American guides often talk about "the European system" with envy. Over there, guiding is considered a professional career, and tight regulation of the industry by the Union International des Guides de Montagne keeps wages respectable. Guides can't work in the Alps without a UIAGM license, which is earned by passing a series of rigorous courses and serving an apprenticeship. The American Mountain Guides Association recently inked an agreement with the UIAGM to allow AMGA-certified guides to work in Europe as long as they have the requisite ski, rock, and alpine certifications. Unfortunately, most American guides are not AMGA certified—the Association reckons only half of the country's estimated 2,100 guides are dues-paying members—and many veterans balk at the idea of taking costly and time-consuming courses to "certify" the expertise they've spent a lifetime acquiring. Al Read, for one, believes that the hyperorganized European system isn't a panacea for coping with increased demand. European-style certification might increase guides' fees by driving bootleggers out of the market, but it could also set popular routes crawling with pros and clients. In the United States, guides don't need permits but work on heavily regulated land. In Europe, once guides are certified, they can guide wherever they want. "If you go to the Matterhorn, it's completely clogged," Read says. "Same on Mont Blanc. You'll walk in line and queue up for pitches."

Even if certification were to become compulsory overnight, it's unlikely that a guide's compensation would ever approach a level that might be called lucrative. Day rates for unseasoned mountain guides in the United States start near $85 (some services require an "audit" period, essentially an unpaid internship) and reach $125­$150 for experienced guides on longer expeditions. In rare cases, a top guide can command more for high-profile international trips. "I've had people say, 'If you want me on that mountain, it'll be $300 a day,'" says one guide-service owner. "And for the best guides, you'll pay it."

If there's anything that unites the guiding fraternity—and in this world of mavericks, few things do—it's the tales they can tell about the sad financial shape their job has left them in. "If you're in it for the money, you got hit over the head too many times," says Bruce Andrews. Guides acquire experiences, not things. A select few receive a stipend for health insurance, but most buy cheap catastrophic coverage on their own. After nine years as a guide with New Hampshire's International Mountain Climbing School, Brad White, who's now a co-owner of the business, says he's finally earning about as much as he did when he drove a truck for Ben & Jerry's. John Bicknell, Andrews's partner at the Colorado Mountain School, decided to compare notes with the brethren at a 1994 AMGA seminar. He asked six eminent American guides if any had made more than $20,000 in a year. "Three of 'em had and three of 'em hadn't," he says.

So what's a guide to do? Barbara Winkler, another Alpine Ascents guide, winters as a midwife in her native Switzerland. John Fischer, a 53-year-old Sierra guide based in Bishop, California, picks up side work as a location scout and set rigger for Hollywood. Many seasonal guides teach during the off season; others patrol the slopes at ski resorts. "You really need to be a renaissance man," advises Fischer. "Augment your income with carpentry, photography, whatever it is. If it wasn't for my ability to work on film shoots, I wouldn't make it."