El Jefe Fishes

As I understand it, this goes with the territory of owning and running an independent fly shop.  You enjoy educating, outfitting, and sending out a lot of people, in every direction, to many super piscatorial locales.  This is a chosen vocation with a lot of upside.  The only downside I can tell, is that you don’t get a ton of water time yourself, at least in the short term.  It’s a trade off, and an accepted part of the gig. 

The only exceptions to get away from the set hours that I readily see, are the industry shows, or occasional hosted trip.  For each of those though, you’re really (still) at work, and you rely on someone to mind the store.  Any time that involves a first person, practical use of fly tackle, usually requires extensive planning with little flexibility.  The true fishing shop keepers are masters of this balancing act.

El Jefe did exactly this.  He planned out a small window and made it happen.  After closing out a busy, pre-holiday Saturday, he hopped into his truck, and drove 6 hours to surprise everyone on the Rust Belt Hosted Trip.  The conditions were moving toward ideal, and I’m certain that helped the long, late night miles pass.  It’s close to midnight when we exchange the obligatory “See you in the morning, safe travels.”  I turned in for the night.  He’s still 2 hours away. 

I arrived mid-morning the next day to check the river from the bridge, and broadcast a photo of my findings to the guides running our people on another river.  The water was looking to be better for the afternoon.

We’d meet up in a couple hours, so I suited up and went down to survey the river firsthand.  Finding some depressions on the surface, I swung a brightly colored pink & purple shank fly through some soft water that looked promising.  That was a good bet.  The clarity, albeit not prime, was just on the right side of good enough and produced a hard tug, and in a few minutes I had a pretty chromer dangling at my feet, posing for her yearbook photo.

I stood up to watch that hen swim away, and the 20 degree windchill turned my hands into ice.  As the day would continue, the air temp would begin moving towards the high 40’s, which should bring the water temp up a bit too. 

I walked out to meet El Jefe at the cabin, have a beer to celebrate the fish, change the leader setup, and look for something to help fording the slightly tan, gray, green cast river.  Everyone else was going to a magical place, that I was told by the outfitter to stay away from. 

We exchange the greetings and hellos of fishing friends.  In my experience, these are among the most genuine and sincere known in life.  Doesn’t matter how much time has passed since the last trip either.  I greatly value the people I’ve connected with through fly waters.  Possibly, because no matter any difference that may be exist between us, we tend to share a common and familiar respect and love for the sport.  That’s a strong foundation for any friendship; the rest can all be worked around.  Those that get it, know exactly what I’m talking about.  Anyone who needs an explanation, will never be able to understand it. 

We cross the river quicker and more safely than initially thought and head down to the bend.  Based on the lack of boot tracks, this water hasn’t had a fly swung through it for a couple weeks.  Part of the etiquette of sharing your local with friends, includes offering the first pass, on each run.  This is most always seen as a grand gesture, and greatly appreciated, although I’ve witnessed this go slightly sour when their pocket gets picked by the following angler. In most cases, the local fisherman is the culprit.  This can prove out some spirited banter.  In this case, I really wanted El Jefe to stick a fish.

I took a seat on a downed tree to take some pics, and watch my friend cast.  It’s also sometimes just nice to sit back and take in the quiet stillness of a Sunday afternoon on a river.  There were no cars, or road noise.  No boats.  Certainly not any other anglers.  The simple, steady tumbling of water was all that could be heard.  Once he worked downstream, I stepped in at the top to follow. 

Before doing so, I thought – here’s a guy who is absolutely committed to his business and his craft.  Cast, cast, step.  Cast, cast, step.  On and off the river.  He just put in a 10 hour day, pulled a 6+ hour drive, and slept a scant 4 hours on a cold leather couch in the living room of the cabin.  And here he is, happily fishing. Casting well.  Enjoying the scenery and his people.  Making the most out of the time.  If anyone, anywhere, truly deserves a fish – it’s the independent fly shop owner who is likely on a small window trip.

As patrons and friends of our favorite fly shop, I don’t know that many of us give much consideration to the effort it takes for the principals to get out on the water.  This really struck me on that Sunday, and was a cool part of my day.  The best have learned to fish with their clients in spirit as they share their adventures, most of the time without knowing the sweet smells of the forests and rivers.  Sometimes they really get to go along.  It was a pleasure to share some time.

Next time, El Jefe.