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Jesse's Hunting > Hunting Articles > Hunting Articles Archives > Tipping a Guide - How to Lose Your Tip in Three Easy Steps
Tipping a Guide - How to Lose Your Tip in Three Easy Steps
Phillip Loughlin - JHO ProStaff Editor
- SF Bay Area, CA
October 19, 2007
I believe in tipping for service, whether I’m in a restaurant, a barber shop, or a guided hunting trip. I tip pretty well for good service, and I very seldom refuse to tip at all. If service is so bad that I feel a tip is inappropriate, then I will have a word with the supervisor/manager and explain what went wrong, and offer them an opportunity to make it right.
For a guided hunt, I usually plan on tipping at least 10% of the cost of the hunt. I don’t think that’s a bad bonus for a competent guide. If things go well, if the guide goes above and beyond, or if there are other exceptional circumstances, that tip will go up as far as my budget allows.
There’s a flip side, though… and that’s what this little monologue is about. How to blow your tip in three easy steps.
Step #1: Verbal abuse/yelling at your client
This should simply stand to reason… you don’t yell at a paying customer, no matter what (except if there’s an immediate safety risk). Even so, I’ve heard it over and over from other hunters … a guide, frustrated by a hunter’s actions, scolds, derides, or even denigrates the client. Some of the stories I’ve heard make the drill instructors at Paris Island sound like Sunday-school teachers.
Doesn’t matter if the error was due to incompetence, over-excitement, or a simple mistake, there’s no good reason for dumping harsh words on a paying customer.
I experienced this personally for the first time this season on a Colorado elk hunt. In fact, I witnessed it twice from the same guide, directed once at myself and once at my brother.
The first outburst was somewhat excusable, I suppose. The guide was leading us (way too fast) through the oak brush, trying to close the gap on a big bull and his harem. What he didn’t know was that the elk were hanging on a ledge right below where we were crashing through the branches, with the wind blowing steadily down the back of our sweat-soaked shirt collars.
The elk, of course, decamped rather quickly, and crossed the canyon… reappearing on the opposite side. The bull, a trophy class 6x6 stood out in the open at 200 yards, bugling to gather his cows and get them into an organized retreat. Figuring they were gone for good (in my limited experience, it’s a fool’s errand to chase a herd of elk once they’ve busted you), I stood out in an opening to get some video before they disappeared. I knew I was plainly visible, but figured it for a lost cause anyway.
The guide gestured frantically, and hoarsely screamed at me to, “get down! Get down RIGHT NOW!” in a tone that I’d probably reserve for an egg-sucking dog. It pissed me off to be spoken to that way, but I figured maybe he was right. Heck, he’s the elk hunting expert…that’s what we were paying for.
The second digression though, was twice as heinous and totally inexcusable.
It was later the same day, as we were working our way through an aspen grove. The guide and my brother were up front by about 50 yards. I like to hang back, away from everyone else on the trail so I can hear what’s going on in the woods. They spotted a bull, head down and grazing about 75 yards away. My brother is an excellent archer, and very comfortable out to 60 yards. He started to stalk closer for the shot when the guide grabbed his shirt and stopped him.
Instead of stalking closer, the guide wanted to move back around the trail, and try to set up to intercept the bull. Why? I don’t know. We’d been told already by other guides, and by the outfitter on this trip that if you get an opportunity like that, close the distance and take the shot. The conditions were as perfect as they’d ever be. Fifteen steps… that’s all he needed. But the guide said, “no,” and conventional wisdom says to listen to the guide.
They moved and set up as I sat tight in a patch of brush and shot video. It was looking promising. Just after they moved, the bull started moving across the trail, then turned and started coming right into them. I couldn’t see the elk, but was getting some great footage of my brother and the guide setting up and getting ready for the inevitable shot. I could feel my brother’s excitement when I saw him clip the release onto his string.
Then, inexplicably, the guide was turned toward me, gesturing frantically with his uncovered hands (white flashes in the dusk). I realized he was trying to get me to nock an arrow. At this point, I still couldn’t see the bull. I thought maybe it had turned away from them and was coming to me. I slowly eased the camera to the ground and slipped an arrow from my quiver.
As I did, I spotted the bull topping a rise less than 20 yards from my brother and the guide (who was still waving his hands at me). The bull saw the commotion too, of course, and stopped dead in his tracks. He was facing, head-on at my brother and offering no shot there. I had a perfect broadside at less than 20 yards, but a tree blocked the entire kill zone. The split second seemed like minutes as the bull quickly made up his mind, whirled in a flash, and tore off through the aspens.
