You could say that San Francisco in general — and high-end Galas in particular — aren’t exactly my natural habitat.

In fact, if natural selection were truly in operation, I’d quickly come to a horrible end in the jaws of a predator better evolved to survive fundraisers, small talk and silent auctions.

Perhaps something like a Cocktail Crocodile.

Fortunately, where I clean up poorly and lack social graces, the L&T shines brightly. Very brightly.

It says a lot about my powers of persuasion that I ended up with dignified, attractive, intelligent woman who moves through these situations like a trout moves through water, and if I stick close enough, I might just survive the evening, eventually returning to the safety of my own natural habitat.

Darwin’s Cocktail Party

Curtis Knight of CalTrout thought I’d do just fine, and allowed as to how I’d do great as long as I kept bidding on auction items, which prompted me to laugh in a bitter, cynical way, wondering how many $10 auction items CalTrout was planning to move.

He made a classic error; just because I married a hot babe and own some nice bamboo fly rods, it doesn’t mean I’ve got any money.

Should any Undergrounders plan to attend, be sure to look me up. (And yes, it’s for a good cause, so drag your butts out there — at the very least, we’ll provide multiple targets for predators, achieving some kind of safety in numbers.)

Simply search for a species who clearly didn’t evolve in the Four Seasons Hotel ecosystem — an environment where people wear neckties every day without knowing it’s wrong.

That’ll be me, likely wearing a sport coat without zingers and shoes without felt soles, scanning the room for predators.

See you at the Galapagos Island Cocktail Party CalTrout Fundraiser, Tom Chandler.

Technorati Tags: caltrout,social darwinism,fish out of water

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Blanton used to load a 14-foot aluminum boat on top of his truck and lead a caravan south along Baja. In 1970, his California buddy Ron Dong, famous for inventing Ron’s Crease Fly, burned out a clutch traveling the dusty road.

“We left Ron’s rig with a mechanic, who had no clutch and no way to get one,” recalled Blanton. “A couple of days later, we were at our fishing camp when we saw a cloud of dust headed our way. A guy roared up in a souped-up off-road vehicle and said he was on a racing crew with the Baja 500 and heard we were having mechanical problems.

“He wrote down the parts number for Ron’s clutch and had the parts flown in on the racing team’s next plane from California. The truck was repaired when we headed for home. It was a true adventure in those days before commercial air service.”

Baja remains a fast-growing destination for fly fishers, who love its cheap, readily available tequila large numbers of gamefish. See you at the duty-free liquor store, Tom Chandler.

Technorati Tags: fly fishing, baja, dan blanton, tequila

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As far as this trip goes, I’m well past the glassy-eyed stage (and starting to smell a little), and while Boston isn’t a bad place, it’s not exactly rich in trout streams, and I sure as hell didn’t want to spend the night in a hotel room that cost more than your average guide trip.

Yet that’s the reality imposed on us (yet again) by my close personal friends at Delta Circus and Airlines, who got us from Bangor to Boston exactly 25 minutes too late to make our connecting flight.

Of course, that’s when you run headlong into the truly Twilight-Zonish reality of modern air travel, where every flight is filled, yet all the airlines are somehow losing money. (more…)

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Frankly, I’ve moved far beyond those pedestrian concerns, and over the last two days, I’ve wholly abandoned any pretense about fishing, focusing instead on what has clearly become this trip’s goal: Weight Gain.

Will Raspberry Pie doom fly fishing as we know it?

On past trips, my most common refrain was “just one more cast.” Now it’s more likely to be “just one more piece,” and I’m not letting anyone badger me into leaving the table early, if you get my drift. (more…)

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A fleet of Grand Lakers wait while eat our shore lunch.

Saturday was a Big Day Out for the family members that were piling up at the camp like cordwood. Traditionally, the L&T Nancy’s mother (Judy) hires a couple of guides, we pile everyone into the guides’ Grand Lake Canoes, and off we go. (more…)

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One wants to hit the water (hard), while the other wants to relax, soak up the beauty, revel in the utter lack of ringing phones or pinging e-mail software, and get reacquainted with the L&T Nancy while you’re both temporarily shorn of your career responsibilities.

