Randy

I’d like to note the untimely passing of Dick Turmenne, a guiding colleague of many years in Grand Lake Stream.  I believe Dick was 64 years old.  Dick, who was from Calais, ME, was best known for his expertise on the stream, but in later years took on the local lakes as well.  One longstanding sport of Dick’s had this to say:  “Dick was the best man I’ve ever known.”  That’s high praise from anyone, and a wonderful tribute from someone who’d come to know Dick well over many years.

A lot goes on behind the scenes of a guiding operation in order to make the days memorable…

This was my column in the November, 2012 issue of Northwoods Sporting Journal. 

Usually, our sporting guests take away the impression that life in the Downeast Lakes region is just as docile as it looks.

It’s probably a good thing that our transient population of sports and tourists don’t  mire themselves in the controversies that sometimes boil beneath our mirror-calm veneer.  If they did, Vacationland might lose some of its charm.

Still, curiosity causes some of our visitors to engage in local issues.  The truth is, you almost hate to see it coming.  For example, someone this season remembered reading that there’s a dispute going on in Downeast Maine over wind power.  If you admit it’s true, then take one side or the other, the day is transformed into something other than what it was booked to be, which seems a loss.  Even so, it can be difficult to sidestep topics inititated by the client.

“So, I’ve read that local guides and lodge owners oppose wind power.  Why is that?”  Now the cat is out of the bag on an otherwise perfect day.  The sport has pulled you into the game, like it or not, and nothing short of rudeness can get the tranquility back that existed only a moment ago.

“Well,” you stumble, “I think–I think it’s because they believe wind turbines will diminish our draw as a sporting destination.”  You’re trying to summarize and at the same time do justice to what you’ve read and heard from others on the issue.

“Really?” came the reply.  “Really? Isn’t that why Ted Kennedy didn’t want them on Cape Cod, in view of his house in Hyannisport?   Is that really their argument?”

You’re thinking, “Dear God, does he actually want me to answer that?”  You don’t want to be in this conversation in the first place.  You try smiling but it feels more like a smirk.  You pray for something, anything, to derail this train of thought. What’s worse, your silence, far from being golden, is mistaken for a cue to continue.

“Have you traveled in the world at all?  Canada maybe?  Or even in this country?  Did you know that entire college campuses are being powered by wind?  That whole communities are already relieved of dependency on foreign oil?  Believe me, when you see that, you’re not turned off.  Instead, you’re impressed that it’s a region looking after itself.”

You smile, or smirk some more, and try pointing to a likely bass haunt where the dark water between two glacial boulders makes an inviting target.  He ignores this attempt at deflection, and continues…

“Tell me, was there equal outrage over paper mill plumes that put cancer rates 600% over national averages?  Or fossil fuel emissions that put the northeast in the nation’s tailpipe, sterilizing lakes, and impacting air and ground water?  Are local guides and lodge owners up in arms over that?” He waits for a retort, but your long sigh doesn’t pass for one.

“Uh, not that I know of.”

“Of all the beachheads to pick, you mean to tell me they chose wind energy?  As for ‘diminishing your draw as a sporting destination,’ do they realize where people like me have come from to be here?  Do they actually think seeing windmills on a rural ridge bordering a beautiful lake compares to the concrete jungle and highrises we’re looking at the rest of the year?”

Moments pass as though this challenge too awaits an answer.

In a last ditch effort to bring the focus of the day back to where it belongs, you pick up a resting rod and make a cast.  Before you can finish your silent prayer that a fish will strike, the lake explodes, the sport bellows, “Hey!,” sights in his own target, and just that fast you’re into a double hookup.  Two girthsome smallmouths are landed, admired and released.

Politics and controversy are thus left in the backwash, right where you want them.  Now, there’s anticipation in the air.  Now you’re both appraising shoreline and structure.  Now you’re back to the reason you came here in the first place.

Some say this is where to ply your case, peddle your cause.  Some say it’s an opportunity lost if you don’t.  You were thinking otherwise.  You were thinking that this is where to listen to small voices, and whispers, not to big ones with axes to grind.  You were hoping to let the loons have their say, and the kingfisher, and the rythmic sound of paddle strokes.  You were hoping a deeper message could be heard.  One that would stick, even back in the concrete jungle.

Randy Spencer is a speaker, performer, writer and guide.  Please visit www.randyspencer.com for more information.

In her own mind, Brenda Hoover would be the most unlikely choice to be anybody’s hero.  That’s because she’s so modest and unassuming.  Arriving with her husband, Andy, and a brand new L.L. Bean rod, she needed casting instruction, only it didn’t take the usual half day.  In 30 minutes, Brenda graduated and was on her way to hooking and landing some of the best specimens I’d seen all season.  In three short days, Brenda and Andy plied three different bodies of water, each with its own distinct character, while Titan and Neptune, the two gods fishing guides are most intimate with, saw fit to whip up the seas only once.  Andy worked from the bow, landing smallmouth bass, pickerel, white perch, yellow perch, and even catfish as they call them in the Hoover’s native Pennsylvania.  Fishing from midships, Brenda beamed, not only from the successful rounds she won with her new rod and new expertise, but from the spectacle of the lake and river shores, from those sparkling September waters in Maine, and from the days in general.  Laughter seemed to come to her as easily as breathing.  It was impossible not to muse how lucky Andy had been to land this prize 38 years previous.  And it was impossible, once I learned that Brenda is a breast cancer survivor who also manages, but is not defined by her non-Hodgkins lymphoma, not to view her as one amazing woman, and my newest hero.  Yes, we did discuss the inevitable subject–why women outfish men–but we didn’t need to come to a conclusion.  The conclusion came to us!

This op-ed appeared recently in Maine’s Portland Press Herald:  http://www.pressherald.com/opinion/recovery-of-white-bird-would-be-feather-in-maines-cap_2012-08-26.html

It has long been a subject of historical interest to me.  Here’s my song about the White Bird, from my  CD entitled, “One Road.”

White Bird by Randy Spencer

Looking forward to speaking and performing at the American Folk Festival on the Bangor Waterfront this weekend, August 25-26 beginning at noon each day.  I’ll be at the UMaine Folklife Center Narrative Stage.  Hope to see you there!

Happiness is Valerie Attia, chaulking up a day of firsts along with her husband Garem.  Being raised in St. Petersburg, Russia, Val didn’t have the opportunity to hone her smallmouth bass-fishing skills.  That happened last Saturday, when the physician’s assistant got close and personal with about 50 of them!  Notice in the first photo, the soaking wet shirt––the 19-inch bass she is holding did everything but pull her over the side before succumbing to the net.  Garem, an experienced fisherman, was experimenting in the bow with flies, topwater lures, and subsurface attractors of different designs.  He found action on nearly everything he tried.  Do women out-fish men?  Ask any guide.  The answer will be, only ninety-nine times out of a hundred.