My brother stood, still at full draw, hoping the bull might stop and turn. The guide, instead of cow-calling or trying to help in any way burst out in a rage on my brother, “Get down! Why did you stand up! You blew it! Don’t you EVER do that to ME again!”
Honestly, at this point I was pretty sure my brother was going to turn around and pound this guy into the mud. I wouldn’t have blamed him. Fortunately for the guide, my brother didn’t realize that this yo-yo had been gesturing at me when the bull came in, and the waving hands are what spooked the bull. As it was, the elk’s sudden departure puzzled him enough that he wasn’t sure it wasn’t his own fault. Actually, at first we were all pretty confused by what sent the elk running, since the wind was perfect and my brother was very well hidden and fully camouflaged.
Later, I showed my brother the video. His face reddened in anger as he watched and related to me what he was seeing when all this was going on. At the point where he clipped his release, that bull was less than 25 yards away coming straight in. The guide started waving at me right after that, which means he would have been in plain sight of the elk the whole time.
The tip register ran backward after that.
The point is, as a guide, providing guidance, recommendations, and even constructive criticism is part of the job. Scolding, derision, and flat out cursing a paying client is not acceptable. If you have something harsh to say, bite your tongue. If, at the end of the day you go home with a mouthful of blood, maybe this isn’t the right job for you.
Step #2: Forgetting whose hunt it is
Every hunting guide I’ve ever known or spoken to has also been an experienced and dedicated hunter. It just makes sense that, in order to be a hunting guide, you’ve got to love hunting. It’s not a career that’s likely to make you rich. It can be extremely frustrating. A good guide may work twice as hard for the client as he would for his own hunt. The only reward is the client’s satisfaction, a paycheck, and, if you do your job well, a good tip. Or you can blow it and end up with a dissatisfied client, no tip, and very possibly no more paychecks.
The point is, though, that even though you guide because you love hunting, as a guide you are not on your own hunt… you are a part of the client’s hunt. You’re not pursuing your personal goals any longer; you’re helping the client achieve his.
Since I’m already picking on this Colorado elk guide, let’s just stick with it a bit longer. He needs a name at this point, so let’s just call him “Wild William”.
Now, my brother and I are relatively new to elk hunting. Prior to this trip, I’d been elk hunting twice, with a rifle, and had killed two bulls. My brother had been once, and had taken a really nice, 320 bull. For this hunt, we really just wanted to put meat in the freezer. Antlers have always been purely secondary to me anyway, and with that big bull already on his wall, my brother had no use for a monster either.
When we arranged this hunt, we were specific and clear with the outfitter about what we were looking for. In the field, with the guides, we were again very clear about our expectations. We’d be happy to take a “toad” if the lucky opportunity presented itself, but we wouldn’t pass on a cow or “raghorn” in order to get a bigger animal.
So it’s the next-to-last day of our seven day hunt. I’ve missed a 4x5, and we’ve had the blown opportunity on the bull in the aspens. We haven’t really seen a ton of animals, but they’re around. Weird weather has kept the bugling to a minimum most of the week, so we’ve primarily focused on spot-and-stalk tactics.
Sunrise finds us on the canyon rim, glassing the far side and the thickets of dark timber and ponderosa pine down below. Our ears are straining for the sound of bugles, and our eyes are weary from glassing all week. Then, across the canyon we spot a group of cows. More diligent glassing reveals a really nice 6x6 bedded on the hillside just above them. As we watch, the big bull stands and charges down the hill, chasing a little spike bull away from his harem. He stands and bugles, and shortly afterward more bugles echo up out of the canyon bottom. There must be four or five bulls down there!
I ask Wild William if he’s heard the bugling. “Yeah,” he replied dismissively. “Sounds like a bunch of raghorns. But look at that toad on the hill over there! Let’s go get him!”
As my brother and I pick up our packs and get ready for another of Wild William’s infamous death marches, I mention to him that we’d be just as happy to stick an arrow in one of those “raghorns” as that big boy. If we can get close to one of them, I’d like to make a play on it. Wild William doesn’t respond, and it’s off we go, straight down the canyon wall.
Down in the bottom of the canyon, under the spruce and pines, a creek runs gurgling, loaded with little native trout. It’s cool here, and I can see immediately why the elk are hanging out down here. The deeper we drop, the more sign I see. But Wild William doesn’t slow his pace a nip.
As we cross the creek we all spot the set of fresh tracks in the dirt beside the water’s edge. Droplets are still standing on the grass beside the trail, and torn leaves show where the elk stopped to nibble a bit before continuing on his way. I realize we’re right behind this animal, but before I can say anything our guide is hustling up the steep bank. He no more reaches the top than we hear the crashing of an elk as it takes off into the thickets. Our guide hardly slows. No cow call, no effort at concealment, he just stands and looks back down the trail at us.
