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TJic America 11 Aiij^Icr. 



brooks. I have landed a 20-poimd 

 salmon with a split bamboo rod and 

 a small silk line, drag-ging him out on 

 a sand -bar at the end of a fight that 

 lasted an hour and a half, without the 

 aid of net or g-aflEhook. 



But, after all, there is nothing like 

 the mountain trout. By mountain 

 trout, I mean any of the varieties 

 found in our mountains, the Rainbow 

 and the Dolly Varden, and all the rest. 

 He lives where you want to go — in the 

 mountains. 



Of the many places in Oregon where 

 you may meet with him, perhaps none 

 possesses more advantages than the 

 Santiam country, which is almost a 

 terra incognita, even to Oregonians. 

 Until the railroad was built a few years 

 ago, the bear, the elk, and the deer 

 roamed its solemn forests almost un- 

 molested. Even now they are fre- 

 quently met with. The forests and 

 the streams there are unsurpassed, and 

 it is accessible. You leave the South- 

 ern Pacific at Albany, and take the 

 train over the Oregon Pacific for "the 

 front." Detroit is ths last station on 

 the road, reached after a short half- 

 day's ride, for the most part through 

 magnificent mountain scenery, and for 

 the last twenty or thirty miles along the 

 banks of the Santiam itself. There is 

 no wagon-road within many miles of 

 Detroit. You must go on the cars or 

 walk. 



There are several stores, a fair hotel 

 and a score of houses. If you have 

 your fishing tackle ready, you can cast 

 a fly into the Santiam from the car- 

 steps, as soon as it stops. Two min- 

 utes' walk will take you out of sight or 

 sound of civilization, and into the most 

 magnificent forest on the face of the 

 globe. Giant firs and cedars almost 

 obscure the light of day, and the deep 



moss under your feet silences your 

 footfalls. The ground, the fallen trees 

 and even the huge rocks are covered 

 several inches deep by this beautiful 

 carpet, fresh from the loom of nature. 

 There are trails leading through the 

 woods, and along the streams in every 

 direction. 



A mile back from Detroit flows the 

 Brightenbush, a river of no mean di- 

 mensions, and into it and the Santiam 

 flow several smaller streams, all clear 

 as crystal^ and as cold as the melting 

 snow can make them. These streams 

 bear such suggestive names as Tumble 

 creek, Boulder creek, Blow-Out creek, 

 etc. They are all full of trout, large 

 and small, that w'ill take a fly readily 

 if you give it to them as they want it ; 

 but they are crafty fellows, and not to 

 be fooled by every hook that comes 

 their way. 



There are also several small lakes 

 well stocked with trout. It is an ideal 

 country for camping out. A single 

 blanket and a frying-pan are all the 

 " camping outfit " you need. The fes- 

 tive mosquito is almost unknown here. 

 You can lie down anywhere and sleep 

 unmolested. Making Detroit a base of 

 supplies, you can start out in almost 

 any direction and be sure of good fish- 

 ing. You can go up the river or down 

 the river or follow a dozen little creeks 

 for a few miles, and return the same 

 day; or you can roll up your blanket 

 and a few provisions and tramp off 

 five, six, ten or more miles, .and stay 

 till you are out of flour. Supposing 

 that you are not afraid of a little climb- 

 ing, and want to sleep out for three or 

 four nights : We will leave Detroit in 

 the morning and go straight across to 

 the Brightenbush, a mile or so over a 

 level plateau between the rivers, cov- 

 ered with giant firs and no underbrush. 



