In a manner of speaking, sportsmen can be called name-droppers. What has to be understood, however, is the names they drop in conversations common to sports shops, gas stations, and public baked-bean suppers are not of the wealthy, the famous – in some cases the infamous – or those who have climbed their way to the tops of social and political totem poles.

To the contrary, among the names that are dropped purposefully by sportsmen are those of hunters, fishermen, trappers, guides, fly tiers, boat builders, gunsmiths, and the like whose skills are enviable, if not legendary. Typically, those admired individuals go about their business quietly and contentedly, without seeking publicity or recognition. Therefore, it isn’t surprising they’re not seen at cocktail parties and political rallies. It would be surprising, though, if they were not visible and vocal at town meetings and public hearings in which the development of wetlands and other wildlife habitats are at issue.

In this context, of course, the dropping of names extends far beyond those of people. Sportsmen returning from long-planned fishing trips to the Bahamas or the Florida Keys or the west coast of Costa Rica, for example, aren’t likely to talk at length about fancy resorts and famous marinas. You can bet, however, that their stories will sparkle with the names of bonefish flats, tarpon banks, and billfish grounds. Likewise, the names of the rods, reels, lines, leaders, and flies that got them into serious tugs of war with those incredibly strong fish will be cast repeatedly.

Generally speaking, the names of exclusive sportsmen’s clubs with exorbitant membership fees are seldom mentioned hereabouts. Among club names dropped regularly, though, are: Eddington and Veazie salmon clubs, Trout Unlimited, Ducks Unlimited, Wild Turkey Federation, Hermon Skeet Club, Hampden Rifle and Pistol Club, Maine Bowhunters Association. All of which run their financial reels into the backing in support of fisheries management programs and step quickly to the firing line in opposing anti-hunting initiatives.

Without slighting any of the many sportsmen’s clubs in this neck of the woods, I’ll say the one nearest and dearest to me is the Penobscot Salmon Club located on the Brewer shore of the Bangor Salmon Pool. It was there, as a young angler afflicted with the virus identified as salmo salar, that I listened fascinated as club stalwarts such as the late Guy Carroll, Adolph Fischer, and Horace Bond – each of whom caught the presidential salmon several times – dropped the names of jewel-like flies: Silver Doctor, Durham Ranger, Dusty Miller, Jock Scott, Lady Amherst.

Equally esteemed were the names Thomas, Leonard and Payne, makers of the flawlessly finished, two-handed bamboo rods cradled in the clubhouse’s overhead rod racks. Incidentally, the names of old-time anglers can still be seen on those racks. Attached to the rods were vom Hofe, Hardy, and Farlow reels recognized for their smooth soprano voices and drags that would turn a team of horses. In the wake of those names, it would be mindless of me not to mention Karl Anderson and Bill Gerrish. In their shops, located in Bangor and Brewer, respectively, they built the easy-rowing, double-ender boats that anglers maneuvered in swift, salmon-holding flows known as Head of the Ledge, Cow and Calf, Peavey, Ryder’s Ledge, and Lower Shelf.

Speaking of boats, which, of course, includes canoes, if you can remember when they were ribbed-and-planked, canvas-covered, and carried atop cars, then you know the names Old Town, White, and Jackson were dropped with pride and respect among sportsmen. For those who may not be blessed with such recollections, I’ll say the craftsmanship that went into steaming, bending, and tacking together of, say, an 18-foot guide model canoe would bring tears to your eyes.

Truth be told, I feel like crying when recalling that when I was in high school a spanking-new Old Town or White guide model sold for $250. Simply put, those canoes – double-ribbed on the floor, mahogany gunnels and decks, diamond-head brass hardware and bumpers, varnished, and painted gloss-green or dull gray – were beautiful. Their curves and lines were clear indications of why men referred to boats as “she.” Unfortunately, White Canoe Co. closed its doors decades ago and nowadays the world-famous Old Town Canoe Co. makes more kayaks than canoes. Talk about cultural change.

