Sometimes, if you ask yourself “What should I do with my life?” a small, still voice will answer, “Uh, you’re already doing it.” For many people in the fly-fishing trades, that is what happened — what allowed them to be who they are — and it’s what happened to Whitney Gould. In addition to guiding on the Kanektok River in Alaska, on the Grande Ronde River in Washington, and on the Eel River in Northern California for winter steelhead, Gould is a four-time winner of the women’s division of the annual Jimmy Green Spey-O-Rama casting competition held at the casting ponds of the Golden Gate Angling and Casting Club in Golden Gate Park, taking first place in 2009, 2011, 2012, and 2014. (The Spey-O-Rama will be held on April 17, 18, and 19 there this year.) She is also a Federation of Fly Fishers certified casting instructor with both single-handed and double-handed rods. There are may ways on which a person can end up holding a fly rod. We asked Whitney how she ended up holding one in both hands.
Bud: When (and how) did fly fishing become not just something you did, but what you did — not a pleasant diversion, or even a job, but a life?
Whitney: Although I was born in London, England, we moved to the East Coast of the United States when I was two years old, and my first experience fishing was
on a lake at my grandparents’ cabin in northern Minnesota. Both of my parents worked full-time, and rather than hiring someone to take care of us, they sent us to stay with our grandparents. My three brothers and I were happy to live our summers running amok with a group of kids and a pack of dogs. We spent many days exploring and discovering the surrounding woods and lake. These summers were the foundation for my love of fishing and adventure.
I would spend my evenings fishing off my grandparents’ dock. Hours went by with me trying to entice whatever would bite, with a hand-carved wooden drop line and sinker. I spent countless hours on my stomach staring down into the water. I’m sure I caught fish, but what I remember is the peace found in the solitude of being consumed with catching what lived under the dock — a pastime I have never outgrown.
In my teens, my mom decided she was going to fly fish, and we were going to do it with her. She was the first to learn. Afterward she tried to teach my dad and me — to no avail. She soon learned it was best for us to learn from a casting instructor. She was correct in that assertion. Unbeknownst to me, I would eventually become both an International Federation of Fly Fishers certified casting and two-handed casting instructor and would be able to repay to other families the favor that instructor gave mine.
As a family, we would go on destination fishing trips for trout. This meant Montana. I would fantasize for 51 weeks about the upcoming trip. “Journey pride” is what my dad would call it — the euphoria prior to a trip. As a teenager, I was amped, ready to go with absolutely zero fishing skills. I have since come to understand that I was every guide’s nightmare. Later in life, my dad would take me to Melbourne, Florida, to fish for redfish, baby tarpon, and snook. While I was in college, he worked full-time and then some. It was a way for him and for me just to hang out together and do something we both enjoyed.
In all honesty, I think I ended up who I am because my parents encouraged me to pursue what made me happy. After many false starts on different career paths, it wasn’t until I settled in the Pacific Northwest, in Oregon, that fly fishing became a lifestyle. I had taken a job as a sports-fishing guide in southwestern Alaska. Ed Ward, the head guide at the time, recommended me for a position at SpeyWater Lodge. And as a steelhead guide on the Grand Ronde River, I got an education from two of the top steelhead anglers, Mike McCune and Scott O’Donnell. As a result of my family’s love and my experience as a guide, I have met some incredible people and have had opportunities that I never thought could be possible.
Bud: You went from college in Vermont to an artist’s studio in Brooklyn and then to the Rhode Island School of Design to become a landscape architect. That is very much an “East Coast” trajectory. Coming to the West seems to have deflected it. What did you find here and in Western angling that changed the direction of your life?
Whitney: When I got to Oregon, I was overwhelmed by the amount and expanse of the recreational landscape. The Columbia River Gorge National Scenic Area encompasses 292,500 acres. New York City’s Central Park consists of 838 acres — none of which is fishable. If my brother and I wanted to fish, we either took a train north or the subway east.
Shortly after moving west, I developed an inability to sit in front of a landscape architect’s computer. I wanted a job that would feed my wanderlust and general love of life and adventure. I found that and more in southwest Alaska. It’s beautiful in its simplicity and peace. I’ve come to care immensely about the Kanektok River. You never really leave it behind.
I moved to California to take care of family. My husband Mike’s mom developed stage IV lung cancer. We came home to take care of her. Mike grew up in Fair Oaks and began fishing for steelhead at the age of seven. As an adult, he has spent 30-plus years guiding in the Tillamook Bay area, with the focus on fishing the swing with a two-handed rod. As a result of time spent learning and excelling at his craft, he is at the forefront of today’s innovations of Spey. We spent the majority of our downtime fishing for half-pounders and trout with 2-weight and 3-weight two-handed rods and matching lines. Mike made the setups by converting single-handed rods.
