Underground’s Best

Klamath Peril Deepens: Send those Morons at FERC a Message

November 16, 2006, by 5 comments

I got an e-mail alert from CalTrout, and while I’d rather do anything instead of getting all pissed off while sitting at my desk, I couldn’t avoid it in this case.

The key quote:

Despite what experts consider an ironclad case for the removal of the dams, FERC issued a draft environmental impact statement that recommends only modest changes to current dam operations. Ignoring the demands of the tribes and conservation groups for dam removal as well as agencies’ mandate for fish screens and ladders, FERC has proposed that PacifiCorp drive fish around the dams.

Heartwarming. Your tax-supported Federal Energy Regulatory Commission (FERC) – ever vigilant in protecting rolling-in-dough energy producers from profit-sapping environmental inconveniences like nearly extinct salmon – has ignored an enormous body of evidence suggesting that trucking salmon around the four dams on the Klamath simply won’t work.

Given the perilous state of the Klamath’s salmon population (fewer than 30,000 fish returned for the third year in a row), this decision makes me want to buy a deer rifle and fix the problem more directly.

But that’s the kind of talk that brings the feebs swooping down on you, and lord knows I don’t need that.

Got Foam? The Klamath River last year
Got Foam? The Klamath last summer. Lovely, eh?

Instead, I’m doing the polite thing and sending a polite e-mail to FERC Secretary Magalie Salas explaining (politely) that FERC would do a better job of protecting the public if the agency staff had been fed to weasels.

You, however, should probably follow CalTrout’s instructions and send something reasonable. Here’s what I’m asking:

  1. Go to this web address: http://ga3.org/campaign/klamath/wdnebx6295x5m5t?
  2. Fill in your name and e-mail address
  3. Click a button

That’s it! It takes seconds, and with any luck, we can get FERC to pull its collective head out of its ass and order PacifiCorp to pull its collective dams out of the Klamath’s ass.

This river has suffered so much at the hands of these dams, which generate huge water quality issues in addition to the loss of spawning habitat.

It’s time for them to go politely straight to hell.
[tags]klamath, klamath river, FERC, pacificorp, salmon, caltrout, heartless bastards[/tags]

Gushy Fly Fishing Industry Videos Crank the Underground

November 16, 2006, by 16 comments

Moldy Chum apparently never sleeps. That’s the only explanation I can find for his blog’s never ending stream of odd and unusual finds.

This time, Moldy struck the motherlode of fly fishing industry “journalism” and since I’m feeling a little hostile from my own lack of sleep, it’s time for a Trout Underground rant.

The omniscient Moldy uncovered a chunk of videos by Fish & Fly Magazine from the Denver Retailer show. You’d think these would be interesting, but (welcome to the fly fishing media) they’re mostly just nauseating.

Begin the Flaying

For starters, the interviewers displayed all the reserve of small children seeking candy, but then, what did you expect in an industry where the magazines seem wholly committed to kissing ass?

I’d tell you to avoid these video clips at all costs, but frankly, it’s easier to look away from a five-car pileup. Why?

You haven’t lived until you’ve seen an interviewer almost wet himself in his efforts to kiss the Sage honcho’s ass.

And when Winston’s Sam Drukman made a point of telling viewers that boron costs 10x more than carbon fiber, it lead me to wonder why their low-tech WT rods – made from a decades-old IM6 graphite – cost the same as Winston’s “high-tech” Boron models.

Gosh, I wonder.

And if you don’t cringe when Simms’ president casually mentions their new $700+ wader allows you to relieve yourself in the middle of the river, you haven’t envisioned seeing an angler doing exactly that one run upstream from where you’re fishing.

It’s a great day for fly fishing journalism

The Gierach video could have been the star of the bunch, but Tom Pero couldn’t stop fawning long enough to ask a single intelligent question. Still, it’s worth viewing, if only for Gierach’s refusal to bask in the glow of his own press – the man seems amused at the attention he receives.