“It was just a little raghorn, don’t worry about it,” Wild William says in answer to my glare. “Come on, we’re gonna go get that toad!”
Either this guy is a total incompetent, or he’s blowing through these little bulls in an effort to get to the big one. Somehow, this has become HIS hunt, instead of ours. Some effort should have been made to get us on that elk instead of just blasting through it. It’s like I’ve been talking to a wall all this time. I very clearly said that, if we can get one close I want to try to take it… no matter how big or small, as long as it’s legal.
I was cursing under what little breath I had left while I crawled up the rocks and mud, and faced the steep climb ahead of us. A couple hundred feet up and to the west was the clearing where we’d seen the bull and cows. We had already crashed down one side of the canyon, and pushed an elk out ahead of us directly toward the animals we were supposed to be sneaking up on. I looked at the tangle of blowdowns, brush, and scrub oaks doubtfully. Whatever is up there won’t be there for long with us crashing through this stuff. I don’t have to be an experienced elk hunter to know that. Years of chasing deer and hogs have taught me all I need to know there.
We clamber higher, until we hit a draw crossing the hillside. A trail down the side of the draw shows fresh tracks again. Some of the dirt looks like it is still actually settling, and water is seeping into a track in the bottom of the draw, where a spring runs down to join the larger creek. We’re close to another elk!
We’re standing to catch our breath when we hear the bugling of a bull, less than 100 yards across the draw. Another bugle answers from behind us, well up the canyon. I wait for our guide to pull out his bugle, or a cow call, but he does neither. Instead, he adjusts his pack and starts up the trail… away from the bugling elk!
That tears it. “Whoa!” I stage-whisper. “What the hell?”
Wild William stops and looks back.
“There’s a bull bugling right there. You’re just going to blow right on out of here?”
“It’s just a raghorn,” he answered.
If he said, “raghorn” in that derisive voice one more time, I thought I might strangle him before the last syllable came out.
“I don’t give a damn if it’s a raghorn!” I did my best to maintain a whisper. “I don’t care if it’s a cow! We have an elk bugling right here beside us, where we can find it, and you want to go tearing up the mountain for something that might not even be there anymore!”
He stepped toward me, actually pushing his face toward mine. (My brother later said he thought I was just about to tear Wild William’s head off when he did that. I didn’t think I was that mad, but looking back on it I still get heated up, so maybe I was.) “That bull up there is huge,” he said. “It’s a toad! You don’t get many opportunities like this.”
I didn’t have time or patience to explain to him that I didn’t see much of an opportunity here. After two days afield with this guy, I had my doubts he could sneak up on a dead man if the ground were made of marshmallows. I had no desire to go crashing through rough country, deadfalls and dry leaves to sneak up on some animals we hadn’t laid an eye on in almost two hours, when we could instead try a setup on this bull that is here and now, and apparently interested in some “conversation”.
“I haven’t had many opportunities on ANYTHING this week,” I whispered. “But there’s a bull right here that I think we can work with. I don’t care if it’s not a ‘toad’. Whose hunt is this anyway?”
That stopped him, but only for a second. “Fine,” he hissed. “If you want to go chase that bull through the oak brush, go ahead.”
“No,” I replied as calmly as I could. “I don’t want to chase him through the oak brush. I want you to set up and try to call the damned thing, and if we can get a shot, good. If not, we’ll head on up and look for your ‘toad’.”
After a bit of sotto voce grumbling, the confrontation ended. My brother and I took positions and Wild William called. The bull got very close indeed, but never gave us a clear view, much less a shot. We could here him stalking back and forth just over the far side of the draw, at times less than 30 yards from where we sat. After several minutes he apparently decided that there was no elk in the draw and moved away. Later we found his tracks so close it was a marvel we never spotted him.
As the excitement ebbed, Wild William was the picture of contrition. He knew he’d overstepped, but at that point it was too late. My brother and I had lost a good bit of enthusiasm for the hunt, and our attitudes toward our guide had considerably chilled.
I can understand a guide wanting to get clients on the best bull he can find. And I can understand the excitement of seeing a real trophy animal. I’m sure that if Wild William or any guide put a client on a trophy, then he could expect a pretty good tip out of the deal. So I can see the motivation.
