chippewawarrior
WKR
I guide just about every time I hit the outdoors... It's called, "Dad". I couldn't imagine it any other way?
Hey BAG tell me how you really feel. You have been doing the Summer gig for a while so I know you have had your share of less than perfect clients. When you have a hunter come in and proceed to get falling down drunk, or hit on your wife,or call your guides racial epithets, or abuse your stock it is tough to feel they deserve your best efforts. I've seen that happen in camps and I know I would not handle it well. Especially during hunting season. In the summer there isn't the pressure to "produce" like there is hunting.
In my post above I was honest about MY limitations...I also called it selfish...
I worked on offshore sportfishing boats for many years. I absolutely love offshore fishing. But after doing it for so many years, I got burnt out bad and it took all enjoyment out of fishing. I didn't even touch a fishing rod for a couple years. Everything has a point of diminishing returns.
My take is to get a good enough job that you can tolerate, pays well, and that allows you ample time and money to hunt on your own. Then you get to hunt on your terms, and as 2Rocky said, you don't have to wipe the nose of some underserving Nancy boy. And you will make enough and have benefits to provide for you and your family's future. What are you gonna do when you are 70? You may not physically be able to work anymore, and you almost certainly will not have earned enough to have properly saved for retirement. Forget about it if you want to have a family. Health insurance? Huh? Obama to the rescue, right? 401k? Disability coverage? Life insurance?
Not trying to be a buzzkill, just a realist. Guiding is for young single guys who haven't figured it out yet, or those free spirits who don't think about tomorrow.
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Guiding has its plusses........and its minuses. The story of my last day as a guide- the readers digest version- grin
We used to do a bunch of hog hunting behind dogs in the late 70' early 80's. Then we thought, what is not to like about being paid to hunt so we got guides licenses and did a bunch of depredation on the state parks for hogs. It became obvious that though there was nothing I would rather do than hunt, it was different when I couldn't pick my hunting partners- in some cases much different. My last day guiding started out like the rest- tell the overweight guy he couldn't bring his pistol- in this case a Colt .45 auto (in a loose holster)
"Thats my granddaddies gun and if I don't take it you don't get your $300", he said. So as to save a long argument we warned him we werent responsible when he lost it in the thick Ca manzanita and under no circumstances was he to pull it out until we told him the dogs were clear.
fast fwd 3 hours and 5 miles later my buddy is dragging this guy to our 5 frantic dogs that have cornered a big 300# hog for the umpteenth time since this guy couldn't get his butt to the hog. I was trying to hold back a couple of big catch dogs so they wouldn't get sushi chefed by the big tusker. The fat azz finally got to the hog and boy did his eyes go wide. The dogs had a hog bayed in a hole in the creekbottom. The hunter just stood there dazed. I was pulling out my camera to take a couple pics ( the old instamatic) and the hunter pulls out his Colt with all of the dogs all over that hog in a tangled mess. My buddy screamed at him twice not to shoot and give him the gun. I swear, I can hardly remember my neighbors names but I can picture that moment like it was yesterday- in slo mo even. The guy turned with the pistol hammer back and pointed it right at my buddy Marks head 12" away.
Mark ducks and grabs the gun at the same time with his finger wedged between the hammer and the frame...and then just sits down hard with dogs and hog fighting like crazy no more than 10' away. He was ghost white. I handed the hunter my big pig sticker, jumped in and grabbed the back leg and with a lot of coaxing finally got the hunter to dispatch the hog- whew, glad that was over. Mark was just sitting there and I had to carefully pry the gun from his hand while relieving the hammer snapped on his finger.
Mark exploded. Mark, about a buck fifty soaking wet went at that hunter ex football player and I thought he was going to beat that guy silly.
I just remember telling myself on the ride home- NO MORE GUIDING...and I've enjoyed the heck out of hunting ever since
Cool story Beendare, and scary. One of my friends is a hog guide. He has similar horror stories, and several holes in his truck from AD's. I'm with you, no thanks.