Everyone who wants to be here, raise your hand.

OK, I didn’t have an out-of-state license yet, so I couldn’t hit the water right away. Instead, the L&T Nancy and I lounged all morning, hiked the hour into the tiny town of Grand Lake Stream, bought non-resident fishing licenses, ate popsicles, got the lowdown on the fishing (river slow, lakes OK), and hiked home.

In other words, a perfect day, topped by an almost interesting sunset picture:

Damn bird and boat didn’t cooperate. Life is imperfect.

I knew it was too much to ask that the bird and boat would align in the sun trail, but you hope anyway, and when it’s clear it’s not going to happen, you click the shutter when they do line up, marking the result down to the imperfection of nature.

I would have clicked the shutter on a few smallmouth bass pictures — I just now got off the lake, having kayaked and fished around the local submerged rockpiles for a few hours — but I forgot to take my camera along.

No matter. Plenty of smallie pics to come, though most will likely show fish with subsurface flies in their jaws as they don’t seem too interested in the topwaters.

A few minutes ago, it was perfect kayak fishing weather, but the wind picked up pretty quickly and I paddled back to the dock. In just the time it took to write this post, the wind has picked up considerably and moved, now blowing in from the south, putting a good chop on the normally placid waters around the dock.

It’s a good time to be on dry, unchoppy land, writing, drinking beer, and wondering what I’m going to do this afternoon. The river? Perhaps. More family are due in, and putting off the evening hatch for one more day isn’t the worst thing you can do at the start of a two week long vacation.

In the meantime, we’ve got plenty of fishing action coming in Jim Troyer’s report on his fly fishing trip to Baja, (expect Part II later today or early tomorow).

See you on vacation, Tom Chandler.

Technorati Tags: fly fishing, kayak, maine, grand lake stream, smallmouth

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Sure, I was going to start this report with a line like “Travel sucks” — and after a 32 hour travel “odyssey” I might be entitled — but once I started that rant, I’d end up punching out a quick 18,000 words on the subject, and the next thing I know my name’s on an FAA “no fly” list. (more…)

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Am I looking forward to it? Here’s your answer:

Life is hard on the mean streets of Grand Lake Stream.

Expect a few reports about the fishing, though the weather back there has been strange. Also expect some fun photography, and maybe a few more pictures of the town (90 year-round residents) and whatever else I can get into focus.

Last year’s post about the Grand Lake Canoe remains well-trafficked, so maybe this year we can get a peek into the builder’s shop.

See you among the Mainers, Tom Chandler.

Technorati Tags: grand lake stream, maine, grand lake canoe

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I owe my loyal Undergrounders reports on two more days of fishing (including a last-day surprise location and a never-before-seen fish on the Underground), plus a trip wrap up.

Don’t miss a word. In the meantime, thanks for all the comments; I’ll respond to them when I get home.

Until then, see you in the stratosphere, Tom Chandler.

Technorati Tags: travel, fly fishing

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Rich Margiotta’s Emerald wraps on a 7′ 3wt Diamondglass (fiberglass).

Pretty job, and while we’ve still got to test-cast the thing, it could even see action on today’s Brookie outing. More as it happens.

Brain Drain

A good night’s sleep does wonders for your brain.

Traveling always makes me feel fuzzy, due in large part to airline terminals — the places designed to be so miserable, they make you want to risk your life by getting on a plane.

Still, I’d forgotten the music played in terminals, which is clearly picked to suck the intelligence right out of your grey matter; the dumber you are, the less likely you’re going to object to being treated like cattle.

So you’re sitting there — in an industrial setting akin to hell (in tasteful greys and earth tones), your intelligence leaking out your ears — and wondering why you do it.

Once we get a few errands out of the way, I’m going to remember. Brookies ho!

See you… hell, I’m not telling where you’ll find me, Tom Chandler.

Technorati Tags: fly fishing, fishing, brook trout

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I wasn’t cavity searched, waited in line no longer than usual (which is still a lot), didn’t avail myself of any airsickness bags, met up with Rich Margiotta — a classy guy and one of my favorite people — at the airport, lost no luggage, and even got an upgrade to a Toyota SUV at the rental counter.

