Nick Streit
Nick Streit was fishing practically before he was born. At a week out of the womb and two months premature to boot, Nick was on a fishing trip with his dad. Since his early introduction Nick has been all over the world fly fishing, from living in the Bahamas with his dad when he was 12, to fishing on the USA Junior Flyfishing team that placed second in Europe when he was 17, to the far rivers of Alaska where he worked as a guide at the age of 21. Nick has even conquered the waters of Hawaii. Nick's reputation in the business precedes him as a knowledgeable guide and teacher.
Now Nick is the owner of the Taos Fly Shop and has rightfully earned respect for himself in the fly-fishing world. Nick is still guiding for his dad and has been called by several clients "the best guide you can get."
The Legend of Spifmeister
By Taylor Streit
Most people are introduced to fishing casually. Perhaps on a Sunday afternoon, after eating some hot dogs at a cookout, little Jimmy is plopped on the bank and handed a Snoopy rod. The easy pastime takes or it doesn't-with the outcome perhaps dependant on the fishes' appetite. On occasion, the little fisher gets fascinated by the ancient game and is hooked for life.
But poor baby Nick Streit didn't have any choice in the matter. Born the son of fly fishing guide, his birth was prematurely induced by a turbulent 4-wheel-drive ride up to a remote lake. It would be nice to say that he was raised to follow in his father's profession, like the son of a European craftsman, but his Dad is a Taose–o and lacks such foresight. So, by fate, fortune, or circumstance, Nick was often to be found streamside, being tutored as a fly fishing guide.
Nick's first fly rod was built especially for his size and the thing wasn't four feet long. He started to get in lots of time on-and in-the water, as his preference was to act like a fish rather then than to try and catch one. He'd try and accommodate his Dad by pretending to fish, but he couldn't resist the allure of the water, and before long he'd purposely step on the slickest boulder he could find and slide down into the river. Then, when his old man would instruct him to get out, he'd exit on the same slick rock so that he could be assured of going for another ride into the drink.
But an event happened when he was about six years old that got him more interested in learning to cast and fish. Dad took him to the Rio Grande and ran into a friend named Duane Maktima. He was there with his son Norm. As previously mentioned, Nick preferred swimming over fishing, but little Norm was the same age as Nick and outcast him badly. That incident seemed to inspire Nick, and by the time he was 12, world-famous casting coach Mel Krieger even complimented him on his tight loops.
Toughening Up
But Nick's serious fishing education started when he was 13. Dad was trying to set up a bone fishing business in the Bahamas and Nick went with him for the winter. Nick's folks had been apart for some time and he had been living with Mom. She knew that he was pretty soft, and he was to be taken away and "toughened up," as she tearfully put it. South Andros Island couldn't be a better place, as it's not the Bahamas most people think of, with cruise ships and idle beach lounging. No, this was one of the remote "family islands," and the islanders' black skin was untainted with white blood. A very foreign country for a spongy boy, but Nick volunteered for a semester of school there. He was easy to find in the after-school crowd because he was the only white child there. He was indeed an oddity and tried to bolster himself up by being cool. He had bestowed upon himself the handle of "Spifmeister," but nobody had any idea what that meant, and the closest translation in Bahamian was "Spitmeister." This fit, because like most young toughs he was fond of the manly art of spittin'-young Nick couldn't make three steps without hurling a luggie. Despite this dubious title, the white boy quickly became popular and was even cheered when he kicked the school bully's ass. The kid bopped Nick on the head with a Vita-Malt bottle, but that was not a serious deterrent for a Streit's thick skull. The principal witnessed the battle and extended Nick hearty congratulations, while the bully got a "proper caning".
Nick's other toughening-up experiences included a middle-of-the-night encounter with a six-foot python, wrapping itself around his arm. This put the Spifmeister in a state of shock for a day, but it was a small price to pay compared with the esteem garnered as the story quickly spread from Deep Creek to Kemps Bay. Most people speculated that they would have been dead from fright as a result of such an encounter. But others were envious, and one dopey kid, who was Nick's rival in the neighborhood, boasted that it had also happened to him. But he made the boast several days after the event, and, he said it had happened years before but he had "never bothered to tell anybody."
