Each summer, thousands of Mainers head to their seasonal camps, where they’ll eventually be joined by friends and relatives eager to have a bit of fun in the sun.

Eventually.

First, of course, camp owners have to make sure everything’s ship-shape after another harsh Maine winter.

They clean. They tidy. They chase down bats, and sweep up ants and set traps to round up the yearly mouse herd.

And many undertake one of the most puzzling, perturbing, perplexing chores of all. They turn into amateur plumbers.

“Putting the water in” is one of those honored Maine traditions that doesn’t get written about very often, to be honest.

The reason is simple: It’s difficult to wax poetic about the camp record 14 swear words that Uncle Timmy strung together when the pump spit in his face for the seventh time in five minutes.

In most cases, putting the water in is merely frustrating. In some cases, it can be downright dangerous.

Take my buddy’s camp, for instance. A few years back, I helped him put his water in (which means I stood around and tried to stay out of the way), and he quickly found out the pump house was already occupied.

Seems the bees didn’t like sharing space with our intrepid plumber, either.

He squealed, and scrambled out of the cave-like shack. I yelled angrily at the bees, because if I hadn’t, my buddy would have heard me laughing.

Yes, “putting the water in” is unappreciated. But every spring, it provides some of the most hilarious highlights of the season … as long as you’re not the one the pump is spitting at.

And I’m not. Not yet.

As of yesterday, that job still belongs to my dad. He’s the one who knows which holes to plug, and which tools work best, and how to get the pump to stop humming and wheezing, and to start … well … pumping.

My brother and I? Well, we’re the ones who wade into the chilly lake, anchoring the intake pipe as we go.

That sounds like rough duty … up until the pump starts spitting.

Over the years, we’ve learned a few things about putting the water in, my brother and I.

First: Stand behind someone. The pump will begin to belch pressurized water at some point (usually when Dad’s face is right next to the belch-hole). Our job (as far as we’ve been able to figure) is to stand far away from the action to stay dry, but close enough so that our chuckles are barely audible. Barely.

Note to Dad: You didn’t hear this from me, but it was Glen’s idea.

Second: Figure out which tool Dad wants by the way he holds his hands, and how loud he grunts (even if his mouth is full of belch-water).

Third: Don’t expect the pump to actually work until Dad has said a naughty word. Or two.

Fourth: If something breaks, or someone begins bleeding, don’t make a peep. Not a peep.

Laughing at a perpetually uncooperative pump is acceptable, we’ve learned. Laughing at a broken one (or an injured amateur plumber) will not be forgiven nearly as easily.

And next year, that unforgiving amateur plumber might decide that priming the pump (and spending too much time looking down the barrel of the belch-hole) is someone else’s job.

Another salmon season?

Over the past few months I’ve made no secret of my view that the recently completed spring Atlantic salmon season on the Penobscot River might be the last for awhile.

Federal agencies, I’ve written (after having been told the same by others involved in the decision-making process) are poised to make a decision on Maine’s Atlantic salmon, and may choose to shut down the state-approved season.

On Friday, I spent an enjoyable hour chatting with salmon anglers as they waited to try their luck in the Eddington pools.

During one of those conversations, I heard from a man who looks at things a bit differently … and he’s in a position to know what he’s talking about.

Dick Ruhlin of Brewer, a longtime salmon fisherman, also serves on the Maine Atlantic Salmon Commission – the decision-making body that approved the spring season on the Penobscot.

Ruhlin, who had just completed a pleasant trip down through the salmon pools, said the state’s concerns would be heard, no matter what path federal agencies decide they want to pursue.

“You have to remember there’s a partnership. For a partnership to work, it requires two parties,” Ruhlin said. “It’s not going to be taken out of our hands. Whoever thinks that doesn’t know what they’re talking about.”

Ruhlin said the two parties would each play roles in decisions regarding the Penobscot fishery.

“It’s the state of Maine and the federal government. There will be an agreement between the state of Maine and the federal government, or there will be results from that lack of an agreement,” he said.

jholyoke@bangordailynews.net

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