 elk with a couple bulls bugling. They were on private property with no way to get to them accept maybe driving around to the other side of the mountain and hiking up over the top.

So, my first day of my scheduled time off, I had to make a choice; do I go to one of my money spots or do I go to the area around Lincoln where I spotted these elk? Lincoln is about an hour away and then you have to hike. But it's an easy hour of driving. One of my favorite spots is only 30 minutes out, easy hiking and I've killed several elk up there, but is becoming increasingly busier and busier with the parking area filled with Texas, Oregon, and Minnesota license plates. Another of my favorite spots is only 26 miles but takes almost an hour and a half to drive because the road sucks. By the time I get back from that place, I feel like a pair of old tennis shoes I've tried to re-constitute in a washer and dryer. 

The weather is a factor as well. It had been raining for two days and the wind is a constant 20 miles an hour with swirling gusts. I don't want to bust anything out of one of my favorite spots with the wind so, it's recon time and Lincoln gets the call. 

The onX app is an amazing tool. It shows all the public lands and block manage areas where a hunter can access spots that normally, you wouldn't be able to see on a map. Before heading over, I was able to locate some access points to a ridge and plateau just above the area where I located this herd of elk last week. I knew it would be bit of a hike and a gamble that those elk would ever venture off private land, but if I got up there and didn't see anything, at least I eliminate it from options for the rest of the week. With such a short time to hunt, being economical in your time is always on your mind. One of the biggest factors for me is how much time do I have left to hunt and am I just wasting time in areas that aren't holding elk. A few hours in the afternoon doesn't seem like much on day one but day seven of eight? With the weather not being ideal, I felt ok with the outcome if I was scrapping day one in order to check out new country. 

The plan was set to access some block management land adjacent to the ridge I was looking at. One thing that doesn't show up on onX however, is random closures to block management. When I got there, the area was in fact, closed. Instead of seeing the green sign on the sign-in box that all hunters need to sign in as a kind of permission slip to hunt, there was the red sign signifying a closed area. Damnit. 

As we often taught our kids in Alternative Youth Adventures as a core value, "adapt, improvise and overcome." On to plan B.

I drove up the drainage to the National Forrest boundary. It would be a straight up hike through dead falls and a burn area, but I could get right up above where I had seen these elk. Again, a lot of work with no guarantees. More than likely, I would locate the herd, and they would still be on private land with no way to call them off. They ain't stupid. They know where they are safe but not a lot of options now as I have committed to the plan, so I bust out my gear and make the painful climb to the top. 

Of course, as luck would have it the wind is directly from my back, which is no good for trying to sneak into an area with elk. And it's swirling and pretty much completely screwing me. My motivation is dwindling and every step over a fallen tree is making the trek up less and less desirable. I look back down to the truck every once in a while, as I can see it the entire way up and wonder if I should just get back down and drive around for a while hoping something would cross the road. Wow, that sounds like I'm becoming a road hunter...

Pride won't let me give in. I keep hiking up. 

As I crest the ridge and keep pushing through the underbrush that grows thick as the Tom Sellek's mustache in these burn areas, I look up to the ridge to the North and low and behold, there's a fricken elk standing there. 

"Holy crap," I thought to myself. 

Just seeing an elk on public land is a win. And now, the entire day changes and there's no need to manufacture some kind of motivation through pride or the fact that "at least I'm out getting exercise experiencing nature..." It's like when a client tells you that they just enjoy getting out on the water and they don't care if they catch anything. You may say that but it's not what we're here for. It's like negotiating with yourself, justifying spending the time and energy or money and not being successful. Yeah, I know. Are you a glass half empty or a glass half full person where you try your best to make everything a positive. Those people drive me nuts. I'm a realist and as much as I'm here to enjoy the outdoors, part of that is seeing elk and actually believing I've got a chance and this sighting is telling me, "So you say I have a chance..." 

By the time I spotted this elk, I was already past her and now, slightly downwind with her being about 400 yards uphill to the north. I could circle more downwind to the east and up the ridge and either wait her out and see if she keeps feeding along the ridge or I could walk back upwind towards her and try to get close enough for a shot. The one thing I was pretty sure of, however, is that she wasn't alone. Taking my time and trying to locate the herd would most likely dictate my next moves and before long, I started spotting more and more elk along the ridge and even heard a couple bulls bugling. This was going to get interesting and because I had managed to inadvertently sneak past them, I had put myself in a really good position. 

I worked my way through the deadfalls and brush more downwind of the group of elk and started working my way back up to them. It's a huge burn area so pretty open with new growth pines we often refer to as "pecker poles." I'm not sure why it just is what it is. They offer some cover but aren't grown up enough to obstruct the view of these elk. I find it difficult to cover ground without continually glassing the elk to make sure I haven't busted them out. The wind is offering cover from the noise of pushing through Sellek's mustache and these elk are content on feeding. I keep pushing until I'm within a couple hundred yards of the herd. 

I don't call. These elk are busy doing their thing. I hear a bull bugle and figure I'll let him do the work. Then I hear another bull that is obviously quite a bit larger than the first. I can't see him, but you just know with the growl and the depth of his voice. He's just different. 

At some point, one of the smaller bulls steps out. He's decent. Probably a small six-point. He's circling around as if to inventory the cows. He's not big enough to be the herd bull. Then another smaller bull steps out. I'm well within 200 yards of these bulls and only about 120 yards from the closest cow. It's decision time. I think there are about 20 elk in this group, and I really want to get a look at the herd bull, so I place the diaphragm call against the roof of my mouth, bring the grunt tube to my lips and belt out my own bugle just to test the waters. 

The herd bull crests the ridge in front of me, about 200 yards out. He is huge and he's coming. 

