AMONG THE TROUT OF OREGON 



BY AUSTIN S. HAirMOND. 



When summer's sun has scorched the town, 



And even waving fields are brown ; 



When standing collars stand no more, 



And " briefs " and " pleadings " are a bore ; 



O'er dusty streets and sweating crowds, 



'Neath burning skies and fleeting clouds. 



From office window gazing out, 



My fancy lightly turns to trout — 



And "flies" and " rods " and shady streams, 



And mountain trails and idle dreams — 



And right there I close my "roll- 

 top " with a snap, gather up my fishing 

 tackle and "take to the woods." Do 

 you feel like casting " business " to the 

 dogs while you come with me where 

 stenographers cease from scribbling, 

 and the luail comes in no more ? Does 

 it make your blood tingle with enthu- 

 siasm to think of the moment when a 

 b)ig trout has just started off: with your 

 liook, making your reel hum a joyful 

 time ? Do you love the solemn still- 

 ness of the forest, the roar of the dash- 

 ing river, the sound of the babbling 

 "brook ? Woiild you tramp all day over 

 mountain trails where the moss-covered 

 ground does not allow the eloquent 

 silence of the forest to be broken even 

 "by the sound of your footfalls, or fol- 

 low along a winding stream where the 

 ceaseless song of the riishing water 

 seems to silence all other sounds ? 

 "Would you rather lie down at night 

 under the majestic fir trees, "with the 

 moan of the billows in their branches," 

 with nothing but the ground beneath 

 you and nothing but the stars above 

 you, than try to court sleep on a 

 *' downy couch " in the city ? 



Do you know a good thing when 

 3^ou "meet with it?" If you do, 

 follow me. 



Leave the vain and frivolous task of 

 money-getting to the sordid and ill- 

 conditioned gentry that know no better, 

 and let us engage for the while in the 

 serious business of making life worth 

 living; let's go a-fishing. Now, right 

 here, let me tell you that I am not 

 talking to the fellow who wants to sit 

 on a log with a pocketful of "angle 

 worms " and drop a line with a sinker 

 on it into a deep hole, and then calmly 

 wait till some chump of a fish happens 

 to swallow the hook in his sleep. 

 Neither am I addressing the individual 

 who is looking for a place where the 

 fish will bite a red rag dangling from 

 a " pole." Let such go out and kill 

 their fish with a club or buy them in 

 the market. I am addressing myself 

 to the man who understands the mean- 

 ing of the word "sport." One who 

 knows why a $15 rod is better than a 

 "pole," and can give his fish "the 

 butt " at the proper time and land him 

 when the sign is right. 



Probably there is no place in the 

 world where the devotee of the rod can 

 get better returns for his investment 

 than right here in Oregon. Magnifi- 

 cent scenery, the pristine wilderness 

 not too far removed from lines of 

 travel, the purest air, numerous 

 streams and — fish. 



One of the attractions of Oregon is 

 the fact that no two localities reseiuble 

 each other, and the sportsman can 

 choose from a thousand different locali- 

 ties as many dift'erent kinds of sport. 

 The rod fishing includes everything, 

 from the 20-pound salmon in the rivers 

 to the small mountain trout in the 