Perhaps the toughest part of Nick's toughening up was simply living on this wild beach alone with Dad. All parents know about the test of wills that constantly occurs with their kids, but here it was intensified because there were few distractions: no TV, electricity, place to go, or means to get there. And most of all, no Mom around to clean up-just grumpy Dad with his firm commitment to do no more then 50 percent of the chores. This caused a great deal of friction and sparks flew everywhere. The old man was pretty abrasive to start with, having failed in the bone fishing venture, and reduced to tying flies to get by. And if things weren't tense enough, Dad's long distance girl friend would visit once a month from Houston to insane-ize the island. (Nick's father felt guilty for years afterwards over all the grief he gave the boy. Dad only recently realized that even though he didn't have very subtle parenting skills at the time, the battle of wills sorely needed to be won by Father.)
Hula Dancing with Sharks
Dad and Nick took extended camping trips to the southern end of Andros Island-a remote place, hard to reach except by means of little flats boats. Several miles of open ocean needed to be crossed. Weighed down by 55-gallon drums of water and fuel, the boat would wallow around in the big waves. When they finally arrived at the south end of the island, all senses remained on high alert, because the next human was 35 miles away, and the price of being careless could be your life. Something as simple as getting cut could kill ya.
Fortunately, there were no serious mishaps, but there were some interesting fishing tales. One of these occurred when Nick was trow-lining ("throw" in English but "trow" in Bahamian). He was in the skiff catching gray snapper but he kept getting ripped off by a giant Ôcuda. Spifmeister tied a separate rig for the Ôcuda with wire and a big hunk of snapper. He tossed it off to the side, and kept track of it by tying it to his waist, because he wanted to continue fishing for snapper. Presently, a shark happened by and ate the snapper bait. As Nick turned around to fight it, Mr. Bari' took off running on the other line. This spun Nick around and wrapped the shark line around him. He was nearly flipped in the water as the two nastiest varmints in the sea pulled on him from port and starboard. Although he landed the shark, the Ôcuda line fortunately parted from his waist. Nick's sensitive and overprotective father fortunately missed this hula act as he was off fishing for bonefish on a nearby flat.
Nick learned a lot about fishing with trow line and spear. When you're hungry and fishing for sustenance the lessons learned are driven home with more meaning then when practicing silly catch-and-release fishing. The only food at the one store was canned and expensive, and the boys needed protein badly. They lived on a big expanse of shallow water and at low tide it was possible to walk out into the sea for a mile. Nick would go out to fetch supper and Pop would watch him with binoculars so he would know when to get the pan hot. It was possible to tell what was on the menu by observing the boy's actions: if he reached downward a few times the cook's mouth would start to water, because Nick mostly likely had come across conch. If he had the fly rod, and was fishing very close, he was after box fish.
But, as the boy had inherited some serious fish karma, Dad kept the glasses on him out of his previously declared parental concern, too. And one time when he was watching Nick through the glasses, the boy started hopping around and slashing his fly rod about as if he was fencing with some underwater adversary. Then he turned tail and appeared to literally run across the surface of the water. When he got home, the fly rod was much shorter then when he left, as the result of a duel with a shark. Having fish karma is ... maybe good ... maybe bad, and can mean that one of the Streits will someday be eaten by a fish.
Hauled Downriver by a Rainbow
Nick came away from the island a lean young man, citizen of the world, and ready to take on new challenges. He made it through the rugged Taos, New Mexico school system without any permanent damage. And at 17 he was on the United States Junior Fly Fishing Team. Out of more than 100 applicants, six kids were chosen to represent the U.S. A couple were from Colorado and another was from New Mexico. That was Norm Maktima, the kid on the Rio Grande so many years before, whose good casting goaded Nick into becoming a fine caster himself.