But his aggression shifts from me to the other two bulls in the herd and I watch as he lowers his head and charges them. They want nothing to do with this guy and the run off, scampering over dead falls and brush doing anything possible to create distance between them and the monarch. The two bulls drop down into a draw and then up the adjacent ridge before stopping. Game f'n on!

I bugle again and the monarch turns to look my direction. He takes a couple steps my way, tilts his head back, curls his upper lip and rips a big growl at me. All I have to do is piss him off just enough and like an enraged, half-drunken jealous boyfriend, he'll come charging and I will get my shot.

I pull my range finder out and pick a couple burnt stumps he should pass by. If he follows the path, I envision him taking, I should have him at forty yards. I range him. He's cut the distance to about 150 yards and stops. I see him licking his nostrils trying to figure me out. The wind is swirling and every once in a while, I feel the air on the back of my neck, and I know he's getting a whiff of something he's not sure of. He turns and walks back to the middle of the herd. He's not convinced I'm something he needs to confront, and I feel the anxiety of these less-than-ideal conditions, with the swirling wind in my head telling me I need to make my move. 

This is what drives elk hunters crazy and what we talk about in the off-season. It's the "what-ifs," and the, "if I had just done this..." that we lament on. The truth of the matter is, there is no right answer to what to do in this situation. Your options are to either wait it out or to make the charge. If you wait, the hope is that these elk mill around a bit and eventually, one of them gets close enough for a shot. I have a couple cows within 120 yards. I have three bulls that are messing with each other. One is a giant. But I also have a swirling wind and there is a high probability that one of these elk will get my sent, bark, and game over. 

If you charge in, or sneak in, there's a chance you could close the distance and get a shot...what's not happening is this bull is not going to come to the call and I'm just alerting the herd to the fact that something they're not all that sure about is 120 yards away and they are getting nervous. 

There is a draw between myself and the herd and I'm able to drop down so I'm out of sight. I take my chance figuring I can come up the side of the draw and be within 50 yards of a cow. I'm a meat hunter. I'll take the cow if I get the chance. 

As I drop down, I don't hear the pounding of hoofs on the shale that would indicate them busting out. I'm feeling pretty good I'll get within shooting range. But as I crest the top of the draw, the one thing I was afraid of rings out across the mountains as one of the bulls on the other side of the drainage that had just been chased out by the monarch barks and all hell breaks loose. I had no idea the number of elk that were in this draw and it's something I'll never forget. 

The sidehill from where the bark came was to my left across a draw. Ahead of me were the elk I was sneaking in on. To my right was another draw where the knob I was sneaking up on sluffed off to where I couldn't see down into it. When the elk barked on the sidehill, all the elk in front of me and to my right started filing out. Dozens and dozens of elk came up out of the draw and crossed directly in front of me. There had to have been a hundred elk in this herd. I had no idea and part of me just watched in awe. The noise they made. The dust they kicked up. It was like watching a stampede of horses in some old spaghetti western. 

I blew on my cow call just hoping to stop one of them within range and it worked. Two spike bulls stopped 40 yards out. The problem is you can't shoot spikes in this area. 

I pushed up the hill to get a better vantage point almost becoming part of the herd. It seemed to take minutes for all these elk to bust out of the draw.

One of the cows stopped 65 yards away and stood broadside. I had already knocked an arrow before making my move knowing that if it happened, it would happen quick. I drew my bow back, settled the pin behind her front shoulder and as I pulled the trigger on my release, she bolted. I watched my arrow sail right behind her flanks. I then continued to watch as this herd of at least a hundred elk disappeared over the next ridge, still hearing the clicking of hooves against the shale and snapping of branches as the they tore through the pecker poles and underbrush. 

As I immediately engaged in the "what-if's" that will occupy my mind for the next year if the rest of the season isn't successful, I turned to the ridge to the southeast and noticed another herd of at least 75, maybe 100 elk feeding about 600 yards away. 

"Jeezus!" 

One of the bulls in that group was bugling. I thought about shifting my focus, but I needed to find my arrow and confirm the miss. I also knew these elk were straight downwind and there was no way to get around them so with tail between my legs, I spent the rest of the evening climbing down the mountain, going over what I should have done or would have done had I known there were that many elk in that draw and at some point got to the realization of how fricken awesome that was. Day one was a success. In just about every measure for every bow hunter, it was a success, and it will get keep me motivated for the rest of the week. 

Keep 'em where they live...

Let's Go Hunting!!

 

It's been a pretty amazing fishing season this year. I've geared my efforts towards novices to the sport and people who really want to learn how to fish and it's been a lot of fun. Most memorable were the kids; the fourteen-year-old grandson who his grandmother paid for four days of floating and wade fishing, the fifteen-year-old champion barefoot water-skier, and all the parent/kid two-sums. I also had the pleasure of putting together a trip of newly graduated teens as an awesome graduation gift from some really cool parents. Get your kids out there. I guarantee, once they tie into a Missouri River bow, they won't miss their screens except to post about how awesome fly-fishing is. 

Now, it's on to hunting. I'll still be on the river for a few trips from the end of September through October, but for the next eight days, I'll be chasing rutted up elk. This is what I dream of for 11 months out of the year. I'm dialed in and excited to get after it. As with every year, you can follow the successes and epic fails here. 

Also, I drew an antelope tag for Northeastern Montana. If you remember from last year, I took a trip out there, hunting birds and deer. It was so much fun, I put in for a goat tag and with only a 21 percent success rate in that area, I won! I'm excited because I really like antelope meat. (Pronghorn for you flat landers.) If you've never had it, you should. Don't believe the folks that claim it's gamey. If taken care of and prepared properly, it's the most tender and least gamey of all the wild game I've eaten. 

Follow along. Today is day one!

Keep 'em where they live...