I am pure gold, baby. Gold.

Still, travel bores me out of my skull. To get a sense of my day, just stare at the picture below for 5.25 hours:

Had enough? I know I have.

Tomorrow Rich Margiotta and I will get to spend at least as many hours staring at a small Brookie tributary; the fish aren’t big, but the views are stunning.

Because the temperatures could run into the upper 80s, we’ll be gaining altitude in the hot part of the day (I’m not naming names, but we’ll be somewhere around Chimneys).

Later — when it cools off — we’ll drop down to a prime stretch of the Little River, looking for rising fish.

Early, I’ll be rounding up a fishing license and buying a few goodies for Thursday’s backpacking trip. Then there are the inevitable (and agonizing) fly rod decisions.

I brought Chris Raine’s 7.5 ‘ 4wt hollowbuilt cane rod, but Rich just put the finishing touches on a 7′ 3wt Diamondglass rod that I should try.

Clearly, fly fishing’s a difficult sport, but not always for the reasons you might suspect.

Expect an honest to god fishing report soon — with pictures you actually want to look at. See you in the Smokies, Tom Chandler.

Technorati Tags: fly fishing, fishing, tennessee, smoky mountains, gsmnp

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It’s pretty apparent I’ve forgotten some vital piece of gear, but waiting for that “special” moment when you discover exactly what has become a hallmark of my trips.

To my credit, I didn’t stagger out of the house without pants — a definite possibility given my recent brain death.

Now I’m in Chico, tomorrow I’ll be in Sacramento, then Dallas, then Knoxville. Basically, close enough to the Smokies to smell ‘em. By Tuesday, I’ll be fishing.

Given my love of commercial air travel, I’m sure I’ll have something painful to report by this time tomorrow. As they say in the airline world, please stand by.

Finally, my brother and I just finished a Google Earth flyover of my backpacking trip up Hazel Creek. The trail looks good, the climbing looks gentle, and the creek. A beaut.

And though Google Earth isn’t actually refined enough to let you spot fish in the water, reality’s never been much of a barrier for a fisherman.

You just know those bend pools hold fish, and you’re reasonably sure they’ll move a long ways for the chance to nail a Beetle Bug.

Google Earth doesn’t actually show that either, but you just know it.

See you at the Terminal Security Station, Tom Chandler.

Technorati Tags: fly fishing, fishing, flying, tennessee

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In the past, I’ve headed off on multi-day trips leaving my wading boots, fishing license, fly boxes (yes) and even my wallet behind.

So what am I going to forget this time? And what’s in store for me at the airport?

I Loooove to Fly

I’m lying. I hate to fly. Anyone who remembers my last trip home from Maine — where we raced the length of two terminals, arrived at our connecting flight one minute early, and discovered our close, personal friends at the airline had departed five minutes early.

No better was our trip to Maine, which prompted me to write:

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.

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 allotted 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.

You’ve Seen Mine. Now Show Me Yours.

So what’s your best/worst fly fishing travel story?

Forget something vital (like your fishing partner)? Break something? Lose something? Get screwed by an airline or hotel?

We’re listening. The Underground feels your pain, baby.

Technorati Tags: fly fishing, travel, tennessee

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It’s not bad reading for a winter’s day, and for the Undergrounders whose lips get tired, there are even pictures:

Of course, with the Upper Sacramento currently running better than 2,100 cfs, reading’s about all I’ve got.

Enjoy your weekend. And see you on the Internet, Tom Chandler

Technorati Tags: fly fishing, montana, the madison, ian rutter, charity rutter

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I don’t know about you, but bouncing around inside my head are detailed (and mostly unrealistic) plans for 2007’s fishing trips, and while some of them might actually come to pass, they almost certainly won’t happen the way I imagine them.

Which - if you stop to think about it - is probably the point.

It’s the kind of rainy day, lay-around-the-house leisure activity that could waste a whole afternoon, assuming such a thing could ever be a waste.

What’s the plan?

The Early Season

Winter fishing on the Upper Sacramento hasn’t been stellar, but with the snowpack far below normal and no real storms in sight, we’re looking a drought right in the eye.