Kudos also to Patagonia’s Bill Klyn, who rose above the fray by discussing the environmental aspects of manufacturing outdoor products instead of endlessly repeating the marketing’s department’s product bullets. Good on ya.

You can’t blame the manufacturers for taking advantage of Free Marketing Service Disguised as Editorial Content an interview. But you can blame most of them for doing it so poorly.

It’s a Learning Experience. What Have We Learned?

First, marketing in the fly fishing industry is largely stone age.

Second, fly fishing media probably don’t have your best interests at heart.

And third, there’s a fine line between technological advance and marketing ho-ha, and many of the latest products crossed that line some time ago.

We also learned it’s time for the Trout Underground to gather up his low-tech bamboo/glass fly rods and go fishing before he starts writing biting e-mails to everyone who’s wronged him over the years.

I’ll let you know how it goes. See you at the Prozac counter, Tom Chandler.
[tags]fly fishing, retailer, fish & fly, fly rod, simms, sage, winston, rant[/tags]

I Get All the News I Need From Weather Forecast

November 14, 2006, by 4 comments

It’s hardly unusual for someone to get up every morning and check the weather, much less an avid fly fisher waiting (largely in vain) for a cloudy, drizzly day.

I once wrote that I got all the daily news I needed from the weather report, and while it’s nowhere near true, it does indicate a set of priorities.

Weather forecast

The local weather is a gimme, but I also check the weather forecast in places I’ve fished before, including Grand Lake (Maine), Townsend (TN), Ketchum, Medford and a few others.

It’s become so much a part of the routine that I don’t think twice about it.

Still, this morning I caught myself eying the 60 degree forecast for Townsend, and – knowing that the baetis hatches were running strong in the park – found myself standing behind a tree on the Little River, throwing a sidearm cast at a run filled with rising trout. (In my head anyway. No way I fly across the country without whining to my readers about it.)

I could wax about the power of the printed word and how someone else’s words can transport you to a place and time of your own experience, but it seems a little over the edge for two numbers and a “partly cloudy.” Still, every morning I check.

Between jobs, families and the general heading of “obligations,” we’re all more likely to put ourselves on a good trout stream in our heads than in reality.

All it really takes is a trigger, and the weather seems to be one of mine.

This morning Townsend’s forecast is 44/61 and partly cloudy, which puts me on the Little River, then sipping something warm and writing about it at all at the now-wireless coffeehouse frequented by the Internet-less Ian.

Ketchum’s at 13/35, which probably means icy guides, a baetis hatch on the Big Wood River, or maybe a red brassie fished in upstream in this shallow, rocky river that developers have sadly deprived of most of its woody, in-stream cover.

I can even pinpoint the run where I’d finish – the same place I landed a pair of very healthy rainbows the last time I fished there in February.

It’s the kind of idle mind game that a lot of us play, and it reminds me that I have strong recollections of fishing experiences dating back to the early 70s, but that I can’t remember most of the other crap that’s happened along the way.

(For example, most of those early trips involved riding bikes to places where we weren’t legally allowed to fish, but my mind’s forgotten the part where I’m breaking the law.)

I’m probably focused a little too much on the weather element of fly fishing. But that’s because I live near great fly fishing, yet can’t fish every day, and “decision by forecast” beats the flip of a coin.

Of course, if anyone actually uses a coin, I’d love to hear about it.
[tags]weather, fly fishing, trout, ketchum, maine, townsend[/tags]

The Stealth Fly Fisher: Catching Fish Through Deceit & Trickery

October 18, 2006, by 17 comments

Trout aren’t stupid. They might be brainless and lack creativity (a lot like the creators of Gilligan’s Island), but they’re survivors. And they didn’t get that way by offering themselves up as a meal for every predator that wanders by.

Which – if you stop to watch most fly fishers on the water – begs the obvious question. Why don’t more fly fishers act like predators?

Wayne Eng sneaking around on the Upper Sacramento River
Wayne Eng’s so skinny he probably doesn’t need to be sneaky, but he does it anyway.