River Etiquette 101: Rec Floaters, Anglers and Fishing Guides

 

WARNING: There will be some incredibly profane language in this post as I quote from people I've run into, or should I say, have run into me on the river.

I hesitate to write this post, but I feel like it has to be done in order to accurately depict what we go through guiding on the Missouri River in the heat of the summer. Before we begin, I want to stress the reality that we all have a right to enjoy the rivers out here in Montana. Whether you are a kayaker, rafter, angler of any kind, guide or tuber, we all have an equal right to access and recreate on the rivers. However, or should I say, and we also all have an equal responsibility to respect each other's rights to not only access the rivers, but also enjoy and not be harassed when working or just trying to have fun.

As guides we get a lot of blame for the over-use of our rivers. Private anglers feel like we are putting so much pressure on them that they can no longer enjoy their experiences. Floaters complain that we act like we own the rivers because we scoff at them when they don't give us space or run into us. I'm going to share a few stories with you just to give some perspective and then you form your own opinions. Then maybe we can have a discussion on what, if anything, needs to be done about how people treat each other on the rivers and who should be limited. 

This discussion begins with an interaction I had with a friend and his wife about a week ago. My buddy has been a guide. His wife enjoys floating. The conversation begins with my buddy asking me how the spring season is going to which I shared how good the fishing is but it's also pretty busy out there. Even for April, tons of boats are hitting the river, maybe to get out there before all the rec-floaters pack in and it gets too busy. 

My buddy's wife shared an experience where she was floating down the river in a tube and had some woman fishing out of a boat, scoff at her as she floated right past the front of the boat and through this woman's line, she was fishing. 

"I couldn't help it," she explained. "My short little arms and legs couldn't paddle hard enough to get away from them and all they could do is give me the look, like I was purposefully trying to ruin their fishing."

"Well," I started, which is where I should have finished but those of you who know me, know I can't, "do you know how frustrating it is to be trying to guide and get people on fish while giving other people space and then have someone float right through your line or even run into you?" 

"It's my river too," is what usually comes from folks when we have these discussions, and although I don't know if that's exactly what she said, I'm certain it was very consistent with that. 

"I get that, but where else in this world is that acceptable? Where else could you just let yourself cruise down the road or through a park without any concern of running into people and have that be, ok?"

Again, I want to stress the point from above; you have just as much right, you have just as much responsibility. And I tried to explain this but instead of trying to understand what we go through daily; she stormed out of the conversation. I was the asshole. So let me share these stories and you decide. Trust me, these are real stories. No exaggerations or hyperbole. 

We got out late one day and tried our damndest to find a stretch of river that would be out of the way of wade fishers and floaters. We felt like if we started where most of the floaters would be putting in, we would be well behind the wave of rec-folk from that put-in and ahead of the next wave from the put-in above us. As it turned out, we got right in the middle of all of it. 

The first interaction came below what we call the "Doll House." It's a sexy looking bank on the outside bend of the river with big boulders that cause swirls and seems that trout love to hang in and chow on bugs that drown in the eddies. In order to fish the seams adequately, you really need to get on the oars and slow the boat down so your folks can get a long enough drift before re-casting and hitting the next seam and/or scum line. 

As we fished the bank, I heard a group of rafters coming from behind us. I looked back to see roughly seven or eight inner-tubes tied together, careening towards us. None of them were kicking their feet or paddling with their hands to try to avoid us. I dropped anchor and told my clients to sit down and brace themselves because these tubers were going to ram us. 

As the floatilla of rafts bounced off of us, I looked at the guy closest to me and made eye contact. His ass was deep into his tube with his legs hanging over one side and a bag of potato chips in his lap. With one hand he held a beer that came from the cooler wedged into another tube he had tied off that floated along with him, and the other hand, he was stuffing chips in his mouth as he proclaimed, "Sorry dude, I couldn't control where we were going," Spit and chips spewed from his mouth with every word. As he finished his apology, he continued to stuff more chips into his mouth and then washed them down with beer. 

"You have legs," I said. "You're very capable of avoiding us. Keep yourselves in the middle of the river and nobody has to be bothered. I don't come to your work and harass you. I'm just asking for the same." 

"Sorry dude," as he stuffed more chips in his face. 

Innocent enough, right? Yeah, it would be but it happens all the time. In this particular incident, nobody got hurt and life goes on but that's not always the case. 

A few years ago, a floatilla of tubes rammed a bridge above of a set of rapids on the lower stretch of the Missouri below Prewett Creek. I got there about a half hour after it happened. All that was left of the floatilla was a couple elongated tubes pinned to the bridge abutment bobbing with current and random articles of clothing and drink cans and coolers littering the banks downstream. A couple of young women were standing on the bank of an island just down from the bridge. They were soaking wet, shivering and obviously shaken up. 

The river turns from a slow, meandering current to class-two rapids in this stretch. It's not all that dangerous if you are in a raft or boat and are following the current as it tumbles around boulders and over gravel bars and twists and turns until it settles and straightens out about 3/4's of a mile downstream. However, if you are floating without anything like a tube or even a lifejacket keeping you up, it can be pretty intense. None of these young ladies were wearing lifejackets and by the looks of them standing there, they were in no position to jump back into the water to get to the main bank. 

As I noticed the girls on the island, I saw a buddy of mine rowing across the channel, back to the island. He had dropped his client's off and was ferrying girls from the island back to the bank along the railroad tracks, which some of them had already gotten to and were beginning to walk out. 

"Munson!" I yelled, "you ok? You need help?" 

"I got it," he yelled back. "These are the last two!" 

I gave him a thumbs up and we headed downstream. 

That same stretch a year prior, I pulled a kayaker out of the river and then raced down to rescue his vessel. It wasn't a big deal, and I would expect every guide would do the same. Most of us have played that role and would certainly jump into action without hesitation when things go south. We want people to have fun and to be safe. 