Nick and Norm took off for the Colorado practices in Nick's old jeep. They were low on food but nabbed a rabbit that happened too close to the country boys. After throwing rocks at the stationary rabbit, they saw their chance at a good dinner hopping away, but Norm launched a last rock, and by leading the critter 10 feet, conked it on the head. The team practiced in several locales in the U.S., and got special instruction on fishing UK lakes by Welshman Dave Wooten. "The lake fishing was very different than the way we fish lakes in the states," Nick said. "You cast ahead of the drifting boat and retrieve the flies back to you. Thanks to the training I got from Davey Wooten, I was able to catch a very good fish in the reservoir." Norm got into some rising grayling, figured them out, and won the individual title. The boys got their pictures on the cover of magazines, were TV celebrities, and received loads of free gear from fly fishing manufacturers. "That opened my eyes to a bigger world of fishing and got me serious about fly fishing, and when I got back I started taking guide trips out on my own. It was great being my own boss at 17. I had apprenticed with my Dad for several years, carrying lunches, gear, and even a baby on one trip. And, of course, I had been fishing with him a lot, but I never paid much attention to him, as he was forever telling me this and that. But I soon discovered that the stuff my Dad had been teaching me was actually true."
Nick has since run jet boats in Alaska and guided in Argentina. But when asked about his favorite place to fish, he says, "The Rio Grande is just minutes from my front door and is still one of the most fantastic rivers anywhere-just being in that canyon is pretty amazing, let alone while being hauled downriver by a powerful rainbow. Just the other day my Dad and I went and he hooked a three-pounder that ran between a narrow hole in some rocks. He had to pass his rod through the hole and when it came out the other side the rod started drifting down the rapids. He splashed after it and when he caught up with it he reeled up, and the big fish was still attached. The exact thing happened to me few minutes later-exact except my fish was bigger."
When asked if he plans to stay in the fishing racket, Nick says, "I have worked in several fly shops so it was just a natural progression for my fiancee Chrissy and I to reopen my Dad's old Taos Fly Shop. It's nice to have a place where I can control the atmosphere and talk fishing. Local folks can come in and ask any kind of fishing question and not feel intimidated, because I grew up fishing here and went through the same process. My Dad closed the shop when I was only seven, but I have all these memories of being here as little kid and it sure feels right to be here now."
By Taylor Streit
Most people are introduced to fishing casually. Perhaps on a Sunday afternoon, after eating some hot dogs at a cookout, little Jimmy is plopped on the bank and handed a Snoopy rod. The easy pastime takes or it doesn't-with the outcome perhaps dependant on the fishes' appetite. On occasion, the little fisher gets fascinated by the ancient game and is hooked for life.
But poor baby Nick Streit didn't have any choice in the matter. Born the son of fly fishing guide, his birth was prematurely induced by a turbulent 4-wheel-drive ride up to a remote lake. It would be nice to say that he was raised to follow in his father's profession, like the son of a European craftsman, but his Dad is a Taose–o and lacks such foresight. So, by fate, fortune, or circumstance, Nick was often to be found streamside, being tutored as a fly fishing guide.
Nick's first fly rod was built especially for his size and the thing wasn't four feet long. He started to get in lots of time on-and in-the water, as his preference was to act like a fish rather then than to try and catch one. He'd try and accommodate his Dad by pretending to fish, but he couldn't resist the allure of the water, and before long he'd purposely step on the slickest boulder he could find and slide down into the river. Then, when his old man would instruct him to get out, he'd exit on the same slick rock so that he could be assured of going for another ride into the drink.
But an event happened when he was about six years old that got him more interested in learning to cast and fish. Dad took him to the Rio Grande and ran into a friend named Duane Maktima. He was there with his son Norm. As previously mentioned, Nick preferred swimming over fishing, but little Norm was the same age as Nick and outcast him badly. That incident seemed to inspire Nick, and by the time he was 12, world-famous casting coach Mel Krieger even complimented him on his tight loops.
