A Homebrew Runs Through It: The homebrew of fly fishing guides
It’s no secret that fishing and beer go together like glitter and glue, hot rods and fuzzy dice, Disney and mice, bacon and um . . . anything. It’s easier for the spin fisher to enjoy a beer, but it’s tough to hold a beer and fly fish at the same time. So, after a long day on the river, fly fishers make up for this lost time by being one of the unofficially largest support groups of homebrews and craft beer — especially the guides.
Not many know that a guide’s day starts at 4 a.m. preparing gear, making lunches, packing drinks, tying the latest hot pattern and cleaning out the rust-is-the-bond-that-keeps-us-together tan 1987 Toyota Pre-Runner. All to be Benjamin-worthy — to get that coveted $100 tip.
At the end of the day we fly fishing guides gather at a secret spot for a brew. The beers have usually been on ice since 4 a.m., since it IS the first thing a guide will pack before anything else. It’s usually a homebrew made by himself, which is the second-most braggart thing a guide will discuss amongst his peers, second only to how good of a guide he is. And if he is a salted homebrewer, he would make his own labels to one-up the other guides’ boring brown bottles of fermentation. A guide/brewer wants to avoid that stiletto-sharp question “what exactly is in this bottle.” And it’s worse to say “I don’t know . . . some homebrew I made last year.” As for me, the labels helped make my homebrew the most identifiable and oft requested by the other guides, and thus making me a legendary guide, even if it is in my own mind.
There is a moral to this story: It just takes a homebrew, a story-enshrined label, and some willing clients to get started as being the best fly fishing guide ever.
After that first secret-spot homebrew, the guides will string up a rod, choose one fly and go fish for big-fish bragging rights. Once the fly is lost, the guide is out of the competition. Time limits are usually ignored and there’s never a belief the truth is told about the biggest fish caught — it’s more like a competition of whose story is the best — not the most believable. All this told whilst picking the banjo or guitar and having another tailgate homebrew. Or if the cooler ran dry, it demands a quick trip to the local craft beer joint in town. It’s a given — a great fly fishing town will have a great craft brewery, maybe two or three — it just goes hand-in-hand with where God’s fish live. A guide’s day ends when the last beer is consumed and they all agree it’s time to go home. Because you know, there’s another trip to prepare for at 4 a.m. tomorrow morning.
And it’s with an ale in-hand at the end of each day, guides gather, tout their own greatness, laugh at the client that fell in the water, and burn the day’s events into fabled stories that will be passed around for years, making great fodder for the next beer label (see my label on the left as just one example of many). There is a moral to this story: It just takes a homebrew, a story-enshrined label, and some willing clients to get started as being the best fly fishing guide ever. And best homebrewer.
I ain’t the world’s best brewer.
I ain’t the worst one either.
I ain’t the best flat-picker.
I ain’t the worst one either.
I ain’t the best lawn mowerer.
And I ain’t the worst one either.
Same can be said for my beer labels.
But I am a derned-good beer tasterer.
Because I am a fly fishing guide.
