Finding My Calling
Laying in bed staring at the ceiling, watching the clock tick closer and closer to five o’ clock, sleep was evading me. Not a normal problem for most 10 year olds, but Dad and I were going fishing today and first light couldn’t come soon enough.
Thinking he’d have to wake me, dad was always surprised to see me sitting at the kitchen table ready to go. With thermoses full of black coffee strong enough to melt a spoon and a loaded down truck, we were on our way to my favorite spot, the East Outlet!
As a young boy, getting to spend a whole day fly fishing with dad was a very special thing. I’ll never forget the stagnant smell of his cheap cigars, making me promise not to tell my sister. The gas station pizza, telling Mom we’d eaten healthy. The endless competitions and arguments over who had caught more fish, Oh and the coffee, I hated the taste of it, but what other option did I have.
Upon arriving at the river we turned left onto the dirt road, silently praying nobody would be in our favorite pool. As luck would have it this sunny day in early June, we were all alone. With waders seven sizes too big and my 75$ L.L. Bean kit rod in hand it was time to catch some fish, or at least beat the crap out of the water trying.
The sound of the river has always been relaxing for me, sometimes I tend to get lost in it, and forget I’m even fishing. I was in a similar stupor when my dad yelled to me “Hey look bud! The boats are coming!” Spinning around I looked up to see a beautiful drift boat gracefully floating around the corner, maneuvering around rocks and through big waves with ease. Looking on with envy I frantically started casting, wanting to show off my newfound skills to the guide in the boat. It wasn’t long before they were anchored up not too far away, prying the waters for some fish of their own. Walking towards my dad, I picked a comfy looking rock and plopped down to watch the show. Soon after dad joined me on my perch and we watched the guide tie on flies, untangle leaders that I would have thrown away in a heartbeat, and net fish after fish. Seeing my obvious interest in what was happening in front of us, Dad started explaining how the trips worked, where they went, and what they did. I think it was at this point I had a revelation and looked at him and said… “Wait, this guys getting paid to do this? Like that’s his real life job?” I had just found my calling.
Nine years later, after a lot of studying, even more coaching from Scott, and a very sleepless night before the test, I had gotten my guides license and was on my way to my dream job. In the years since then, my passion for the job has only grown. Winters are long, this time of the year comes around and I’m nearly going crazy. Looking through all of my old pictures, re-watching videos, cleaning the gear for the tenth time, Spring Fever has pretty much taken over my life.
Rewind 13 years and sadly, it was time for our day of fishing to be over. Back in the truck I went, never making it the whole hour home without falling asleep. I don’t think it ever mattered how many fish we caught, these trips were all about the fun and the memories. I’ll never be able to repay my dad for getting me into this crazy, addicting, and rewarding sport that has now become my career; instead I just look forward to days we get to go fishing together again.
-Justin Ottmann