Wow! So this morning it was yet another "Memories" that popped up on Facebook. This from today September 9th, 2014. There was so many things going on in my life at that time both personally and professionally. I was starting to find, well rebuild, myself and my cylinders were starting to fire correctly. I had just moved into my own place after spending the bulk of the summer splitting my time living out of my car and a storage unit I had rented on Route 66 in Neptune. It wasn't a good summer. I would crash in my truck and then start my mornings outside of the gate of the storage place waiting for the gate access to let me in. There I would change and gather things I needed for the day. The Red Bank YMCA had become my place to sh%t, shower, and shave. It was what it was.
I kept it all to myself and whatever pride I had left following divorce number two prevented me from asking around for a place to crash. By mid August I found myself in the spare bedroom of my Mom's place. That was great but not for by self-worth and esteem. I had to string days together before moving into the above place, a winter rental I had secured from September 1st to May 28th. It was perfect. Located on Phillips Avenue, just blocks away from my favorite salty beats, and around from one of my favorite hangs at the Bar Room in Deal.
Professionally, if you will, I was motoring ahead and picking up steam. September started off with some play in On The Water magazine where Richie led off an article on beach replenishment where they used several of my photographs. I had talks lined up at some local clubs and at the Orvis store in Manhattan. I has a steady flow of trips under my belt and in the books for the fall run, which back then started in September, not like now where things don't go until later in the fall and early winter.
Personally, I was gaining some momentum also. I felt better about myself because I was dialed in into being a full time guide, splitting my time on the Upper Delaware in the spring and in the salt in Jersey around that. I was an Orvis Endorsed Guide at the time so things were going good. That gave me confidence to do things like spend my down time on "Match.com", even though I failed miserably there. But I found myself during the second week in September on date #2 with a lady up in Newport, RI. No, she wasn't from there, but "go big or go home" was kind of my dating thought process.
And then something magical happened. On the night of the Harvest Moon when the moon was up and the tides were extreme something, well someone, showed up at my door, literally. It was an unexpected visit late in the evening that would change the direction of everything in my life forever. I never responded back to my Match.com date and went all in with, if you could guess, my unexpected, but welcomed guest. It was reconnecting with, you guessed it, Theresa, that changed my life. For the better of course, just in case she's reading this, which she does from time to time.
So how did it change my life? Let's just say within six months I had dusted off my nursing license and scrubs and was back in the game. I had done some soul searching, unfortunately, and realized that I was really in the end, just supporting a habit and lifestyle, and not really making any money, at least not enough to support a wife and a family. A couple thousand here and there from float trips up north or walk and wade or boat trips in the salt only lasted so long. There were enough talks and magazine monies coming in during the non-fishing months to bridge the gap between fishing seasons. So, I put my big boy pants on and went to work. Eventually I would find myself back in school, first for the BSN, and then for my nurse practitioner degree, and then at Villanova for my doctorate, which is still a work in progress, and may never be completed.
And so that picture, on the top, of Charlie, aka Bunky, a friend I met behind the sticks during the guide school I had attended a few before, which brought a flood of these memories out of the depths of
my brain this morning. I remember making that long drive out to Montauk in the wee hours on that fall morning.
It was September 17th 2014. Since I was going "all in" to guiding I had mustered up enough courage and money to make the trek out to "The End", Montauk, Long Island. I figured if I was going to do this I had to do it. My friend at the time, Jason Dapra, was a inspiration and coach, who was more than willing to show me the ropes and get me into the scene out there. I couldn't have done it with out him, even if it did last for just one fall. My nearly two week introduction to the Mecca of fly fishing was scheduled to end with me guiding in the infamous Red Bone Tournament, something that I was extremely nervous about doing, but had to, if I was going to do this.
The Snug Harbor Motel is where I would call home. That would put me on or near the water and near the ramp where I would put in and take out for my two a days while out there. It would also be a stones throw, and a short intoxicated walk, following the best guide hang at West Lake after each day.
There was so much to learn, which I did, and that started off my catching myself from shearing off my fly rod tips under the overhang at the breezeway at the Snug. It almost happened more than once due to the excitement of wanting to meet up with my sports at the ramp and get out on the water.