Toughening Up
But Nick's serious fishing education started when he was 13. Dad was trying to set up a bone fishing business in the Bahamas and Nick went with him for the winter. Nick's folks had been apart for some time and he had been living with Mom. She knew that he was pretty soft, and he was to be taken away and "toughened up," as she tearfully put it. South Andros Island couldn't be a better place, as it's not the Bahamas most people think of, with cruise ships and idle beach lounging. No, this was one of the remote "family islands," and the islanders' black skin was untainted with white blood. A very foreign country for a spongy boy, but Nick volunteered for a semester of school there. He was easy to find in the after-school crowd because he was the only white child there. He was indeed an oddity and tried to bolster himself up by being cool. He had bestowed upon himself the handle of "Spifmeister," but nobody had any idea what that meant, and the closest translation in Bahamian was "Spitmeister." This fit, because like most young toughs he was fond of the manly art of spittin'-young Nick couldn't make three steps without hurling a luggie. Despite this dubious title, the white boy quickly became popular and was even cheered when he kicked the school bully's ass. The kid bopped Nick on the head with a Vita-Malt bottle, but that was not a serious deterrent for a Streit's thick skull. The principal witnessed the battle and extended Nick hearty congratulations, while the bully got a "proper caning".
Nick's other toughening-up experiences included a middle-of-the-night encounter with a six-foot python, wrapping itself around his arm. This put the Spifmeister in a state of shock for a day, but it was a small price to pay compared with the esteem garnered as the story quickly spread from Deep Creek to Kemps Bay. Most people speculated that they would have been dead from fright as a result of such an encounter. But others were envious, and one dopey kid, who was Nick's rival in the neighborhood, boasted that it had also happened to him. But he made the boast several days after the event, and, he said it had happened years before but he had "never bothered to tell anybody."
Perhaps the toughest part of Nick's toughening up was simply living on this wild beach alone with Dad. All parents know about the test of wills that constantly occurs with their kids, but here it was intensified because there were few distractions: no TV, electricity, place to go, or means to get there. And most of all, no Mom around to clean up-just grumpy Dad with his firm commitment to do no more then 50 percent of the chores. This caused a great deal of friction and sparks flew everywhere. The old man was pretty abrasive to start with, having failed in the bone fishing venture, and reduced to tying flies to get by. And if things weren't tense enough, Dad's long distance girl friend would visit once a month from Houston to insane-ize the island. (Nick's father felt guilty for years afterwards over all the grief he gave the boy. Dad only recently realized that even though he didn't have very subtle parenting skills at the time, the battle of wills sorely needed to be won by Father.)
Hula Dancing with Sharks
Dad and Nick took extended camping trips to the southern end of Andros Island-a remote place, hard to reach except by means of little flats boats. Several miles of open ocean needed to be crossed. Weighed down by 55-gallon drums of water and fuel, the boat would wallow around in the big waves. When they finally arrived at the south end of the island, all senses remained on high alert, because the next human was 35 miles away, and the price of being careless could be your life. Something as simple as getting cut could kill ya.
Fortunately, there were no serious mishaps, but there were some interesting fishing tales. One of these occurred when Nick was trow-lining ("throw" in English but "trow" in Bahamian). He was in the skiff catching gray snapper but he kept getting ripped off by a giant Ôcuda. Spifmeister tied a separate rig for the Ôcuda with wire and a big hunk of snapper. He tossed it off to the side, and kept track of it by tying it to his waist, because he wanted to continue fishing for snapper. Presently, a shark happened by and ate the snapper bait. As Nick turned around to fight it, Mr. Bari' took off running on the other line. This spun Nick around and wrapped the shark line around him. He was nearly flipped in the water as the two nastiest varmints in the sea pulled on him from port and starboard. Although he landed the shark, the Ôcuda line fortunately parted from his waist. Nick's sensitive and overprotective father fortunately missed this hula act as he was off fishing for bonefish on a nearby flat.
