OF SHOOTING AND FISHING = 225 
blankets with me, I was almost frozen. At the first 
streak of dawn, going off with my gun, I had a 
couple of hours of the best sage-hen shooting pos- 
sible, before the cook announced breakfast. 
We saw a good number of ducks on the creek, but 
the season for duck shooting had not opened, so of 
course no one fired at them. About nine we were 
off, and by the way, we spent another couple of 
hours at the grouse, so that we had quite a supply 
of game by the time we reached the river at Trudes. 
Where the bridge crossed, the Snake was probably 
fifty yards wide, and when we were over the road 
we entered a forest of pines. It was a wonderful 
change from the open sagebrush prairie to the 
dense timber. The heat of the afternoon filled the 
air with balsamic odours, while the glare of the sun 
was considerably reduced by the foliage. 
Our route for the next six or eight miles led 
through the timber. We again crossed the Snake 
at Flatrock, arriving at the club four miles above, 
by six o’clock. Here I was the guest of W. J. 
Barnett, and when my host, taking me to the cool 
storehouse, showed me the catch of the day, I real- 
ized that there was every possibility of my having 
the best trout fishing I had ever had, during the 
next few days. While shooting in Scotland once 
with a man who had fished here, I was struck by 
his vivid description of it. He said that ‘‘one first 
threw a stone into the river to attract the attention 
of the trout, and then anything they could swallow 
would do for a lure.’’ I know, however, that he 
felt in his heart that this sort of fishing compared 