That same day the dude with the chips rammed us, we were posted up on a pod of fish a couple miles downstream from where this incident happened. We call this stretch, "Grassy Banks." The water is moving just fast enough to created great seems along the bank and a giant gravel bed upstream brings food to these seams. Fish get stacked up and are often happy to reward a good cast and a good drift with the right dry fly. However, they will be finicky at times and a little spooky so slapping the water or putting a shadow over them will most often, put them down. 

We were about 20 feet off the bank, fishing down to a pod of these rising trout. Again, I hear a group of rafters coming our way. I turn back to literally watch the guy on the sticks pulling hard to position the 18-foot orange raft with about 8 people, right in line to run along the bank, over those fish. He couldn't have been more than 5 or 6 feet from us while passing. 

You have to understand, the river on this stretch is a couple hundred yards wide. If one were to just let the boat drift, you'd probably stay out in the middle. With very little effort at all, a person in a raft with oars would have no problem avoiding someone fishing the bank. This guy made the effort to float between us and the bank as if it were some game. But that wasn't the worst part. 

As the raft slipped by us, I said, "Come on, man. You purposefully floated right through these rising fish." 

His response, and I apologize if it offends you but..."Fuck you, you fucking boat nigger. It's our river too." And he flipped us off. The rest of the group just laughed. Nobody apologized or even thought to push back on what their captain did to screw with us, and nobody had a problem with what he said.

That's messed up right? But it's got to be the outlier...Nope. Ask any of the guides up on the Missouri and nearly every one of us has had a similar story of someone doing and saying equally offensive crap. In fact, that term, "boat-nigger," is used way more often than you would think. And what's our recourse? We can't do or say anything because we have clients with us. All we can do is drop anchor, let them go by, and take it. Why? Because it's their river too? Equal rights, equal responsibility. 

A week later I was floating through the canyon with clients throwing hoppers. We came to a flat along the inside bend of the river. I turned the boat sideways so both clients could cast straight downstream. Again, we were on the inside bend, which is opposite of where the natural flow of the river wants to pull people. Another raft floats by and I watch the guy start pulling to get in front of us and when he got directly downstream, only about 20 yards from us, he relaxed and stopped rowing. 

"Hey, could we get a little room here?" That's all I said. I didn't yell. I didn't call him out. I just asked for a little room.

Tied off to his raft was a tube where a young girl was drifting along in. On the raft was a woman I assumed was his wife and a boy who appeared to be about 14 years old. This guy was setting such a great example.

He turned back and said, "Yeah, you can have room. As soon as we're done floating here." 

He then chuckled and turned to the boy, gave him a little head-nod and the then boy launched himself off the raft and cannon balled in front of us. Classic. 

This kind of behavior is ridiculous, and the unfortunate thing is, I could go on and on and on with story after story of similar incidences. I'm just one guide. EVERY guide could come up with many, many more similar stories with similar language and an equally gross disregard for just respecting each other's rights. 

I was wade-fishing on the Blackfoot on a stretch higher than where it gets big enough to float and a guy and his wife started fishing the same pool I had my client in. I looked at him like, "are you kidding me?"

"It's a big river," he said which is what they all say when you call them out on their shit. 

"It's literally ten yards wide," I said. "You guys watched us walk upstream while you got your gear ready at the bridge." 

"Well, we came here to fish this pool." He replied. 

"We're already here," I said. "Etiquette would say you see us going upstream, you go down. Give each other space." 

"Well, it's my river too." Again, the canned response.

"Yeah," I agreed, "and it's equally your responsibility to respect the fact that it's our river too." 

"Fine," he conceited, "we'll just sit and wait." 

He literally sat on the bank and watched my gal catch about 10 fish out of this pool before we were satisfied, we had enough and moved on. Meanwhile, this guy's wife was so embarrassed, she headed back downstream and started fishing by herself.  What is wrong with people?

I know, this sounds like another whiny guide complaining about other users. I'm entitled, right? Or am I just concerned that we're ruining opportunities for everyone to enjoy these resources if we don't live by that rule of equal rights, equal responsibility? The problem is, if these encounters continue and we don't figure it out, we start legislating against the negative behaviors. But who's behaviors are the negative behaviors? Is it coming from the rec-floaters who don't respect the basic etiquette and are harassing the guides and anglers, justifying it through a feeling us taking it from them, or is it in fact, coming from the guides who are putting too much pressure on the river who also may have an entitled attitude? Well, it's whomever has the power to influence legislation that will ultimately win this war. Is that what we want?

I look at what has been happening on the Madison. There's a huge battle going on right now over this very issue. And unfortunately, what the question comes down to is who has more rights to the resource when in fact, it should be about defining the acceptable behavior and when and who will enforce it when users cross the line.  We already put limits on fishing, seasons on when one can fish certain rivers, permits on some of the rivers for commercial use or even recreational use, and so on. Why can't we put similar parameters around use by all users on these rivers? Because it's our rights? 

So, what really is the crux of the problem? There is over-crowding at times in specific places on specific rivers. I think I read somewhere that the first seven miles of the Missouri below Holter Dam is the most heavily used stretch of river in the state. The Lower Madison, the Blackfoot and the Clark Fork also get hammered. Littering is a huge concern. Public intoxication and harassment all negatively impact the quality of experience for everyone. I think we can agree on these basic truths. And if you don't, I would invite you to just sit and watch what happens any Saturday or Sunday at about 5 o'clock in Craig, MT at the FAS. It's embarrassing. Drunk people trying to back trailers down the boat ramp while everyone else waits, beer cans and other garbage being dumped in the toilets or just left inside the outhouses, people shouting at each other across the river, coolers of Naty Ice and White Claws getting dumped into the river, drunk people passed out on the bank, and on and on. 

