The Lure of the Rainbow 1 1 1 



clear was the dark water that we could barely tell tree from 

 reflection, water from sky. The willows were changing, 

 and the quaking aspens taking on tender tints of red and 

 yellow, telling of the transition of seasons, and that the 

 breath of winter had withered and blasted as it stole along. 

 If the trout would not rise to the fly, and they often would 

 not, scorning the most delicate lure, the longest cast, there 

 was the pleasure of trying, amid enchantments of many 

 kinds. 



We cast over all the pools, up the little river of delights, 

 and came casting, drifting, stealing down Crystal River; 

 sometimes with luck, again failing to secure a rise ; hooking 

 monsters which always got away, bringing others to the net 

 that fought and leaped until in the meshes. Sometimes we 

 trolled, when casting did not avail; and one afternoon, 

 when sky and lake were clear and still, we pulled out into 

 the great lake, arousing gulls, ducks and big white pelicans, 

 which were floating like ships in the mirage. 



Over to the east rose the grim walls of Modoc Point, 

 telling of the lava beds and the dry desert slopes of the 

 eastern Cascades, and all about, green eternal forests of fir 

 rising to distant peaks and ranges on top of the world. 

 The surface of the lake was a gleaming mirror, and here 

 and there swirls, circles and splashes told of the rising 

 trout for vagrant Ephemera which were blown offshore. 

 It was almost impossible to disdain the surroundings, so 

 radiant, so beautiful were they, and only the sudden buzz 

 of the reel, the heavy bend in the rod, forced me to remem- 

 ber that we were fishing, not dreaming. 



I was facing the bow — a preposterous position in trolling 

 — when a powerful surge on the eight-ounce split bamboo 

 literally brought me up standing; then I turned, giving line 

 under my thumb, to see a silvery body rise and roll over at 

 the surface, a premonition of big game. My companion 

 bent to the oars, believing the fish would rush at the boat — 

 a clever trick common to this tribe of rainbow ; but nothing 