I think no matter where we go, we‘ll seek out the opportunity to explore and fish with a two-handed rod. If the equipment is not accessible at the time, Mike will make it, as he has in the past.
Bud: You joined the Golden Gate Angling and Casting Club in 2006. The GGACC has been the scene of many important moments in the history of West Coast fly fishing. What brought you there, what did you find there, and how did you become focused on the two-handed rod? And how did you get involved in competitive casting?
Whitney: I joined the Golden Gate Angling and Casting Club at my dad’s suggestion in 2006, having just moved to San Francisco from the East Coast. At the time, I didn’t have a car, any friends, or a clue as to what I was doing on the West Coast. After a few weeks of hanging out and casting my single-handed rod at targets, I saw a few of the club members practicing for the upcoming Spey-O-Rama (SOR). I of course went over to find out what they were doing. Soon, probably out of self-preservation, they put a Spey rod in my hands. Growing up fishing on the East Coast, I had not been exposed to two-handed rods. It was the first time I had seen a Spey rod, much less cast one. Intrigued, I went to watch the 2006 SOR. After watching club members compete with competitors from Europe, Japan, and the Pacific Northwest, I was inspired to participate in the next year’s competition. I didn’t really become focused on the two-handed rod until I moved to Portland, Oregon, in 2007. Once in Portland, I began to explore the area’s rivers and discovered that not only was the rod great for distance casting, but it was also great for fishing.
Bud: Casting competitions are one thing, and fishing is another. Obviously, you find both really rewarding. I have a friend who says of anything related to fly fishing, “If it isn’t fun, run,” and he’s really skeptical of competition in fly fishing in any form. What is the fun in competition casting? What does it satisfy that plain, simple, old fly fishing (which can be anything but plain and simple and old) doesn’t?
Whitney: I agree with your friend. Competition casting is just that — casting, not fishing. I keep both separate. I think of competition casting as a hobby, guiding as a fun job, and fishing as private time. The pleasure in competition casting is the amount of commitment there is to the cast and the surprise of either winning or losing. The gratification in guiding comes from the focus and commitment required when interacting with my clients, the river, and the boat. Personal time allows me to combine the best of comp casting and guiding at my own pace and on my own terms.
Bud: I gather that competition casting rigs and fishing rigs aren’t usually the same. I get it that in competition casting, as in auto racing, there need to be rules that establish a basic parity in equipment so the skills of the operator (or the contingencies of the moment) come to the fore, but the claim in auto racing, for example, is that innovations developed on the track make their way into the family car. What aspects of competition casting gear lead to improvements in how we fish?
Whitney: Understanding competition gear has led me to understand and further explore line design. As competitors, there are a few choices when it comes to which line to buy. For me, the fun factor begins when I try to figure out what each competitor has done with that line to match the desired grain weight and length for their rod and casting style. Perhaps this constant tinkering with lines has helped to design some of today’s shooting heads, but I couldn’t say for sure.
I can say that I wouldn’t use my competition rod to go fishing, nor would I use my fishing rod in a competition. I don’t know of any fishing rods that can handle a comp line or the amount of steam some of these guys put on that rod while in competition. Neither can I think of a fishery in the Lower 48 where it is absolutely necessary to use a 15-foot 1-inch fly rod carrying a 1000-grain shooting head. That isn’t to say that I won’t fish my 15-foot fly rod — but when I do, I’ll use a lighter shooting head, not a compline. And I use the rod because I want to, not because I have to.
Bud: Being a successful competition caster involves a lot of work — a lot of practice. I gather that it’s a large investment of time and effort. I can see that it would pay dividends when you teach casting, but in what ways does that investment pay off in your own fishing and in your work as a guide?
Whitney: Yes, being a successful competition caster involves a lot of work, but mostly it involves smart practice. I prefer short practice sessions in which I’m focusing on an aspect of the cast to make it more efficient. I believe this dedication to my own casting has helped me to become a better teacher and guide. I’m looking to understand the cast, and by doing so, I not only achieve the cast, but am able to explain the cast.
There are times while guiding that I need to work moderately with an angler on casting skills before fishing. There is a careful balance between too much instruction and not enough. As a guide, I don’t want the day to dissolve into a casting lesson, but I want my client to have fished the runs well. Fishing the runs well is achieved by making the cast and setting up that cast for the proper fly presentation to the fish.