I tell you what would make my life easier on the Missouri if I were king for a day. We would charge commercial users more than $100/year and even though rec-floaters now have to purchase a conservation license, I'd make them purchase a permit for every vessel they put on the river every day. That extra revenue would go towards enforcement and clean-up. I'd also start having law enforcement writing tickets for boating while intoxicated, public intoxication, assault, littering, and checking every vessel for PFD's. 

I would put time-restraints on when people could put in personal floatation devices such as tubes and personal rafts or unicorn rafts that are obviously meant for recreational floating and not fishing. One o'clock would be the daily start times, and, on the weekends, they could only put in at the Holter Dam and Stickney Creek FAS's. That would ensure most of the interactions between rec-floaters and anglers would be eliminated. It would also give anglers a chance to plan their float to avoid encounters. 

A buddy of mine suggested that all guides would have to be off the river on the weekends by 4 o'clock. I would support that with one caveat, that the restriction only pertains to the stretch of river between the Wolf Creek Bridge and Prewett Creek FAS's. After 4 o'clock, the rest of the river is kind of a moot point. 

I would also restrict any containers that are not reusable. You want beer? Get a growler. Water is easy. You want flavors? Throw in some water crystals. I pick up garbage bags full of Naty Ice, White Claw, and Miller Lite cans, and plastic water bottles all summer long. People drop bags of garbage off in the outhouses. If we can't choose to be more responsible, then screw it, let's enforce it. It's ridiculous how much garbage finds its way into the river every summer and for the most part, the guides are the ones picking it up because we're embarrassed to see it when we have clients. 

I don't have all the answers to resolve these conflicts. Unfortunately, they are happening way too often. Covid had a big impact on the crowds as more people are doing things outside and more people are moving to Montana. What happens, as there's more use and more crowding, limiting the guides is usually the first answer because it's the easiest and we're a smaller contingency with less influence. But we are the ones picking up the garbage and fishing people out of the river. We don't litter. We don't drop toilet paper all over the islands or dump garbage in the outhouses. We bring millions of dollars to the area that in large part, get spent to take care of these resources yet we're the ones that get blamed for the crap that goes on. 

We need to figure this out before we start destroying these resources or degrading them to a point where people stop spending their money out here. Roughly 15% of us work in tourism and travel. Many more work in industries that also make money off of us. We need to realize that we all live in a community where our actions have consequences and eventually it will come back to each and every bad actor. 

Now, get off my lawn. 

Keep 'em where they live...

P.S. I definitely encourage people to participate in a discussion that leads to resolving these issues. I don't expect to get 100% consensus, but please, one thing that drives me crazy is when guides go all PC and say, "well, they have a right to the river too..." By saying that, you are missing the point. Nobody's rights are more important or supersede anyone else's rights.  No more excuses. 

River Etiquette 101: Sharing the Mighty Mo

One of the problems with talking about etiquette is that it often leads to discussions over specifics where we feel like we've been wronged because this guy did this or that guy did that, that didn't follow the local codes that have been instituted over decades from the various users adhering to those norms. We could break down every fishing hole and run and come up with ways those specific places ought to be fished that would benefit the most people when what we're really just asking is that we all get a chance to share the resource. 

When I first started guiding on the Missouri almost 20 years ago, I had the opportunity to fish with some really good guides who were helping to create the etiquette that is unique to the Missouri River. Back then, we didn't have the number of guides we do now, and the Missouri was relatively unknown by the majority of the country, and not really all that desirable for most Montana guides either. In fact, because of how technical the river can be, guides from around the state didn't really want to come to the Missouri but often had no other options when their home waters were blown out. That's all changed now and there is increasingly more competition, which leads to a trampling of the norms that were established decades ago. 

The objective here, isn't to tell other guides or private anglers how to fish the Missouri. The goal is to create an understanding of what has helped create the etiquette, what is now leading to friction, and what could possibly help resolve that friction in the future.

First, let's talk about the characteristics of the Missouri that differ from other rivers that has allowed for the style of guiding we do. The most obvious is the size of the river itself. The Missouri River is really big and wide and because of that, there are plenty of opportunities to get around other boats and wade fishers without rolling over their gear or the runs they are fishing. That doesn't mean it's always possible to avoid confrontation, but we do our best. Sometimes that requires a little effort from the rower and sometimes a little empathy from the angler. 

Not only is it a wide river with a lot of braids, but what is considered Blue Ribbon trout water is 35 miles long. That also lends to opportunities for giving each other space as long as we're willing to work a little for it. 

The next few attributes of the Missouri, that I feel are incredibly important to recognize aren't as obvious. Like most other rivers, the Missouri meanders around bends and creates pinch points where pools eddy out and swirl around and soft edges allow for easy row-arounds. These pools collect a ton of bugs and food for trout and make perfect habitat for fish to stack up. Because of how big the Missouri is, these pools and runs might extend a hundred yards or more. And again, because of how big the Mo is, it's easy to pull out of the run, slide to the side to let other boats fish, row back up and take another run at. 

Last year, I believe the fish counts on the upper portion of the Missouri River below Holter Dam were around 7,000 trout per river mile. That's a ton of fish and these fish tend to want to be where the most food is so they congregate in those runs and pinch points or eddies where sometimes 10 or 12 boats can be fishing as long as everyone is following the same program. This causes a few concerns on different levels where not only etiquette comes into question but also questions of ethics. We'll talk about that later.

When I first started guiding, the cardinal rule was to NEVER park in such runs that would allow for easy row-arounds. I was also strongly encouraged to NEVER fish from inside an eddy, out towards the scum-line or seam between the eddy and the main flow of the river. Why? Because by doing so, I was screwing everyone else that wanted to fish that run and if I just followed the program, everyone could fish it, and everyone would catch fish. 

