Jack and the Curse of the Competitive Fisherman

It’s a little less than three weeks until opening day of Missouri trout season. The anglers will be out in full force displaying all the newest equipment and garb in the fishing fashion subculture. Rod-and-reel, vest, waders, net, gloves, hat, and, of course, fishing shades. No respectable fisherman can leave home without all these highly utility yet highly fashion-conscience items in hand. We fisherman like to be on the cutting edge of fashion. The good Lord knows that outdoor sorts are fashion moguls…just ask my wife. Another trait we all possess in varying degrees is competitiveness. We are competitive in our equipment and in our accomplishments. For some of us it can be a curse. Enter my good friend and Alaskan fishing partner, Jack Fortney from Marshfield, Missouri.

All of us gravitate toward one expertise or another in our outdoor pursuits. Jack is a fisherman. Jack has fished from Florida to Alaska and all points in between. Hot, cold, calm, windy, cloudy, clear, day, or night, Jack is ready to fish. When Jack goes out fishing he wants to catch the biggest fish and the most fish. Whatever the limit is, he’s there until it’s reached. He is serious. Now, with this competitive trait comes great opportunity. Opportunity, that is, to aggravate and have great fun at the expense of the poor soul afflicted with such a severe case of fishing competitiveness. It just takes the right personality to exploit the situation.

The right personality would be a person with an ornery streak a mile long, a slightly devious demeanor, an undercurrent of humorous underhanded intentions, a great sense of humor, and finally, the right person must not care whether or not Jack got mad. Enter my other Alaskan fishing partner and lifetime hunting, trapping, and fishing compadre, Ellis Floyd. Ellis likes to have fun. Whether we are four wheeling in the mountains of Colorado while elk hunting, camped at Montauk the night before opening day of trout season, dining on an outfitter-cooked meal in a cabin in South Dakota while pheasant hunting, or walking the banks of a river in Kodiak, Alaska, nothing is out of bounds. Ellis will exploit the serious nature of your competitive spirit when it comes to the outdoors. It will be at your expense and it will be very funny to everyone else but you. You will see the humor in years to come but not at the time of the trespass. And he doesn’t care.

Montauk, February 28, 1984. I was in high school and I was completely eaten up with the competitive fishing bug. Ellis, Jeff Layman, I, and several others of our friends were camped at the park the night before opening day. It was a very social event but at 10:00 pm I thought the social time should end so that we could all get up at 5:00 am to prepare for fishing, and I was serious. Of course, Ellis, Jeff, and my friends didn’t see it that way. They continued to socialize and I continued to seriously complain about them quieting down so that we might get some sleep. Finally sometime well after midnight they got quiet and we all went to sleep. The next morning, as I cracked open my eyelids (eyelid for those that know me) I knew there was something amiss, the proverbial fly in the ointment. The sun was shining brightly through the windows and outside there were fishermen walking by our camp with full stringers of fish! Ellis had turned off my alarm. It was 7:45 am and all the good fishing was over. If I had been as big as he was I would’ve thrown him in the river. He was laughing until his eyes watered. I hated him.

Fast forward 24 years. Ellis, Jack, Steve and Trevor Neff, and my son, Alex, and I were walking the banks of the pristine Monashka Creek where it lets out into Monashka Bay in the north Pacific. We were salmon fishing for Pinks because that was the only species running at the time. Pinks are known as dog-salmon in Alaska because the locals feed their sled dogs with Pink salmon. To a hillbilly they just tasted like regular old salmon, and Jack wanted to catch his limit…every day we were there.

Now, when salmon are running in Alaska, the only thing I can explain that is similar is the fish hatchery at Montauk. The rivers are absolutely stacked with 3 to 6 pound salmon. You cannot cast in the river without your lure landing on a fish (this is no joke). Jack marched up and down the bank like a soldier, casting and reeling in fish. Directing us like a drill Sergeant, he instructed us to fill the cooler with each and every Pink that we caught. Ellis, on the other hand, was following Jack around and every time Jack caught a fish, Ellis took it off the hook. Jack thought Ellis was putting the fish in the cooler until he caught a glimpse of Ellis kicking one of his newly landed Pinks back into the water. Uh-oh, the devil had come to breakfast! You have never heard the belly aching that preceded to take place. Jack was mad! And, of course, now we all saw our opportunity to jump into the feeding frenzy. By the time it was all over Jack was grumbling to himself and wasn’t letting any of us fish next to him and Ellis, Steve, Trevor, Alex and I were laughing hysterically!

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This year, if you are down at Montauk on opening day and you have the non-humorous competitive spirit you better watch out – there is an Ellis in every crowd. I have learned the best way to deal with it is not take yourself too seriously. In Nature’s Economy a sense of humor is a grand way to emphasize the beauty that already surrounds you. And, if you've got it coming, it will put you in your rightful place! Jack, if you are reading this, I’m out of pinks…got any I can have? Good luck, be safe, and get a big one.