In the past, there were times I’d have told you I was a pretty stealthy bastard on the water, and a lot more times when I knew I wasn’t (probably because I wasn’t making the effort). Still, nothing reveals your weaknesses like exposure to someone who really knows what he’s doing, a concept I rediscovered (again) last spring in Tennessee.

I was on a fishing trip, but sick enough that I was happy to watch someone else fish, which is why I spent hours watching Ian Rutter stealthily creeping along the banks of Tennessee’s Little River, catching fish after fish.

It was eerily similar to watching Wayne Eng creep along the banks of the Upper Sacramento (catching fish after fish), and even a hugely thickheaded writer would have to learn something from the process.

After all, Chandler’s First Law of Fly Fishing says the second best way to learn to catch fish is to watch people who are good at catching them. Simple, eh?

So after lots of watching and a little practice, I’ve gotten a lot sneakier. Which has lead me to develop the Underground’s Four Strategies for Being a Sneaky Bastard:

Rule #1 – Stay Out of the Water

Being far denser than air, water conducts sound very, very well. In simplest terms, when you’re in the water, fish can hear you. In a recent Internet post, John Wilson of the USA Fly Fishing team described watching fish bolt when an angler set foot in the water 40 feet away.

Ian Rutter hiding out on the Little River
Ian Rutter skulking bankside on a run I was going to wade. He caught many, many trout.

In a freestone river – with its constantly moving water – you’d think the effect was lessened (it probably is), but face it, trout are highly attuned to their environment. Your average trout can pinpoint the sound of a fly fisher stomping along a riffle the same way a fly fisher can pinpoint the sound of a beer being opened in a crowded campground.

So while I’ve always been a “get in the river and flounder” guy, even I’ve come to see the light. Nowadays you’re a lot more likely to find me standing around behind trees and boulders, looking guilty and throwing more backcasts into bushes, but catching more fish.

More often than not, catching fish requires wading – but try stopping to think about it first.

Rule #2 – While You’re in the Water, Wade Smart

I recently waded into some “tough” technical water – expecting to throw hugely complicated slack-line casts in devilishly complex currents – and almost stepped on a 14″ trout. The lesson? Don’t charge into the water like a rampaging hippo. Hippos catch few trout. Want to avoid hippo-hood? Here’s how:

When you’re about to wade, don’t. Invest a few minutes looking for rising fish and likely holding spots (especially near your entry point). If you’re presenting to a specific fish, make sure you’re wading to the right spot. Arriving – and then realizing you can’t make the drift – means more wading and spooked fish.

Hide your underwater half. Fly fishers know they’re supposed to hide behind objects above the water, but inexplicably fail to do the same for underwater obstacles. The Upper Sac (like many rivers) is littered with subsurface boulders, rocks, trenches, weeds…. Keep these between you and fish, and you’ll sleep better at night.

And don’t ignore current tongues (not every barrier to being seen is solid); that bubbly barrier between you and the fish inhibits their sensory abilities (some warships use a curtain of bubbles to foil sonar), and can spell the difference between success and that awful skunk smell.

Upper Sacramento's Wayne Eng sneaking around
Wayne Eng keeps a bubbly current between him and the fish.

Keep it quiet. Rene Harrop suggests that studded wading boots spook fish, but then again, he’s fishing the largely sedate Henry’s Fork, not the “greased cannonball” bed of the Upper Sacramento. Two-stepping your way through a run is likely to spook fish more than studs, but his premise is good – keep it quiet underwater.

A good friend once gave me a gorgeous aluminum wading staff that was stable and strong. Unfortunately, it rang like a gong, and I did away with it. Don’t get gonged.

And all that manly power-wading crap? If you truly feel the need to push a bow wave, trying fishing the beach, where presumably the fish respect manliness more than trout. I’ve managed to put down rising fish by wading carelessly and pushing even little pressure waves across shallow water. Don’t you do it too.

