Actual pocket lint from a 21 hour travel day (think there's a reality show in this?)

Facing mounds of “Deal With Me” messages, I’m tempted to simply declare email/online bankruptcy, starting over with a clean slate and a guilt-free mind, but when you’re self-employed, that’s not how it works.

I did manage to download the trip’s photographs, which aren’t exactly art, but do nicely punctuate the stories stored in the Underground’s ‘dazed by too little sleep and too much travel’ brain.

This afternoon, you’ll see a post. I promise.

I’ve got a lot of notes.

And a Big News Post soon.

See you trying to remember where the kitchen is, Tom Chandler.

Many fish were caught, but a week is never enough at Grand Lake Stream, and as the L&T’s mom pointed out, it was never meant to be.

In what I’ll call “the olden days,” people would come to a camp like this for a month, or better yet, the whole summer, and your vacation could take on that languid, relaxed pace that is both rejuvenating and memorable.

Today, a week is an eternity to the L&T and I, both of us quietly wrestling with jobs/client work while we’re supposed to be on vacation.

Surveys suggest today’s workforce believes a “vacation” is a long weekend with a restaurant visit thrown in, and the concept of a whole summer off is probably more tightly entwined with retirement (or death) than it is your working life.

It’s not a complaint as much as an observation — we presumably make these choices for ourselves — but you do wonder if we’re creating lives so fractured they’re more jigsaw puzzle than seamless big picture.

On that note, my writing minutes have evaporated; time to load up the car for the trip to Bangor, where a hotel (and a plane, and another plane, and a long-term parking shuttle, and a 5.5 hour drive home) await.

See you on the way home, Tom Chandler.

5. Suddenly posting with a Maine accent
4. Sends more smug, self-satisfied “Taunt Tweets” from his Blackberry than usual
3. As jetliner flies overhead, you actually hear someone whining about travel
2. Maine’s lobster population suddenly (and severely) depleted; state simultaneously experiences blueberry pie shortage
1. Auto-posts lame “Top Five” articles while actually reclining in sun and fishing from wooden canoe

Vacation Stuff

Never fear; in my absence, the Underground’s employing powerful, space-age technology to post powerful, space-age articles – including a pair of frankly thought-provoking pieces that are probably way, way over your head.

And while we’ll be largely disconnected while in Maine, there is the potential – if I stand near the right tree and hold my mouth correctly – for a connection from my smartphone.

But given the painful reality of text entry on its touchscreen, don’t expect War & Peace.

More like the occasional Haiku.

See you in Grand Lake Stream, Tom Chandler.

Montana was a little slice of heaven (as if the pictures hadn’t told you that already), and Maine was what Maine always is: rustic, ageless and fun (plus pie and lobster).

The L&T headed to town in a Grand Laker Canoe

Still, I feel like I haven’t been home in months.

I mean, what’s happening on my favorite alpine stream? My alpine brookie lakes? The Upper McCloud? My favorite Upper Sac spots? I’m drawing blanks on all of them.

Time to get to work.

I’m wrapping up my Maine trip with this post, and providing valuable information about how you too can become the Wiffleball Death Match MVP (hint: make a headfirst belly flop onto home plate, craft a triple play, a double play, and an Ozzie-Smith-like nab of a line drive, then whine a lot about damaging yourself for the team, and you’re in).

Plus a few leftover pictures, starting with…

The Canoe You Should Own, But Can’t

First, there’s the cedar lapstrake canoe that one of you is not going to win in a drawing by the Downeast Lakes Land Trust, which is a damned shame.

Want to win this? You can’t (and I didn’t).

If I’d twigged to the drawing sooner, I think a great big bait ball sized school of Undergrounders would have thrown down $10 for a chance to win this gorgeous floating canoe (it’s like a supermodel with thwarts), but alas, there was no warning.

The drawing’s over (and I didn’t win either).

Sorry, wood-loving Undergrounders.

Grand Laker Canoe Redux

My posts about Grand Laker Canoes from two years ago still score a lot of traffic. Clearly, there’s a lot of interest in these great craft, yet when people had questions, I had nowhere to send them.

Until now.

Bill Shamel’s still building Grand Lakers (he’s Pop Moore’s son-in-law).

Bill Shamel’s shop in Grand Lake Stream continues to pump out 5-10 Grand Laker canoes annually, and he takes on interesting restoration projects.

Want to know more? You’ll find contact information for Shamel and a couple other Grand Laker builders here.

The Dark and Moody Underground

What’s left are a few kinda moody photographs that simply don’t fit anywhere else on the Underground’s inevitably sunny pages.

See you on the river, Tom Chandler.

Early tomorrow morning, the L&T and I pack up, leave Grand Lake Stream, Maine, and head back to the Trout Underground/Man Cave World Headquarters in Mount Shasta.

