There’s a certain mystique around fishing guides. And why not? After all, they are paid to do what they love to do, and when we encounter them, we’re usually on a vacation at a happy place. So, no wonder people sit at their desks and dream of leaving the rat race to become a fishing guide. It’s a good dream, and one that should probably serve you best staying right where it is — a happy daydream. The reality of guiding is very different than the daydream.
I’m one of those fishing guides, but I don’t think of myself as a real guide. I’m more of a pseudo guide. I’m really a school teacher who guides 20 to 30 trips a summer. To be a real guide, you’ve got to do it year-round and spend over 250 days on the water. I’ve only been able to guide for over 30 years because I don’t really guide. I dabble in guiding. If you’ve ever thought about guiding, here’s a peek behind the curtain.
First of all, it’s not about the fish. Don’t become a guide because you love fishing. As a guide, you don’t fish. You teach others to fish, and you watch them fish, often badly. If you’re a charter captain in the bay, the skill level of your anglers doesn’t matter. You find the fish. You hook the fish. They reel in the fish. But as a fly-fishing guide on a river, your guest must accurately and delicately cast a fly to within inches of a log with overhanging tag alders in order to even get the chance to hook a fish. Then they’ve got to mend their line to achieve a drag-free float and when the fish does strike, if at all, your guest must react quickly enough to set the hook before the trout spits the fly back out. Two inches too far from the log, and the trout won’t strike. Two inches past the log, and the fly is snagged in the bushes. It’s very hard to do when you’re a skilled angler. Try teaching that to a novice or a more experienced guest who ignores your instruction. You can blame the angler, but that’s like blaming a student for not learning. If your guest isn’t casting, mending, controlling slack and reacting quickly to strikes, it’s your job to teach them how to do all those things.
So, if you’re a patient, kind teacher and you still want become a fishing guide, the next hurdle to overcome is Michigan trout fishing. Whenever I meet a new guest, I invariable ask them if they’ve fly fished before.
“Oh sure, a few times out in (fill in the blank of a western state) Colorado, Montana, Wyoming, Idaho…).”
“That sounds great!”
“Yeah, it was! We caught like 20 or 30 trout!”
“Okay, so can I take you back home now?”
On a good four-hour daytime guide trip in Michigan, a guest might catch 3-6 fish. But compared to the 12-16” trout they’ll catch out west, we’re talking 6-9-inch trout in Michigan. Or they might catch none. That happens. More than you think. It’s inconceivable when you float for four hours down the incredibly beautiful and varied stream habitat of the Jordan, Boardman, Sturgeon, Pigeon or Upper Manistee rivers, but there are many days when try as you might, a guest simply gets one or two strikes. As a Michigan fly fishing guide, you’ve got to help a guest set realistic expectations before a trip without being such a downer that it makes it sounds pointless to even go fishing. On your guiding website or social media, posting every picture of every 20+ inch brown trout you or your guests have caught over the past ten years doesn’t help those expectations.
In addition to investing time (a four-hour float trip means you put in 7-8 hours by the time you prep your boat, meet your guests, drive to and from the river and put everything away), you’re going to invest some money. Guides who float need an inland pilot’s license ($30) from the DNR, which is different than a Coast Guard’s captain’s license. The inland pilot’s license only allows you to float inland lakes and rivers (any lake like Lake Charlevoix that connects to the Great Lakes requires a captain’s license). You’ll also need a three-year guide’s license ($150) as well as about $100 in first aid equipment and CPR training. I’ve got medical shears that can cut through Carhartts and a tourniquet in case a bear rips your arm off. What I forgot to carry on the river the other night was bug dope, which is not on the DNR required checklist but which is exponentially more valuable than a tourniquet, medical shears or a CPR mask. One time I forgot my net, which of course was the day my angler hooked two 15” browns on a daylight float on the Manistee. (Note to self: a five-gallon bucket doesn’t work as a net and equipment checklists for guides are almost as important as preflight checklists are to pilots.) A guide must have at least four fly rods and reels ($1,200 if you use basic equipment), flies for your guests, good coolers, boat bags and a raft or drift boat ($5,000 — $15,000).
So why guide at all? There are plenty of reasons, starting with the people. Everybody always asks me, “What was the worst guest you ever had?” I’ve never had a nightmare guest. I’ve had guests I’ve enjoyed more than others, but the people have always been good to me. Really, the only ones who have irked me are those who don’t appreciate the beauty of northern Michigan rivers and the trout within them. They are the guys who are looking to check boxes and count size and quantity. One guy caught a dozen rainbows in the 14-18-inch range (read: stocked), and his wife asked him what he thought of the trip? He said he was disappointed he didn’t catch one over 20 inches after regaling me with all the big game he had shot in Africa and the pole-vaulting records he set in college. Then he gave me a $10 tip and told me to buy myself breakfast. In all my years of guiding, I can think of only three guys (Yes, they’re always guys. Women are way more fun to guide. They listen to instruction and actually fish better than men as a result. They have deep and interesting conversations, and they appreciate the experience more than men.) who actually made the day less than enjoyable.
Most guests are great! They come from all over the country, and I get to learn about their families, their fishing experiences, their favorite travel destinations, and their pets. Many of them continue to text you with fishing photos or recommendations of good books throughout the year. They can tell if you’re working really hard to make their trip a special memory, regardless of whether the fish are cooperating.
You spend your days in beautiful environments. The other day I walked through the pines on high bluffs overlooking the Deward Tract on the Upper Manistee. The smell of sweet fern permeated the air, and the breeze rustled comfortingly through the red pines. The night before we floated down the Jordan, watching the moon rise over the spruce spires. The day before that, we were stepping over round cobbles in shallow rushing white water on the Pigeon. Guiding forces me to go to these places instead of mowing the lawn or mindlessly scrolling through my phone.
There’s camaraderie among guides as we share photos, lament fishless trips, and seek advice from one another. The decision of where to fish and when to fish can be agonizing. Mornings are usually better, but last week they were a bust. One day the Sturgeon was fishless and the next day the Pigeon was on fire. Anyone who tells you they know why is either lying or showing their ignorance. I work with and talk with a network of eight guides. If any of us knew exactly which river to go to and when to be there we’d be rich and famous. Or at least famous. Guiding is almost like gambling. The pressure grows and grows until you catch a fish. Catch a big fish, and the relief is palatable.
The food is fun. Some guides like Bill Bellinger of Charlevoix dry their own morel mushrooms and reconstitute them in a dish that would be the envy of many a chef. Others like Dakota May of White Pines Guide Service hire a private chef to prepare meals for their guests. At Boyne Outfitters, we have the chefs at Everett’s Restaurant prepare our amazing wraps and brownies. We used to grill steak or salmon on the banks of the Boyne, and those were meals to cherish with friends and family.
So, if dreams of becoming a fishing guide are beckoning you, I’d encourage you to join the flock (or should I say school?), but when you chase those dreams, make sure you do so with your eyes wide open.