Rule #3 – Be a Hunter

OK, so you’re staying out of the water when possible and wading quietly when it’s not. It’s time to adopt the posture of a predator.

Hide. This isn’t exactly groundbreaking advice, but it’s also rarely followed. Casting from behind trees and bushes means you’ll experience more of those excruciating “Better go to my happy place” leader tangles, but once you’ve mastered the art of fishing while skulking, you’ll catch more fish – especially on small streams.

The value of this was brought home in Tennessee, where on my last day of fishing, I hiked the upper section of the Little River, and caught several fish from slots right on the bank.

I stayed hidden, poked the rod out, made a rotating “flip” cast, and the fish were there – in the kind of water I’d have said looked good, but never produced for me in my less-surreptitious past.

Camouflage. There are endless debates about the virtues of shiny rods vs. matte finish rods, light clothes vs. dark, bright fly lines vs. neutral, etc. Given my tendency to split the difference, I try to match my fishing shirt to the color of the background, stay away from light colored hats, and typically shun day-glo fly lines.

What should you do? Whatever feels appropriate – given that the best fly fishers I know blend into their surroundings a lot better than the worst fly fishers I know.

Ian Rutter on the Little River
I have many pictures of Ian Rutter. In every one, he’s being a sneaky bastard.

Don’t Flail. Waving a rod over a fish is a manifestly bad idea, as is false casting over fish in shallow water. Fish are highly attuned to movement – and they’re definitely aware of objects flashing overhead.

Keep your false casting to a minimum (yes, this means you), and practice your change of direction cast. Come the low, clear waters of fall, you’ll need it.

Don’t Compound Mistakes. When you’re casting to a specific spot and miss, don’t pick it right up and slap it back down. Let the current pull it away and try again. Similarly, when you’re casting tight to cover, don’t throw right into the “zone of death” the first cast.

Instead, drop your fly at the outside edge – it gives you a chance to measure the distance, avoids a terrify-the-big-fish tangle with bankside brush, and offers the fish a chance to come out and eat the fly anyway. (Cuts down on the amount of swearing too.)

Stalk. If most fly fishers stalked fish half as hard as they stalk deals on the Internet, there’d be a lot more sore-mouthed trout in the rivers. For example, casting a long shadow is always a bad idea, yet I often see fishers casting with the sun at their backs.

To trout, shadows mean birds, and birds mean dinner (and not in a good way). Keep a low profile, stay aware of the sun, and fish with the sun at your back only when absolutely necessary.

#4 – When All is Lost

Finally, when there’s no cover, the water’s clear, and your casting choices are limited, there’s always the Waiting Gambit. Pick your best spot (the one that offers you the best shot at the most/best fish), wade in as quietly as possible, and if the trout stop rising, wait ‘em out.

If you stand still and make no threatening gestures, the fish might foolishly decide you’re not a risk and resume feeding. It often happens in as few as five or ten minutes, and while the wait is excruciating, it can be effective.

Sometimes – if you wade very, very quietly – the fish don’t even stop rising. Continuously working fish are sometimes happily oblivious to what’s going on around them, as evidenced by the time I slowly waded less than a rod’s length away from a pod of big, rising trout in very shallow water.

This is far more likely to happen on overcast days than bright ones; sneaking up on ‘em is just that much easier when the fireball in the sky is on vacation.

The Moral of this Article is…

Sneaking around brushy trout streams isn’t always easy – and you’re often left to perform the fly fishing calculus needed to choose between two bad options – but it costs a lot less than a new fly rod. And unlike a new rod, being sneaky will actually help you catch more fish.

So practice stealth. Fish like a sneaky bastard. And remember: the best bastards never stop getting better. After fishing with Ian Rutter last spring, I realized there was a lot of roll casting practice in my future. That recently paid off handomely – to the tune of a wad of 14”-19” fish.

[tags]trout, stealth, rutter, fly rod, tennessee, upper sacramento[/tags]

Are Montana’s Trout On Crack?