As for competition casting, it is important for me to view my competitions as milestones for casting goals and self-improvement. Winning is just a complement to all the work that goes into competing.
Bud: “Work” seems to be the right word for what a guide does, too, and I marvel at the way in which people who are themselves so committed to angling basically forego doing it in order to help others enjoy the sport. It seems to take a special kind of person to be good at it, someone who combines the skills of a kindergarten teacher with those of a philosopher and a stevedore, among others. And as with other groups that seem to select for a special kind of person — fighter pilots, chefs, cops — it can be difficult for any newbie to join the club. I can imagine that it would be doubly difficult for a woman. But you clearly have joined it. How did that happen?
Whitney: Seriously, I never set out to be a fishing guide, and now that I am one, I don’t see myself as a woman who guides, but simply as a guide. Guiding was the first job opportunity that came along after a series of dead ends. I soon discovered that I was good at it and liked it. One guiding job led to another. Soon I was guiding full time. Then one year, I filed my taxes and thought to myself, Wow, I can make a living out of this. As a guide, I work to be true to myself and develop my skills and beliefs: beliefs as to what makes a good fishing guide and a good steward of the environment.
Bud: One way to deal with such situations is to form your own club. That’s sort of what the Golden West Women Flyfishers did. It looks as if blogs such as the Rogue Angels have made possible connections and encouragement between women who do the same things you do, something that otherwise might have been difficult to achieve. What role have such blogs played in making West Coast angling and guiding here more equal in gender terms?
Whitney: Blogs, in particular Kate Taylor’s Rogue Angels, introduced me to a group of women who were willing to put their time into learning a craft. When I first got to Portland, I had a lot of enthusiasm for the sport, but little experience fishing for steelhead with a two-handed rod. Rogue Angels introduced me to a group of women who inspired and encouraged me to learn and explore more.
I think the female blogs create a sense of community. This community promotes participation by encouraging women to go fishing on their own terms. There is comfort in being able to call up one of my girlfriends to talk about our day on the river. There is nothing to prove, and we can relate in one way or another, or not.
After all, as you pointed out earlier, guiding is tough. I stick out in a field of gray, green, and beige on the river simply by being female. Growing up out East, I learned early on it is always in one’s best interests to have some of the most capable, loyal, and determined anglers, those who excel at their craft, on your side — and those are my girlfriends.
Bud: Here’s a weird question. You’re a visual artist with a background in landscape architecture. One of the principal metaphors of fly fishing involves “reading” the water, but that is only a metaphor, and it involves what is only a very restrictive form of seeing. And one of the principal appeals of fly fishing, especially for trout and anadromous species in the West, is that it occurs in visually beautiful places. When you look at a river, what do you see? And how does your sense of vision as an artist and someone attuned to landscape make you the angler that you are?
Whitney: Actually, that’s not a weird question at all. The Rhode Island School of Design is, for all intents and purposes, a boot camp for aspiring designers and artists. In a range of typologies and scales, we were trained to research, investigate, analyze, synthesize, and then to produce. In fact, I believe my education as a visual artist and landscape designer has given me insight into reading water. When I get to a new river, I start by looking at it in its entirety before I funnel down to the details. I’ll look at potential runs from different angles and rely on light to expose potential holding spots and highlight travel lanes. I look to the landscape for clues as to what may be happening below the water’s surface and what factors could contribute to the hydraulics.
I think about the season and the effects of incandescent and white light in play with moving and static objects — how light creates shadow on the canyon walls, tree tops. I analyze the location and height of the sun and the characteristics of that light and its interaction with the water. Guests are continuously teasing me for changing my mind. And it’s true I do, but not because I’m being indecisive. To put all these pieces together, I must possess planning skills, strategic thinking, and patience.
Bud: Here we are at the traditional Silly Tree Question, If you were a tree, what kind of tree would you be?
Whitney: I would be a tree of my childhood: the red maple. I love the foliage of maple trees. In the summertime, the leaves are green and shiny. In the fall, they turn gold, then deep red before dropping off and making a red carpet on the ground.
The red maple and I share many characteristics. The tree can survive in extreme conditions, such as the ones I come across when guiding and fishing. They survive in standing water, which is where I find my work and play. They are drought tolerant. They are hardy and easily transplanted. From the start, I’ve grown up on two continents, moved my home from east to west, and traveled widely to ply my trade. And finally, I share the colors of the maple in all its glory through the seasons with the fish in the rivers.