Our stay in Grand Lake Stream, Maine has been big fun (and big calories), but the dialup access is so slow and spotty I’m not even trying to post anything until I get home.

The food has been awesome, the fishing sublime, and yes, the Wiffleball game went the way of the just and righteous Underground’s team, with yours truly representing big for the Underground Way of Life to the tune of a headfirst slide into home and a triple play.

More on my athletic (and eating) prowess after Sunday’s travel day, which likely won’t end until midnight, and that’s assuming our close, personal friends at the major airlines don’t strand us halfway.

See you traveling, Tom Chandler.

So I’m leading with a happy picture:

In fact, I caught myself converting all the green-saturated photographs slated for this report into dark, moody black & white images, an impulse I fought (though you’ll find a couple of those stuck in the end of the report).

Two nights ago a powerful electrical storm rolled in, and as it crashed and banged and woke us up and reminded us we’re tiny wind-up toys compared to the weather, a bolt hit very close by.

Everyone who’s experienced it knows the spike of adrenaline that energizes your system when the flash and the bang occur simultaneously, and it was then that I focused on the idea that my tiny cabin was built atop a somewhat lonely, exposed hill.

In addition to forcing myself and the L&T to confront our aversion to electrocution, the lightning knocked out the phone system in the town of Grand Lake Stream for a full day.

For some, that was a problem, but all the fly fishing bloggers in the group (me) found ourselves without a publishing schedule, and yesterday was the Big Day Out With Guides, so I went with a free conscience.

Grand Lake Stream Guides preparing to pummel us with lunch.

In the past, I’d forced my somewhat narrow fishing perspective on the area, flinging flies when something else would have worked better.

I always caught fish, and the guides were invariably polite, even when they knew where the fish were far better than the crazy Californian with the fly rod.

A West Grand Lake smallmouth that ate a plastic bait.

Grand Lake Stream has been a New England sporting mecca for a long, long time, and the local guides are acutely aware of the accumulated knowledge we sports sometimes confuse with mindless tradition.

So this time, I said the hell with it and went with the flow, agreeing to hold a trolling rod (rigged with a flashy spoon and leadcore line) while we slowly circled an underwater plateau in Chris Wheaton’s comfortable Grand Lake Canoe.

The first fish was a Lake Trout; reviled out west for its tendency to damage native fisheries, but a regular (and delicious) part of life back here.

Then the L&T caught a very, very nice smallmouth bass, and before we headed in for the traditional shore lunch, I landed two landlocked Atlantic Salmon.

These are the same fish I used to fly fish for in Grand Lake Stream, and they exhibit the same tendencies to look pretty and jump high when hooked.

Because the whole fishery is largely hatchery supported, the salmon were bopped on the head and placed in the fish box for the big guide lunch.

That’s where the guides ignite a big fire and fiendishly conspire to feed you more grilled steak, grilled Atlantic Salmon, boiled onions, grilled potatoes, camp coffee, ice cream and fire-heated pie than any grown person could eat.

I won’t lie and say I practiced anything approaching restraint, though I will say I still don’t feel any guilt around it, reasoning (between raspberry pie-flavored burps) that I’d need all my energy for today’s Second Annual Intra-Lake Wiffleball Game.

This is where a group of lying, cheating ringers from the Farm Cove end of West Grand Lake (including a couple teenagers with legitimate Olympic-level credentials) plan to slaughter us more thoughtful, artful types from the South End of the lake in a clearly rigged game of wiffleball.

Of course, tagged onto the end of the meaningless-if-we-lose contest is the Annual “Eat Lobster Until You Grow Claws” dinner, after which I’ll likely be too fat to reach the keyboard.

Still, I’m a courageous sort, so you’ll see more from me soon, assuming the phone lines (home to the slowest dialup service I’ve ever experienced) stay connected.

In truth, there’s more to report (and I’ll get to it), but before the wiffleball game, I’ve got to lay my hands on some steroids (it worked for Barry Bonds).

See you on the juice, Tom Chandler.

We were interested in little more than knocking some of the dust off the gear, and – just like the guides suggested – we caught little smallmouth bass pretty much everywhere we went.

It wasn’t high drama, but it was damned fun.

Later, I snorkled around the dock and boathouse, shadowed by an 11″ smallmouth who clearly didn’t want any pasty white mammal competing for his territory (smallies are agressive).

Luckily, I survived my Brush with Jaws, only to face a larger jeopardy.

Tomorrow is a ostensibly a “big” fishing day – guides have been engaged and gear is being readied – but in truth, much of the drama there revolves around the traditional shore lunch.

Some think of the traditional shore lunch as a social event; something echoing back to a simpler time when even people who were fishing for real had time to relax and socialize a little in the middle of the day.