September 29, 2006, by 11 comments

A leading Montana Fly Fishing Blogger recently posted a “suspicious” [ahem] October Caddis pattern suggestion on the Underground – the third such questionable pattern suggestion from a Montana-based Undergrounder in 18 months.

Clearly, it’s time someone in the outdoor media stood up and asked the question that others don’t have the guts to ask:

Are all Montana trout smoking crack?

One bad fly pattern could be an anomaly, but given the wholly unproductive “sure thing” patterns offered by other Montana-based Undergrounders, a larger picture begins to emerge.

And it’s an unpretty picture indeed – one of trout so stupid that they’ll eat October Caddis imitations other trout won’t touch. Or even hopper patterns more Dali-esque than duplicative.

Montana Foam Fly image
Is this proof of excessive drug use among Montana’s trout?

It’s starting to look that way to this reporter.

I’m reminded of a local fly fisher’s quote upon his return from Montana; he was asked about the fishing, and replied “It was about what you’d expect from a place where they mostly fish flies made from foam.”

Revealing. And damming.

Foaming at the Mouth

Everything I’ve said so far could simply be the ramblings of a deranged fly fisher (not that there’s anything wrong with that – it works for most political pundits), but careful examination of the lyrics from Montana’s Official State Song offers incontrovertible proof:

Montana, Montana,
Glory of the West
Of all the states from coast to coast,
You’re easily the best, and your trout are as dumb as rocks.

It’s time to save the Montana trout. By getting them into rehab…

.

.

BREAKING NEWS UPDATE: It’s the expectation of any brilliant (nay, genius) journalist that breaking the big story could mean you’ll experience attacks by those desperate to preserve their dark, dark secrets. Fly Fishing in Yellowstone has launched the first, though his latest “can’t miss” pattern frankly tends to support my theory. (Either that, or Montana’s filled with a lot of fly fishing musicians.) Don’t miss the notes for what might be the funniest fly pattern of the year…

[tags]montana, October Caddis[/tags]

Going Home. And Leftover Images of Grand Lake Stream.

September 12, 2006, by 2 comments

I’m packed, we leave tomorrow, and it’ll be good to get home. Don’t expect to hear much from me Wednesday or Thursday, but here’s one last treat for the Undergrounders; a handful of leftover photographs that just didn’t quite fit into the reports. Enjoy!

Grand Lake Canoe running on the morning
A Grand Laker running down Junior Creek on West Grand Lake.

Grand Lake Stream Maple
Too early for the fall colors… except for this one Maple on “Treasure Island.”

Grandl Lake Stream, Maine clouds
I admit it – the clouds here are wilder than in California. Sepia filter anyone?

Grand Lake Stream clouds
Another cloud pic? Why not?

Nancy Swift relaxing on West Grand Lake, Maine
Yeah, it’s sooo hard to relax up here…

Hidden Rock, West Grand Lake Maine
Just when you thought it was safe for rocks to go back into the water….

[tags]Grand Lake Stream, Maine, maple, Grand Lake Canoe [/tags]

The “Doh!” Files: Rough Water Testing the Grand Lake Canoe

September 10, 2006, by 7 comments

Given that Friday’s post was largely a paean to the big water capabilities of the Grand Laker, I should have predicted what happened Saturday; a clear, bluebird day turned dark and violent in a matter of minutes, and instead of a light breeze, we faced a wicked wind and big swells that grew in size every minute.

The L&T Nancy at the start of a Grand Lake Stream storm
Forty-five minutes from the boathouse. Don’t believe what I wrote about the seaworthiness of the Grand Lake Canoe? This is the start of our run home. It got much, much worse. (Brought to you via a waterproof camera set to “Winslow Homer “mode.)

Then it started raining very, very hard. The wind whistled. I saw lightning in the dark clouds that were overrunning us.

Which is when things got bad.

Happy, Sunny Day…

The day started peacefully enough. Bluebird even. We fished mostly poppers until early afternoon, caught some nice, hard-fighting smallmouth, had lunch, and largely enjoyed the warm weather.