Nick learned a lot about fishing with trow line and spear. When you're hungry and fishing for sustenance the lessons learned are driven home with more meaning then when practicing silly catch-and-release fishing. The only food at the one store was canned and expensive, and the boys needed protein badly. They lived on a big expanse of shallow water and at low tide it was possible to walk out into the sea for a mile. Nick would go out to fetch supper and Pop would watch him with binoculars so he would know when to get the pan hot. It was possible to tell what was on the menu by observing the boy's actions: if he reached downward a few times the cook's mouth would start to water, because Nick mostly likely had come across conch. If he had the fly rod, and was fishing very close, he was after box fish.
But, as the boy had inherited some serious fish karma, Dad kept the glasses on him out of his previously declared parental concern, too. And one time when he was watching Nick through the glasses, the boy started hopping around and slashing his fly rod about as if he was fencing with some underwater adversary. Then he turned tail and appeared to literally run across the surface of the water. When he got home, the fly rod was much shorter then when he left, as the result of a duel with a shark. Having fish karma is ... maybe good ... maybe bad, and can mean that one of the Streits will someday be eaten by a fish.
Hauled Downriver by a Rainbow
Nick came away from the island a lean young man, citizen of the world, and ready to take on new challenges. He made it through the rugged Taos, New Mexico school system without any permanent damage. And at 17 he was on the United States Junior Fly Fishing Team. Out of more than 100 applicants, six kids were chosen to represent the U.S. A couple were from Colorado and another was from New Mexico. That was Norm Maktima, the kid on the Rio Grande so many years before, whose good casting goaded Nick into becoming a fine caster himself.
Nick and Norm took off for the Colorado practices in Nick's old jeep. They were low on food but nabbed a rabbit that happened too close to the country boys. After throwing rocks at the stationary rabbit, they saw their chance at a good dinner hopping away, but Norm launched a last rock, and by leading the critter 10 feet, conked it on the head. The team practiced in several locales in the U.S., and got special instruction on fishing UK lakes by Welshman Dave Wooten. "The lake fishing was very different than the way we fish lakes in the states," Nick said. "You cast ahead of the drifting boat and retrieve the flies back to you. Thanks to the training I got from Davey Wooten, I was able to catch a very good fish in the reservoir." Norm got into some rising grayling, figured them out, and won the individual title. The boys got their pictures on the cover of magazines, were TV celebrities, and received loads of free gear from fly fishing manufacturers. "That opened my eyes to a bigger world of fishing and got me serious about fly fishing, and when I got back I started taking guide trips out on my own. It was great being my own boss at 17. I had apprenticed with my Dad for several years, carrying lunches, gear, and even a baby on one trip. And, of course, I had been fishing with him a lot, but I never paid much attention to him, as he was forever telling me this and that. But I soon discovered that the stuff my Dad had been teaching me was actually true."
Nick has since run jet boats in Alaska and guided in Argentina. But when asked about his favorite place to fish, he says, "The Rio Grande is just minutes from my front door and is still one of the most fantastic rivers anywhere-just being in that canyon is pretty amazing, let alone while being hauled downriver by a powerful rainbow. Just the other day my Dad and I went and he hooked a three-pounder that ran between a narrow hole in some rocks. He had to pass his rod through the hole and when it came out the other side the rod started drifting down the rapids. He splashed after it and when he caught up with it he reeled up, and the big fish was still attached. The exact thing happened to me few minutes later-exact except my fish was bigger."
When asked if he plans to stay in the fishing racket, Nick says, "I have worked in several fly shops so it was just a natural progression for my fiancee Chrissy and I to reopen my Dad's old Taos Fly Shop. It's nice to have a place where I can control the atmosphere and talk fishing. Local folks can come in and ask any kind of fishing question and not feel intimidated, because I grew up fishing here and went through the same process. My Dad closed the shop when I was only seven, but I have all these memories of being here as little kid and it sure feels right to be here now."
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