This wasn't just a product of fairness to my fellow anglers and guides. A more pragmatic and self-preservation motive was at play. The guide community on the Missouri River is also a bit unique in that we are all independent contractors, not only as guides, but also outfitters and we often work with each other on group trips and aren't necessarily loyal to a specific shop but more so to each other. For example, in a single week, I might work for Mike Kuhnert, who is an outfitter and friend on one day, the next work for The Trout Shop, the next work for myself and I might even hire Mike to help me out with my own groups. We're all working for and with each other and because of that, we help each other out, both in doing trips for each other and on the river. As soon as one of us starts crossing the lines of being selfish or blocking the other from fishing a run or low holing each other; well, the relationship is strained and there quite often are consequences. 

Don't get me wrong, there's still a competitive undertone within the community that is less about chest pumping and more just bantering but it's there non-the-less. However, we all want everyone to be successful because it brings people back to the area and hiring guides and we will continue to work for each other and get paid. It does me no good to sit in a run, cock-blocking everyone else just to be able to say we hung 50 at the expense of pissing everyone else off. 

Where the problems come, is when out-of-area guides and other anglers enter the mix that either don't understand the etiquette or don't belong to the local guide community and what they feel is doing right by their clients is the nexus for what motivates them. Often, these guides are bringing with them an ideology that is consistent with their home waters that isn't aligned with what we do, which is understandable because that's what they know, but it also is understandable that it will cause friction. 

I can't tell you how many times I've heard stories of shop managers on the Big Horn River, south of Billings, sending shuttle drivers out to stand in runs at 8 o'clock in the morning so that their guides can take over the run with their clients when they get there. The Big Horn is one of the most heavily fished rivers in Montana and is about half the size of the Missouri and only about 13 miles long where the majority of trout fishing happens. On the Madison, folks park in spots because rowing back up to a run is pretty much impossible. When these folks come to the Missouri, they bring their own set of norms with them and again, that creates friction. 

We also have a lot more weekend warriors on the rivers that for no other reason than just not being a part of the community, have never been exposed to the guide etiquette. They aren't stupid or selfish or just being a-holes, they just don't know. And yes, I've been one to call people out as being clueless for dropping the hook in a run but what can you do? (One time I floated by a boat that parked in a well fished run and asked if their parents sent them out to play in the freeway when they were kids. They didn't get it.) Just yesterday, a boat with three old dudes rowed by us as I was fishing a bank with my clients, waved and asked how our day was going, and then pulled right in front of us only 25 yards downstream and started fishing that same bank we were. They literally had to push to get in front of us and then basically, took over the bank screwing us. 

My client asked, "What the fuck are these guys doing?"

"They're probably from the Big Horn," I replied and probably wasn't wrong. 

Instead of saying anything to those guys, I suggested checking on some rising fish on the other side of the river, got my guy set up with a dry fly, and after an eat from a good brown sipping along the willows, he quickly forgot about us getting cut off by a couple old farts in an antique, wooden, Mackenzie River drift boat. 

The interesting thing about the Missouri is that these norms for giving people space and sharing runs is different the further one gets from the dam and quite often, are different in different spots along the river. For instance, if these guys had been 25 yards in front of me on the grass flats below the dam, I wouldn't have cared. There are so many fish on those grass flats, and everyone is floating over them, and most are catching fish. As you get down stream and fish the more solitary fish holding up along the banks, you're looking for a different quality of fish that might include a two-foot brown trout. Those fish get spooked easier and if a boat cuts you off, they might be blowing those scarce opportunities for your clients. And as you get way down stream, we tend to try to keep a couple hundred yards between boats because we can, and the goal isn't just catching fish but also giving your clients a perception of fishing in solitude to fish that haven't been beaten up on for months. 

The norms that make up the etiquette on the Missouri change over time as the fly-fishing industry develops new strategies and niches within the sport. I hesitate to come across as bagging on particular guides and techniques but one such development that is having an impact is Spey casting. I'm not the only guide that has tried to get away from the crowds, looking forward to fishing a favorite run, only to round the bend to have a guide with clients posted up at the end of the run chucking 80 feet of line out across the river, blocking you from fishing it and in your head you're like, "God dang it..." And if there are a couple guides on that stretch doing the same thing, racing down from one run to the next, well, you can see where that might get old. 

As the river gets busier and busier and more and more guides start parking in these runs, my fear is that we all start racing down to these spots and posting up with the attitude of, "Fuck it. If they're going to cock-block me, I'm going to have to do it too." Next thing you know we're paying 15-year-olds to bike down to these places and stand there with a rod in their hands pretending to fish until the guide gets there. Don't think that's too big of a stretch. It already happens on some rivers. 

I guess this brings me to the point of all of this; we don't want that here. We don't want the erosion of etiquette to get to the point where it's this Machiavellian form of rule where "man to man is wolf," and there's no consideration for the other guy just trying to give their clients a quality experience.  I feel like we would server ourselves and our clients better by preserving a sense of community within the industry that protects all of our opportunities for success. If we don't, fly-fishing will lose its charm and it just won't be worth it for people to spend the money on trips because it won't be enjoyable. And we also stand the risk of isolating ourselves from the grater community of do-it-yourself anglers that might actually want to book us at some point or even worse, have the power to legislate against us. Without opening up that pandora's box let me be clear, if we piss off too many of the local anglers you can bet there will be even more proposed official rules changes that won't be favorable to the guiding industry. 

I mentioned ethical concerns at the beginning of this discussion and would like to take a minute or two to circle back to those concerns that may also offer some solutions. As I mentioned, there are spots on the Mo that hold a ton of fish. When I say a ton, I mean like so many fish rising that a twenty-foot-deep pool will literally look like a 30 by 100-foot riffle with all the fish sipping on the surface. With the right conditions, 5 or even 10 boats could comfortably go through the pool with two clients in each boat, both hooking up every time, then pulling over and row back up to do it again. These 5 or 10 boats could continue the process dozens of times, catching fish every time through, but should they? 