Fly fishing West Grand Lake
Early in the day. Stripping a Sneaky Pete in bluebird weather. I’m only seconds away from the trip’s first (and hopefully last) pickerel. (L&T Nancy photo)

With darker clouds looming to the Northwest, we raced to rocky structure in the hopes of catching big, aggressive smallmouth in the dead calm that precedes a cold front. Fish are often unbelievably aggressive at the edge of a front, and because I’m greedy, I wanted a few of them.

And, true to form, I quickly hooked four smallmouth, including a 12” fish and another slightly smaller fish that chased the popper right to the boat. But – despite the years I’ve spent fishing lakes – I wasn’t prepared for what happened next.

I heard a faint hissing noise that kept growing louder – a thousand “snakes on a plane” heading our way. I looked to the Northwest and saw what I can only describe as a solid line of wind on the water.

On one side of the line, the water was dead calm, and on the other, swells were already building.

The “line” washed over us (I’m guessing 30 miles an hour), and the air went from warm and humid to cold and dry in literally a heartbeat.

It wasn’t an isolated gust of wind; it was the leading edge of the cold front that dropped our overnight temperatures 20+ degrees. I’ve seen fronts move in over the course of half an hour, but never one so clearly defined that I could pinpoint its passage to within a couple seconds.

Without a word, I put away my rod and Nancy fired up the motor. “No problem” I thought, “We might get wet, but we’ll stay on the front edge of the storm.”

Duh. I thought wrong.

A West Grand Lake storm
Twenty minutes from the boathouse. It was raining hard and the thunder was loud, which was just as well – that way the L&T Nancy couldn’t hear me whimpering. (The camera lens dramatically flattens the waves. They were tall.)

It’s tempting to describe the long run home in heroic terms, emphasizing our triumph over the deadly, uncaring forces of nature, but the truth is it was a miserable run where a novice boater (which the L&T Nancy isn’t) could have easily gotten into some serious trouble.

The swells were big, the wind was whitecapping the waves which slapped the canoe, the rain made it hard to see, and – late in the run – the nearby lightning strikes rattled our teeth.

Swamping the canoe or motor in that situation can make a miserable situation dangerous, but even as she navigated the maze of islands and shoals on the way home, Nancy eased us through the worst of the waves with only the bare minimum of trouble.

West Grand Lake storm photo
Five minutes from the boathouse. We were chasing the front edge of the storm, but that white area kept shrinking, and we pretty easily lost the race. It’s hard to see, but we’re climbing the back side of a swell that – despite my elevated angle – obscures the land in front of it.

Competence in a situation like that isn’t so much demonstrated by heroic measures as it a measured calmness – an ability to navigate situations that could easily go from bad to much, much worse (but don’t).

We were fortunate that the last run to the boathouse was downwind, because the thunder and lightning started getting uncomfortably close. Figuring home was a close as any other shelter, Nancy opened the throttle and we rode the waves – arrowing the Grand Laker into the narrow boathouse slot perfectly.

Adventure over.

Tom Chandler during a West Grand Lake storm
Thirty seconds from the boathouse. I’m filing the whole affair under “Unintended Outdoor Adventures” and never assuming that a Maine cold front moves at the same speed as the California variety.

Today’s weather is very windy and though the swells are smaller than yesterday, it’s still whitecaps out there. Fishing is unlikely, but I’m going to take the chance to rest up and put together some of the spare pictures from the trip so far.

See you in the boathouse, Tom Chandler

The Grand Lake Canoe: An Essay with Images

September 8, 2006, by 123 comments

The Grand Lake Canoe still plys the waters of Grand Lake almost a century after its invention. Is there a better way to travel?

Grand Lake Canoe doing what it's designed to do
The Grand Lake Canoe doing what it does best…

Spend any time peering down driveways around the tiny town of Grand Lake Stream, and you’ll notice almost as many boats on trailers as cars, and that most of those boats are long, broad-beamed wooden canoes with an upswept bow.