That’s not the best news for salmon, steelhead and the California delta, but it’s not the end of the world up here in the mountains.

With a little luck, we could hit a few good hatches before the runoff even gets going, and once started, it won’t last long.

A drought would also open the backcountry earlier, and if I sound almost giddy at the prospect of a drought, so be it.

One man’s tomato stake is another’s priceless bamboo fly rod, and complaining about the weather rarely changes it.

I’m just making lemonade.

Tennessee

About the time the runoff gets out of hand I could be winging my way to Tennessee.

You’ll find me headhunting Tennessee’s rich tailwaters, and enjoying my time on the smaller rivers and streams of the Great Smoky Mountains National Park.

I might even tumble for an overnight trip into the park’s backcountry, and scarf a few slawdogs at the local Phillips 66.

I’ll even have a chance to test fly the lies which don’t work in California any more, but might find a new audience in the Southeast, where they’ll make a worthy addition to the Southern oral tradition.

Consider me a verbal philanthropist.

Tennessee’s key attraction is the fly fishing diversity; one day I’m casting for tiny brook trout in tiny streams, the next I’m fishing a blanket caddis hatch on a rainbow tailwater, and yet another I’m chasing Brown trout with streamers the size of squirrels.

The bonus? All this happens while the Upper Sacramento fishes poorly.

Idaho? Wyoming? Montana?

This summer, I’m mulling over a tour of the trouty fleshpots in the Rocky Mountain West. A new trip.

Sure, Yellowstone’s famous rivers call, but I’m looking for destinations not found on the travel plans of the well-to-do angling set.

Instead, lesser-explored parts of Idaho beckon, as do some of the more interesting bits of Montana and Wyoming.

A handful of covert hints have come my way, and the old saw about killing you after telling you applies.

More on this as it happens.

The Backcountry

Last year I fished the backcountry’s lakes and tiny streams more than usual, and had so much fun I expect more of it.

Starting in early summer, the backcountry loses its snowbound status, and all the underfished Brookie lakes open.

I even bought a shiny new ultralight backpacking tent, and have been turning equipment lists over in my head.

Modern day backpackers prune away excess weight seemingly at the subatomic level, and though I won’t exhibit that level of mania, I’m learning that a 45-pound pack takes all the fun out of backpacking.

The goal? Pare the backpacking equipment list down far enough that a float tube is a possibility.

Of all the trips I’ve listed, the backcountry wanderings offer the greatest potential for solitude - a solo appreciation of beauty that

Maine

Every year I’ve gone, Maine has delivered a different fishing experience. It’s not a 100% lock that we’ll go this year, but I hope we do.

It’s textbook smallmouth bass water, and smallies are pure fun on the fin.

Plus the lakes are beautiful, the Grand Lake Canoes are beautiful, the smallmouth bass are beautiful, and the whole setup is just plain, well… beautiful.

It’s not the kind of vacation where you fish until you drop, but it’s the perfect vacation when fishing is a main course on the menu, but you want to spend a lot of time with the L&T Spouse too.

Salt Anyone?

I admit to a long-distance fascination with redfish, and keep idly speculating on the costs of a Gulf Coast redfish trip.

Complicating matters is the need for a boat and guide, which run upwards of $450 a day.

It’s hard to imagine coughing up several grand (flight, rental, hotel, guide, slaw dogs) for a couple days of fishing, but this is how trips happen.

I start with the seed of an idea, and the whole thint eventually dies on the vine or grows into a full blown idea.

The Usual Suspects

Naturally, I’ll be fishing all the local hangouts: the Upper Sacramento, Rogue, Klamath, McCloud - and a few smaller venues which I am not going to mention in print.

Of course, once you compile a list of all the places you want to fish, you realize you couldn’t possibly do so outside the confines of a trust fund or winning lottery ticket.

It’s a reality that hovers around the periphery of any wintertime “places to fish” list, but if you let it slow you down then you’re taking life too seriously.

One thing is true: driving 15 minutes to fish for an evening is something done (or not done) on the spur of the moment, but epic trips to places you’ve never been require some small amount of planning, or they simply don’t happen.

So what’s your plan for 2007? Where are you headed?

Technorati Tags: fly fishing, fishing, 2007

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