364 DAN BEARD'S ANIMAL BOOK 



invitation to breakfast with them, which we 

 promptly accepted and did ample justice to our 

 first meal on the shores of Sin-yale-a-min. 



It was the search for real wild and woolly trout, 

 trout which know not the price or names of the 

 feathered lures in one's fly-book; it was the search 

 for the aboriginal fish of the West, which landed 

 us at Sin-yale-a-min, 3,900 feet above the sea; it 

 is a lovely, romantic little lake that occupies a de- 

 pression in the Mission Range. 



It was 



A TWO-MILE PULL 



to the head of the greenish-blue-colored glacial Sin- 

 yale-a-min Lake two miles in the Oregon a 

 clumsy, heavy skiff of 



"INJUN" BUILD; 



two miles with one long, roughly hewn oar and one 

 short, bark-covered stick with a pine "shake" nailed 

 to one end for an oar blade. But I bent cheer- 

 fully to my task, for the waters were virgin waters 

 as far as fly-fishing was concerned. On all sides 

 of the lake rise the mountains whose rounded forms 

 show the grinding and smoothing effects of ice. 

 Great swathes have been cut through the trees by 

 terrific avalanches. A grand forest of white cedar 

 (arbor vitae) trees of gigantic proportions covers 

 the rocky shores of the Sin-yale-a-min Creek, rear- 

 ing their stately heads to dizzy heights ; the irregu- 