But don’t make the mistake of simply calling it a canoe. You’re almost certainly looking at a Grand Lake Canoe (a “Grand Laker” if you’re into Maine guide slang), and suggesting that its roots run deep around the tiny town of Grand Lake Stream is to underestimate its connection to the area; the Grand Laker has big chunks of Grand Lake DNA directly wired into its genetic code.

The Guide’s Choice

Typically powered by a 9hp motor, it’s a craft that’s perfectly suited to guiding the lakes in the area, where the wind often blows and a lot of water needs to be covered, sometimes in a pretty mean chop.

Grand Lake Canoe looks graceful even at rest

Like most great tools, it’s a deceptively workable design, and while newer, high-tech boats might cover more water, there’s something irresistible about a wood canoe that’s so perfectly suited to its environment that it’s named for the lake upon which you’re currently fishing.

It even reflects Mainer frugality by fishing for several days on one small tank of gas.

And – unlike bigger boats – a Grand Lake canoe can successfully navigate the boulder-strewn shallows of the local lakes – where submerged boulders the size of houses rise eerily from the depths, often topping out at a keel-scraping inches from the surface.

(Watching a guide casually thread the big, broad-beamed canoe through a slot no wider than the boat itself is breathtaking stuff.)

Grand Lake Canoe

In addition to negotiating boulder-strewn shallows, it also trailers well, launches easily on unimproved boat ramps, and moves a guide and a couple clients at surprising speeds despite the use of small-displacement motors.

It’s tempting to say that fly fishing from a Grand Laker is like a trip back in time, but that statement belies the sheer fishability of the craft. Like Western drift boats, it’s not still used because a bunch of backward locals can’t give it up, but because it does the job it was intended to – in most cases better than anything that’s come after it.

Nearly a Century of History

The first Grand Lake canoes were built just prior to the 1920s, and because there were no outboard motors, they were “double-enders” which were paddled by guides.

With the advent of the outboard motor came the square stern, and in the 1950s, the Grand Lake canoe underwent its final incarnation: the stern was strengthened (to accommodate bigger motors) and a fiberglass skin replaced the canvas exterior.

Grand Lake Canoe bow

The result is a 20′ canoe that handles superbly, even with a guide, two clients, and a lot of gear. And despite their light weight, Grand Lake canoes are famous for their longevity.

It’s common to learn you’re sitting in a canoe that’s several decades old (last visit out I enjoyed the singular experience of fishing from a Grand Laker that was almost as old as I am, and one of the canoes in these pictures was built 30+ years ago).

The reliability of the Grand Laker is so deeply ingrained into the local zeitgeist that when an aluminum skiff flipped a couple years ago (it was late Fall, and a man and his son were lucky to be seen and rescued before hypothermia set in), a couple of locals sniffed that it “wouldn’t have happened in a Grand Laker.”

True or not, it’s a measure of the faith the locals have in the craft – and these are people who are on the big lakes when sudden, violent storms whip up some sizable waves, and get home to tell of it.

Grand Lake Canoe interior

Clearly, Grand Lake canoe seems at home here because it is – and the same can be said for the guides who pilot them. You could say that they’re deeply sunk into the traditions of the area, but again, that’s an unnecessarily nostalgic view – unless your view of “fishing” necessarily means warp-drive boats, footlocker-sized tackle boxes, and a lot of yelling and screaming every time you land a fish.

Grand Lake Stream canoe overview

Instead, the Registered Maine Guides – and their Grand Lakers – still do things pretty much the way they were done 50 years ago because nobody’s invented a better way to do it.

Grand Lake Canoe closing image

[tags]Grand Lake Canoe, Grand Lake Stream, Maine [/tags]

Rage Against the (Flying) Machine

September 3, 2006, by 2 comments

While there’s talk of airlines offering wi-fi Internet access on airplanes, it’s probably best if I don’t post while actually in the air. Profanity isn’t our friend.
<>The truth is, I travel like most cats do, which is to say I curl up, make a lot of vicious noises, don’t want to be touched, and pray for it to end.