All is not lost, though, regarding ribbed-and-planked watercraft: To the east’ard the name “Grand Laker” is spoken solemnly among outdoors addicts. And well it should be. Thankfully, the sleek, high-bow, square-stern canoes named after the town of Grand Lake Stream are still being built by the likes of Lance Wheaton, Jack Perkins, and others skilled at combining form with function while holding tenaciously to Maine tradition. Watch a Grand Laker cutting through whitecaps on East Grand or West Grand lakes or anywhere else and you’ll wish you owned one.

Allowing that boats and canoes require oars and paddles, I’ll take this opportunity to drop another Maine name known to Sports and sailors far and wide: Shaw & Tenney. For those who may not be aware of it, the Orono company has been shaving and shaping high-quality oars and paddles – “arm-strong motors” in sportsmen’s jargon – since Abe Lincoln was camped in the White House.

At the risk of my five readers being taken aback, here I’m going to borrow a line from Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet: If the question, “What’s in a name?” were asked of sportsmen, their answers would affirm that, like a rose, a gun or a dog by any other name would still be sweet. For instance, now that the season of shotguns and dogs is under way, it is impossible to drop the names Parker, L.C. Smith, Ithaca, Charles Daly, Remington, Winchester, Browning, and the like without polishing them with the names of bird dogs and retrievers that money can’t buy. Likewise, the mere mention of bear hunting, bobcat hunting, coyote hunting, coon hunting, rabbit hunting, whatever, at hunters’ breakfasts or suppers at the Bucks Mills Rod and Gun Club will start the names of hounds dropping like spent shot.

Accordingly, as October’s infernos of foliage become November’s smolder of ashy gray, impromptu conversations at barber shops and village stores will be cluttered with the names of deer rifles: Remington, Ruger, Winchester, Marlin, Weatherby for sure. Take your pick of calibers offered in modern pump, semi-automatic, and bolt-action models. Nevertheless, it’s clear the reputations of the time-honored lever-action Winchesters and Marlins turned out in “brush buster” .30-30 and .32 Special calibers have not suffered.

Speaking of lever-action rifles, a name seldom dropped nowadays is that of the Savage Model 99. Produced in the popular .250-3000, .300, .303, and .308 calibers, the Model 99 featured a rotary magazine that eliminated the risks of using pointed bullets in rifles with tubular magazines: In that arrangement the point of a bullet resting against the primer cap of the preceding cartridge could act as a firing pin when the rifle was discharged, resulting in the jolting “set back” of recoil. In addition to being well-balanced and fast handling, the Model 99’s tapered profile and pistol grip made it one of the prettiest lever-action rifles ever produced.

Rest assured that if you get caught in a crossfire of naming deer rifles, you’re sure to be hit with the names of deer camps: “Shoot ‘n Miss” leaning against a beech ridge, “Nine Mile” situated on the edge of a cedar swamp, and “Last Chance” overlooking a burn aflame with fireweed. Unfortunately, the one-room, back-of-beyond camps where young hunters followed the tracks of Gramp, Dad, Uncle Harry, and the like are fast disappearing. The names of the camps, however, and the memories attached to them will remain untarnished by time.

And so it goes no matter where you go. Keep in mind, however, that sportsmen are not being ostentatious when they drop the names of respected outfitters and top-of-the-line hunting and fishing equipment among their peers. What they’re actually doing, in the spirit of sportsmanship, is comparing notes and offering advice gathered from firsthand experience. It isn’t likely, however, that they’ll drop the names of brooks that produce strings of trout or covers where their dogs’ bells regularly stutter and stop to shout, “Bird!” Let’s face it, even sportsmanship has boundaries.

Now that the advertising and marketing moguls have deemed that labels should appear on the outside of clothing, it hardly makes sense to label sportsmen as name-droppers. Especially since the names they drop and discuss at places like the Penobscot County Conservation Association’s Sportsman’s Show, boat landings, ice shacks, weddings, and wakes speak of the outdoors traditions, cultures, and heritage symbolic of Maine. Personally, I can’t think of a better reason for being called a notorious name-dropper.

Tom Hennessey’s columns and artwork can be accessed on the BDN Internet page at www.bangornews.com. Tom’s e-mail address is: thennessey@bangordailynews.net. Web site address is: www.tomhennessey.com.