I remember picking clients up from a lodge one day and after getting into the truck, one guy asked, "Hey, can we see a little more river today? Yesterday our guide had us fish one pool for about 5 hours. We caught a shitload of fish but...kind of felt dirty afterwards." 

Two things about that; the Missouri is really a gorgeous stretch of river with a lot of wildlife and things to see. That is part of the experience. Yes, catching fish is important but so is quality of experience. The second thing is how much are we beating up on the same fish by going through that run over and over and over again? And if ten boats are spending hours beating up the same fish, what kind of an impact does that have on the fishery? 

Another thing to consider; is that the look you want to project to the general public? Trust me, there have been days that I can't wait to get to these spots because I know we're going to pad the stats a bit, but I am also hyper-aware of those perceptions and what that type of fishing does to the fishery. So, what works for me is to take a few runs at it, catch some fish and then tell my clients we're going to leave a few for the next boat. I've never had anyone every complain and in fact, if presented well, they agree that the responsible thing would be to move down and find another pool and then another and keep working our way down stream.

So, what are some other solutions? We could try to teach all these nuances to all the guides and anglers on every river across the state and at some point, everyone would follow the rules, right? Doubtful. I feel like a more realistic approach or exercise for preserving all our sanity would be to explore our own personal expectations and address the pressure we put on ourselves to be seen as successful guides. "All clients care about is a bent rod," is something I hear frequently in the guide community but is that really true? 

A lot of the friction we feel isn't just because other folks aren't following the rules. It's because by others not following those rules, we feel like that is compromising our own opportunities for success. If this guide parks in a run that I know we'll hook up in, that's one less chance for catching fish. And that might be true. However, if the goal is less focused on catching numbers of fish and more on teaching new techniques or educating folks on either the specific river or local history or even entomology or any other pieces of the fly-fishing puzzle, we can take those opportunities for when someone is blocking us from fishing a run to fulfilling other aspects of what makes a great trip. Take a break. Pull over and tip a rock over and look for bugs. Teach your client how to throw a reach cast. Tell a joke. Ask them questions about themselves and actually show an interest in them. Then, when the run opens up, go get 'em. 

Most of the solutions, I feel, come down to our own personal responsibility to learn the etiquette and to lead by example. As I mentioned earlier, when I first started guiding, I fished with guides who understood the local norms and were committed to preserving the community. I didn't get a list of rules or dos and/or don'ts. What I got was feedback and communication from guides and outfitters who cared enough to tell me when I was crossing a line and then it was on me to accept the feedback or not. As new guides show up, I would strongly encourage them to find guides they respect and hang out with them for a while. Buy them a beer. Maybe take them fishing and instead of trying to impress them, try listening. And if you're one of those folks fortunate enough to be solicited by an angler or a new guide, be grateful for the opportunity to help grease the wheels a bit.

Keep 'em where they live...

River Etiquette 101: Ramping Up

 March 2019 at the Craig Boat Ramp. This year is a very different year. 

It's getting crazy busy already on the Missouri and being out there myself, watching folks navigate the roads, ramps, and river, it's obvious that people are living by different rules than the rest of us. I try to be empathetic. I try to understand why someone would do what they are doing while EVERYONE else is following suit, and what I realize is that not everyone knows those unwritten rules we call etiquette. I watched a couple guys the other day while putting my boat in, who clearly are new to the sport and maybe just need a little help. The problem is, if you say something, you risk the chance of looking like the asshole. No matter how hard you try to soften the delivery, people don't like to feel like they are be criticized; especially when they are engaging in something new, and they already feel vulnerable. So, here's what I'm going to do. I am going to write a series of blog posts to help out. What I would like from you, is to share this with folks you feel could use the help. 

The first thing I want to talk about is the boat ramp. Before I do, however, let's revisit what etiquette is. Like I said, etiquette is really just a bank of unwritten rules that most often are unique to a specific region or culture or group of people that are shared by those locals, that help keep order. I like to think of it as the grease that lubricates the wheel that keeps things running smoothly. Without it, you get friction. Friction causes things to heat up and eventually blow. I watched a good friend of mine, who is a guide who rarely loses his shit, stand up on his cooler in his boat and go ballistic on a group of guys who cut in front on him and dropped anchor. All the other boats were fishing down that run, pulling off to the side, rowing back up and fishing it again. That one boat was doing their thing, not paying attention to all the other boats and because of that, took away everyone else's opportunities for fishing in that stretch. That one boat was causing a lot of friction and finally...kaboom!

What happens when people don't follow local traditions and etiquette, is in the short-term, we get these blow-up or dustups or even people just shaking their heads and moving on, afraid to say anything and we think, "well, no harm no foul." But, the long-term effect of this is an erosion of etiquette where there are no rules and there's constant friction in our lives. Then you see some old guide walking across a parking lot with his head down, mumbling to himself, something about wishing he had his Ruger Blackhawk, .41 magnum on his hip. 

The last thing I'll say about the definition of etiquette is that it's important to understand that it isn't something I come up with or even just the guides who fish the river day by day. It's a shared set of norms that are developed over time and in consideration of environmental factors, the people involved, the demographics of those people, etc. etc. The rules may change as the variables change, which means we all need to show a little grace when friction occurs. And if we want to get along, we all need to strive for a better understanding of the norms and a commitment to follow them. 