I know better.

The simple truth is this: the guides know that stuffing clients full of steak, potatoes and piece results in people too sleepy to fish.

Thus, the day ends early, and the tip is preserved.

Of course, having uncovered the Secret of the Guide Lunch, my life is jeopardy.

The Traditional Maine Guide Mafia – desperate to preserve their ugly little secret – would do almost anything to prevent the sprea

My latest Brush With the Travel World came courtesy of Delta Airlines in New York, where four undertrained ticket agents tried to make my reservation behave by repeatedly poking and prodding it with the electronic equivalent of a sharp stick.

For a little while, it looked as if New York was going to be my new home, an ironic thought; my friends know I think big cities are a lot like hell, only hell smells better.

And yes, I appreciate the group effort on the part of the ticket people (one repeatedly demanded my “ticket number” when all I knew was staring up at her from the crumpled printout of my online reservation).

And yes, the last year has not been a good one for the airline world.

The faces worn by the airline workers seemed a bit more strained, and they’re a couple seconds less tolerant of stressed, tired travelers.

Profits aren’t exactly rampant in the industry, and the airlines seem bent on maintaining a level of service one notch above the point at which passengers might strip naked in the middle of the terminal in a bid to get some attention.

Making matters worse is the post 9/11 mentality, where disagreeing with airline personnel takes on the flavor of a federal crime, even if you’re only disagreeing with them over the concept of paying extra for a ticket you already bought.

Still, we arrived Grand Lake Stream in Maine at precisely the same time we’d left Mount Shasta, our 24 hour travel circus sending me to bed for 12 more hours when it become clear I couldn’t follow a simple conversation.

I got up this morning and went for a fast hike in the woods, determined to work up a sweat and make sure everything still functioned after 24 hours among the airport herds, where sweating isn’t a sign of hard work as much as it is an example of weakness and perhaps bad breeding.

Part of that hike was a trip into town for my out-of-state fishing license, so now I can cast a line off the dock in front of the boat house with the quiet confidence of someone who is doing so legally, and tonight, I may just do that.

Then again, I may just sit on that dock and relax, soaking up the air of something that feels permanent, but which may in fact largely disappear in a couple years. More on that in an upcoming post.

See you waving from the dock, Tom Chandler.

But the truth remains: right now, I am working a lot of hours, and yes, that’s why I have friends — to remind me it wasn’t always that way.

Sure it’s messy. But I’m getting work done, damnit.

Saturday, the L&T and I pack our bags and head for Maine. My posts from Maine seem to consistently generate a great deal of interest, and why not?

It’s beautiful, it’s remote, it’s steeped in history, and the fishing’s not bad either.

My two year-old posts on the Grand Lake Canoe continue to draw comments, and my “caught in a storm” post — where my bad judgement subjected the L&T and I to a serious soaking and some way-bigger-than-they-look-on-film waves — had one of the highest readership rates of any post up to that point.

And hell, I just plain like it there. In short, it’s hard to go wrong in Maine, though with all that’s going on in my professional and Trout Underground lives, I’m glad it’s only for a week.

Coming Up: A Chat With John Gierach

Believe it or not, I’ve been sitting on a John Gierach interview – one I conducted shortly after returning from Montana, but haven’t written up because of my workload.

I hope to get that written before my scribbled notes lose all their meaning, but I will say this: Gierach’s as interesting to talk to as he is to read, and over the course of our conversation I found myself getting drawn into his words the same way I’m drawn into his books.

Stay tuned for that one.

The Klamath Mess Kontinues

There are lots of noises being around the four Klamath Dams, and I’ve got to finish and post what amounts to a “history” piece on the conflict up here, so the fireworks headed our way will make sense to the Undergrounders.

Given that this could easily become the largest dam removal project in history – and lead to the recovery of one historically great steelhead and salmon river – I’m surprised it’s seen so little coverage in the fly fishing media.

Then again, maybe I’m not.

Stories about people fighting over water aren’t as much fun as your average bikini post, but if it’s one thing I’ve learned on the river and writing the Trout Underground, it’s that you gotta pay those dues.

Plus, Many, Many Book Reviews

I hang my head in shame, Undergrounders; I’ve got a stack of review materials a couple inches high.

Standing in the way of getting them done is the fact I won’t do one of those two-paragraph reviews you see so often, reasoning that the author put more time into the book, so it deserves a little more time on my end.

Still, some good stuff coming.

Naturally, I’ll post the usual stunning Maine landscapes (it’s different back there), and while Grand Lake Stream water temperatures are hitting 75 degrees during the day (so the fly fishing isn’t great), the lakes are fishing pretty well.

See you in Maine, Tom Chandler.