The plan was to have Bunky as my test rat for a few days before paying customers rolled in. On the first day we had fish as soon as we headed out of the harbor towards the lighthouse. I had studied Montauk and it's famous locations, The Light, Shagwong, Turtle Cove, Browns, Kings, Caswells, and Camp Hero, to name a few. It was all albies all the time. I felt like I was doing it.
And then there was the whole plug incident thing. Boy, what a lesson learned. While Charlie was still out there, and with weather starting to build, each day was spent watching the weather and tides and trying to figure when and where we would fish. At times you would be bare-knuckling it from one side on the way out only to be met with calm seas and fish up on the other. It's two different worlds on either side of the lighthouse.
So on this day we decided to be the first ones out, and we were. There wasn't a boat in site and we were under the lighthouse in sloppy conditions, but the fish were there under the birds. At one point I just kinda felt we were a little low in the water, but I didn't think twice about it, under I opened one of the rear hatches. It was there, to my horror, that I saw salty water sloshing around in the battery compartments. I knew what was going on. We were swamped. I forgot the plug. We were taking on water and sinking. I told Charlie to reel in and hold on. Somehow it started and we gunned it home. At the ramp, and ready to throw up, I watched as at least 1,000 gallons, alright maybe not that much,
drained from the boat or shot out of the bilge pump, like straight out at first, and then a trickle. It was a lesson learned, one that most guides and boat owners do, hopefully before the water hits the batteries and you're calling Sea Tow or, at worst, sounding the alarm for the Coast Guard.
I would eventually settle down before heading out on the water and check at least 10 times that I had the plug in the boat. I was waiting for the next crew to arrive and did some walking and picture taking in and around Montauk.
Montauk was a fishy place. With fish and fishy people. It wasn't the Montauk of years past and not the Montauk of today. The town has changed, the traffic has changed, and the fish have changed, as we have seen New Jersey and the fall migration possible eclipse was rightfully Montauk's honors.
For two days I had Andrew, of Orvis's and my favorite fisherman's wife's fame, and Ian and Phil. They are just fishy dudes and brought a mix of rods, flies and camera equipment out on the boat. It was a great time and since then they have grown both professionally, personally and fishally. Phil will be mentioned again in an upcoming post, Andrew makes it here from time to time, and Ian has moved out to sea tackling pelagics on the fly rod.
2014 was a different time. We didn't have the high-tech phone cameras we have today. I lugged around digital SLR's and Go Pros in Montauk so there are no good hang pictures. But, thanks to Jason, I was in the mix with the best while both on the water and in the bar. These guys, and a lady, were, and some still are, the best of the fly rod guides Montauk has seen. Guys like Jason, Brendan McCarty, Andrew Derr, Jim Levison, Vinnie Catalano, Brian Goulart, Steve Bechard, Amanda Switzer, Paul Capuzzo and of course the guy who started it all Paul Dixon.
Here's a few from the crew above...
And of course the Godfather himself Paul Dixon...
And there you have it. You never know where, and how, life is going to push you towards things or pull you away. In my head at the time I thought I was right where I should be. Not just starting a new adventure but taking it to the next level. And of course with that all the riches and fame that come with being a full time fly fishing guide. But then life gets in the way.
In 2014 I had posted 269 times to this blog. In 2015 that number was down to 26. Looking back I don't think I caught a striped bass that year, including a week up in the Vineyard with the guys. There was no Upper Delaware, I didn't renew my Orvis Endorsed status, and there was no Montauk or Jersey boat trips. There was a day on the beach at IBSP in November for the Orvis 301 class, something that I'm going to revisit this fall with Andrew.
So where do I point if I want to when I reflect and ask the question of why in 2014 did I stray away from being a fly fishing guide? I could, but in the end I just have to point the finger at myself. Things happened for a season, a reason or a lifetime. Through all the tumultuous stuff in the past 10 years fly fishing has been both a constant and a mental disorder. Where once rises by wild fish to tiny bugs used to be the pinnacle of my fly fishing life that's now replaced by a fish with striped that moves around driven by the urge to spawn and follow bait fish.
It's all just in a life. One day this too will all pass. The interest or the ability or life's circumstances will dictate the amount of effort and content I can muster up each year. You will see the numbers trend downward from nearly 300, to 100, to just a trickle if they come at all. But for now, I am left with the memories of lives past, and the desire to get out there as much as I can and live an average anglers life.