Getting back to the ramp; I remember a day when I was floating up to the take-out with clients and witnessed something I'm sure I will never see again, and just illustrates how friction can lead to a potentially explosive situation. The take-out was Prewett Creek on the Missouri, which is the end of the canyon. It's a gorgeous float, so on the weekends, tons of rafters, kayakers, rec-floaters, and anglers like to float down to Prewett. As we approached the beach and the actual boat ramp, anxiety started kicking in as I was seeing dozens of rafts, kayaks and float tubes lining the beach, which wasn't allowing us a place to park my boat. On the concrete ramp, where boats should be pulling out, there was a truck towing small fishing boat with a motor, stalled out halfway up the ramp with a group of guys huddled around the trailer. 

It was apparent, as we floated closer, that the trailer had a flat tire. The owner of the boat realized the tire was flat, after he got the boat loaded and started driving up the ramp. He immediately stopped and decided to fix the tire before moving off the ramp. In doing so, he blocked everyone else from being able to access the ramp or the beach to load up their crap. 

The owner also didn't have a jack in his truck, so the group of guys huddled around the trailer were actually lifting the trailer, with the boat and motor on it, up off the ground so that the owner could change the tire. Classic. 

As I poked the nose of my boat between a couple kayaks in order to beach my boat, one of my clients was already to the point of almost losing her shit. She immediately jumped out of the boat to start shuffling the various vessels out of the way so that I could pull my boat out off the beach. I ran to my truck to get in line behind the half dozen or so other rigs now waiting for the drunk guy on the ramp to change his tire. Oh yeah. I didn't mention the plethora of empties that included a variety of White Claws, and Busch Lites, spilling out from the cab onto the ramp. 

Now waiting in line, I see the tire is changed and the dudes solicited as jacks dispersing, and then the drunk guy takes the flat tire and begins to re-mount it where the spare tire belonged instead of just throwing it in the back of his truck or the boat, taking another three or four minutes. Meanwhile, more and more floaters were reaching the beach and making their way to their rigs to get in line. The temperature on my forehead reached the boiling point as my furrowed brow creased deeper and deeper and then I lost my shit. 

"Hey!" I yelled at the guy as I climbed out of my truck. "Just throw the damn tire in your truck and get off the ramp!" 

"Can't you see I had a flat tire?" He rhetorically asks while frantically waving his arms. 

"Yeah, and everyone else here sees you had a flat tire too and now they're all waiting for you to get the hell out of the way so they can load up their gear!" My arms now matching his. 

At that moment, the guy grabs the tire iron from the back of his trucks and starts heading my way, again taking even more time to get off the ramp. He's got the pointed end in his fist, waving the wrench end at me, digging deep into his redneck vocabulary for every adjective that would describe exactly what he thought of us d-bag guides that are fucking up his river. I promptly jumped back in my truck telling him to just get off the damn ramp to which he must have had a moment of clarity and retreated to his truck and headed out. 

I know, I could have been more patient or even offered a hand and this interaction would have gone very differently and sometimes, I do. I see someone struggling and I figure that me helping will just move things along quicker. And then sometimes, people are so clueless that I feel like I need to make a point. Maybe, that will sink in, and we all gain a better understanding? I'm not sure that ever works out. In this case, a little common sense would have gone a long way and that's probably what you're all thinking. "Doesn't most of this come down to common sense?" Yes, but that just leads us to a place of wondering how someone could be that stupid and that's not helpful either. 

Let me just point out a few things that would make all of our lives better that some of the new boat owners or newly impassioned rec floaters and anglers could benefit from to resolve some of the tension that happens on the boat ramps. 

One of the most common things I see that really frustrates folks is someone pulling into a fishing access site, seeing there's nobody on the boat ramp and just backing in their rig without getting anything ready like unstrapping the boat, getting your gear from the truck to the boat, etc. Meanwhile, there are a half dozen other people getting their boats rigged and ready to go so they can drop in and get out of the way. Bottom line, get your boat ready before backing in so you can get in and get out. 

Take some time to learn how to back a trailer. I know, it's tricky. A little practice time in the yard goes a long way. Not everyone is a pro, but this can help expedite the process.

Before you decide to drop in, look around and see if someone has been waiting and maybe ask if it's ok if you go in or if someone else has been waiting longer. A little courtesy goes a long way as well. 

At the ramps that are wide enough to drop more than one boat at a time, don't use the entire ramp. Go as far to one side as you can so someone else can drop in alongside you. 

Once you drop in, pull your boat as far to the side as you can so the next person doesn't have to pull their boat all the way around yours. Make room for people.

On busy days, pull away from the ramp and park somewhere out of the way before rigging up your rods or teaching your clients all the cool guide tricks. Not only are you out of the way, but your clients will feel better too, not having an audience. 

Don't park a single car in the trailer parking spots. I hate that. 

Back your trailers into the parking spot. Two reasons; one is so it's quicker and easier for the shuttle drivers. The other reason is because it's so much safer. 

Control your dogs. I love dogs. I don't like them jumping on or in my truck or boat. 

If you see someone struggling, lend a hand. 

Wait your turn. We're all in a hurry at the end of the day. Helping folks get their boats on their trailers while you wait can speed things up. 

Clean-up...Some guides like to rinse off their boats at the end of the day on the ramp. If people are waiting...probably not a good style. 

Take your garbage with you! The outhouses are not garbage bins. Someone has to pick your crap up for you. Don't be a jerk.

For the guides that haven't figured this out yet, there are better options for pulling out at certain take-outs than others on the weekend. We all know how busy it gets. We know the river and know where the busy take-outs are and how to avoid them. A little planning at the beginning of the day can save a lot of congestion at the end. 

Yes, a lot of this in common sense and just common courtesy. It's going to be a busy summer on the Missouri and other rivers out here in Montana. Let's all do our part to grease the wheels and have a friction-free season. For some, that might mean forwarding this to someone you know who might not be aware. 

Keep 'em where they live...