Flying Brings Us Closer Together.

It’s possible I don’t like flyiing because it brings me into close contact with humanity as a whole, and I’ve discovered that my opinion of humanity is often inversely proportional to my exposure to it.

Then there are airline terminals, which – let’s face it – were designed to make you want to risk your life on an airplane. Alert Underground Reader Teerex says Hell was recently remodeled to make it even more sadistic using the lessons learned from airline terminals. I don’t doubt it for a second.

Once airborne, you’re alloted less space than your average veal calf, and force fed movies that were so pathetic they couldn’t even rise above the very low standard needed to succeed in today’s movie theaters.

Airline food’s too easy a target to bother with, though I can say from grim personal experience that it’s no better the second time you taste it, which – if you’re prone to airsickness, and your plane flies into a storm cloud before going into a holding pattern – can happen.

Actually it did happen, but I’m simply not going to describe it here. It’s a family blog.

barf bag
Want to see where unhappy flying memories are stored?

The Day After

A day after the fact, my memories of the flight itself have faded considerably (putting truth to the statement that human brain forgets pain very quickly), and I’m now writing this from a beautiful remote corner of Maine. Grand Lake Stream is a tiny town (and getting tinier – now only 120 year round souls) surrounded by good fishing water.

The remnants of a hurricane are working their way up the East Coast, and dark, ominous clouds are starting to roll in right now (Sunday evening). That could make for a wet couple of days, but since I’m not made of Alka Seltzer, I expect to fish a least enough to hold up my end of an Internet fly fishing blog.

Right now, it’s time for a bite and chance to relax with the L&T Nancy. Expect more tomorrow – and maybe even a few pictures once I get some upload issues resolved. See you in Maine, Tom Chandler.

[tags]Grand Lake Stream, maine, flying[/tags]

Either it cools off, or you’re going to see me naked…

July 27, 2006, by 3 comments

The heat just won’t give us a break, and frankly, I think everyone up here is getting a little punchy around it. That, of course, leaves us with two choices. We can ease across the line that separates the sane from those paint their bodies and run around naked, or we can fish.

Chris Raine and I – deciding that death by heatstroke was preferable to being seen naked (and I think the locals will agree with me here) – got up before 5 a.m., drove more than an hour, and fished a stretch of a local river I’d never seen before.

It’s very different from the norm up here; a desert-looking river with stained water and highly altered, TVA-esque flows which change on an hourly basis.

fly fishing the Upper Klamath
Pretty. Not stunning, but pretty. The river I mean. Chris is kinda weird looking.

We basically sweated like pigs, fished in ways we’d rather not fish, and caught a handful of small trout. In the hottest part of the day, we stumbled on a small PMD spinner fall and – squinting through the rivers of sweat running down our faces – hooked smallish trout on dries. Aha! Mission accomplished!

Crumpled PMD spinner on the Klamath
Crumpled PMD spinner on the rocks.

We staggered back to the truck, fly rods clutched limply in hour hands and weight loss accumulating to double-digit levels. It was an interesting river, but one that I’m willing to bypass until it cools some.

The good news is that much cooler temps are forecast for this weekend, so anyone willing to risk seeing me naked should probably fire up the chariot and go fishing.

In other, less disturbing news…

We’ve got a great thread going in the “Who’s killing fly fishing magazines…?” topic below. Be sure to add your two cents.

And lastly, in addition to finally upgrading his computer to the point that he can participate in online discussions (welcome to the 21st century, Ian), Ian Rutter just posted an entry on his fishing report about the arrival of his bouncing new Hyde Drift boat.

Sure, I would have bought a Clacka, but despite his drifter blindness, I still like the guy. Anyone who writes about his new boat as if his second child had arrived is worth reading. See you naked, Tom Chandler.