However, we had already made clear that, especially since it was almost our last day of hunting, we would be thrilled and happy simply to put meat in the freezer. Neither of us minded going after a trophy animal, of course, but we did not want to do so at the total exclusion of an opportunity on a “lesser” elk. Our guide basically ignored that direction, and as he proceeded I could see clearly that he was no longer hunting for us, the clients, but for himself. When he knowingly blew out that elk at the creek crossing, without so much as asking us if we wanted to try a go at it, and then was willing to do the same thing again at the draw, he guaranteed that I’d be using his tip to buy my dinner on the long drive home.
Step 3: Working harder is not working smarter.
This one isn’t quite as heinous; actually more of a pet peeve, but it’s worth a mention. Wild William has already blown his tip (hell, he ought to pay me), but since I’ve got him in the pillory, we may as well heave a few more tomatoes at him.
When I hire a guide, I expect a pretty high level of expertise. I expect him to know the lay of the land, the animals we’re hunting, and the best way to get them. I don’t expect the equivalent of a Kalahari bushman, but I do want to see a demonstration of fieldcraft and woodsmanship. I have to believe he’s an expert, because if he’s not, I’m wasting my money.
I also believe that the number one rule for a successful guided hunt is to TRUST YOUR GUIDE. Don’t try to second guess him, and never try to guide the guide. Again, for the reasons just enumerated this is what you’re paying for.
Now I know that elk hunting, especially on public land, is not a feat for the couch potato set. You need to be prepared to hump some rugged country, gaining and dropping altitude rapidly in order to get where the elk are, or where they want to be. A successful elk hunt usually requires a pretty good investment in sweat equity.
Still, there’s a line somewhere between running headlong through the brush and strategic bushwhacking. Wild William apparently isn’t too familiar with that line. Wild William ran us, and himself, ragged chasing through the oak brush, and up and down the canyon walls. No one could ever say he didn’t work hard. But he didn’t work smart. I got the feeling that half the time he was just trying to prove to us how tough he was... and that is NOT what we were paying for.
I can see a single hunter moving through the brush, making a little noise and spreading a little scent, but still able to get close to the elk. But don’t try to tell me that you can pull three grown men, in full hunting packs and bows (bows catch on EVERYTHING) through head-high oak brush during a dry fall day. Add to that a constantly swirling wind, and it’s pretty clear that you have to take a smarter approach.
At any rate, after the first day and a half, Wild William finally settled down and we took a stand. Unfortunately, he had already hiked all over the hillside and pushed elk out of a prime bedding area. The sit was followed by about a seven mile hike back to the trailhead and the waiting quads.
Next morning, day seven of our seven-day hunt, found us above the bedding area, looking to make a sneak down the mountain. I can’t remember how long ago it was explained to me that morning air tends to go downhill, but I wasn’t old enough to drive a car yet. Nevertheless, our “experienced” hunter/guide somehow thought we could drop right in on top of bedded elk with the wind pushing us down the hill to them. You can guess the outcome.
After one last death march through the oak brush, my brother and I called it a day at 1000. We’d had enough of our guide, and this hunt. That is NOT how you want your clients to wrap up their experience.
I’m sure this whole thing sounds like a long, ranting complaint, and I guess that’s really what it is. I don’t know how many hunting guides read this thing, but I hope it serves as some kind of notice or warning…both to guides and to prospective clients.
As a guide, take it to heart. In my relatively limited experience with guided hunts, I’ve only had one like Wild William. But sometimes it only takes one. His mistakes were due, in part, to his inexperience guiding big game hunters, but they’re errors I’ve heard or read about from outfitters and guides with years of experience too. Remember which of you is the customer and which of you is the service provider, and keep that in perspective when your client tells you he isn’t happy with something you’re doing.
And for those of you considering going on a guided hunt, remember to do your research. Call references, and if your outfitter or guide won’t provide any, then move on to another one. And once you’re there, be clear and specific about what your expectations are, and what you are looking for from the guide. If the guide doesn’t listen, then it may be time to come out of the woods.
In the case of my brother and me, we had a long talk with the outfitter that Wild William worked for. We told him how we felt that our hunting experience had suffered from this guy’s ineptitude, and that we truly weren’t happy about the whole thing. The outfitter was honestly apologetic (he’d had to put us with Wild William only after our regular guide got hurt, halfway through the hunt). He’s also offered to make it up to us with a special package deal on a future hunt…probably to take place in 2009.
At the end of the week, as the guides were packing up to go home between seasons and tips were being handed out, Wild William approached me. I’d told him I would offer some feedback after the hunt was over, so I took him outside and basically told him the same things I’ve described in this article…with a few other key suggestions, like respectfully listening to the clients’ suggestions, and remembering that many clients are experienced hunters who don’t like being treated like neophytes.
As far as I was concerned, that’s all the tip he’d get from me. I hope he wasn’t surprised.
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