Alaska With Bubba Bob

Fly Fishing in Alaska

Can you possibly imagine a native of New York City being named Bubba Bob? It just doesn’t fit. Maybe Byron, or Chase, or His Lordship, but not Bubba Bob (BB). Anyone from New York City named BB had to have had a father and mother with a somewhat warped sense of humor. I did some investigating after my experience with BB, and discovered that his parents were one of those rags-toriches stories. They had done extremely well in business and had managed to hold onto their wealth even through bad times. They seemed to hope that naming their son BB would help keep him grounded; more in touch with reality despite a big-city, East Coast upbringing. Indeed, BB developed a strong sense of business reality to him, as he was able to increase the wealth his parents had created and ultimately left him. Unlike so many others who had been gifted a financial head start, he did well on his own. That said, along with his financial success, he had developed a huge sense of self-worth. Everything he did or said was directed towards himself. He had to feel he did everything bigger and better than anyone else.

BB made it known he only smoked Cuban cigars smuggled into the country, drank wine from his own vineyard sent to him whenever he traveled, shot the most expensive shotguns he could find, and fished with custom-made bamboo fly rods. That’s the BB I came to know. And, frankly, if you have done any traveling where you stayed in a hunting or fly fishing lodge, you have probably met someone like BB.

I met BB as we stood at the bar of our shared Alaskan fly fishing lodge. He looked like he had just stepped out of a G.Q. ad. Everything was pressed and color-coordinated. His fishing shirt was tailored and cut from of the finest cotton, embroidered with a jaunty “BB” over the left pocket. As for myself, I looked like I had just stepped off a 12-hour flight (middle seat), which in fact was the case. BB had arrived on his Gulf Stream. I was on my fourth lodge scotch (to kill the pain of travel), while BB drank from a bottle of his private label California wine – a suitable pairing for his short and comfortable day of travel. As BB told me all about himself, I was saying a silent prayer that we would not be partnered together for the week. My prayer was soon answered; and the answer was not the one I wanted. (I figured the “no” answer was because of my lack of adherence to any religious beliefs for the last 20 years). I would be fly fishing with BB for the next seven days.

Needless to say, I was less than excited; I can’t speak for BB. As we talked about our various fly fishing and travel exploits, we discovered this was the first trip to Alaska for both of us. However, BB informed me he had watched lots of DVD’s about fly fishing in Alaska, and he was sure he knew everything there was to know about catching big fish in the Land of the Midnight Sun. I, by now on my sixth Scotch, admitted to knowing nothing about much of anything.

The next morning our pilot/guide, Mary Jane (MJ), loaded us into her float plane and headed out to the river that we would be fishing for the day. BB was quick to climb into the co-pilot seat, figuring that since he owned his own jet, he might be able to help out if trouble occurred. Of course, BB never thought to ask me if I had any flying experience, and I didn’t volunteer anything about my 1,000 hours of instrument-rated flying time. Some things are just better left unsaid. MJ managed to

deliver us to the river (as she did every workday) and to land the floatplane without any help from BB.

As soon as all the gear was unloaded, BB grabbed his rod, reel and flies, and in a very fast walk, headed downstream looking for the best spot. MJ shook her head, told me to head further downstream, below BB. She said she’d be along once the plane was secured. And, by the way, the best fishing would be below BB. I began to head downstream.

As I walked past BB, he waved, and sincerely said “Good luck.” I went about 50 yards past BB, began casting and catching fish, lots of fish. As I began landing lots of big fish Sally Sue (SS) suddenly appeared. (Where in heaven’s name do they get these names?) SS had beautiful brown hair, brown eyes to match, white teeth, sharp nails, and smelled awful. But, if you were a 1,000 pound bear, you’d smell awful too. SS sat down on the far bank, maybe 50 yards away, and gave me a “It’s time to start fishing look.” Then she licked her nose for just the right effect. Needless to say, I became a very competent and efficient fly fisherman.

Every time I caught a fish, SS moved out into the stream and collected my fish and fly. After she performed that service for me, SS went back to her spot on the far bank and ate my fish and fly. We were a team. I caught the fish and SS ate it instead of me. It seemed like a fair tradeoff. However, after about an hour of this catch and eat program, I was running out of flies and leader. I knew I couldn’t outrun SS. I was overweight and hung over from the night before. (Had it been six scotches or eight?) SS was lean and mean. As this scenario was playing out I

by Don Oliver

noticed MJ was watching all this from the safety of the plane. She also had a slight smile on her face. I realized this wasn’t the first time she had witnessed something like this.

So, as I stood there contemplating a bear hug from SS, I had a thought. It came to me as BB hollered over to me. He wanted to show me yet another fish he had just landed. I slowly began to work my way over to where BB was fishing. SS moved parallel with me, step for step. She ate my last fish, fly, and leader just as I got to BB’s side. As I settled into the lea side of BB he said, “Say that’s a mighty cute bear you have following you. I shot one about twice that size in Canada. ” Why was I not surprised with that statement?

I told BB I was out of flies and was going to the plane to get some more. As I said this, SS ate BB’s fish, fly, and leader. Was I good or what? BB said that was a good idea and while I was at the plane would I send MJ his way. BB said he didn’t think she was doing a very good job as he needed wine and would appreciate it if MJ at least pretended to guide. All this was said as SS ate another fish, fly, and leader. I also noticed that since BB couldn’t cast very far SS had moved to the middle of the river to be closer to the action.

I slowly eased over to the plane and MJ congratulated me on how I had handed SS over to BB. She said SS shows up all the time, and sometimes brings the kids along for photo ops. I asked MJ what would happen when BB ran out of flies. She shrugged her shoulders, and said, “So far, none of my clients have faced that situation. ” We both wondered how many more flies BB had.