Down the Rogue River 97 



goes foaming capriciously on, gaining strength; 

 now through rocky barriers with tremendous 

 abutments on every side; now sinking into pro- 

 found depths, again flowing out into peaceful 

 pastures and amid fields of flowers, ever on to 

 the distant sea. It is a fair little river to look 

 upon, yet has so many moods and fancies that 

 long ago they called it the Rogue, and almost 

 everywhere in its course the eternal fitness of the 

 name is apparent, as even in places where it is 

 the least riotous, I have been nearly snatched 

 from my feet by its mad waters, and have seen 

 them sweep big salmon into eddies near shore 

 where they became helpless and were easily 

 caught. 



The river is ever changing as it sweeps on. 

 For many miles it skirts the Rogue River Moun- 

 tains and passes between them and the Siskiyou 

 range, finding the ocean below Cape Blanco. In 

 all its length the Rogue River is, as you may 

 have suspected, a trout stream, and everywhere, 

 from the level of the sea to nearly a mile above 

 it, whether thirty feet or two hundred wide, 

 whether rippling over shallows or bounding 

 through some deep and rocky pass, or leaping 

 into some abyss, affords good sport, or some 

 charming diversion. 



I first heard of the Rogue when drifting on 

 the beautiful waters of Crystal River, which 

 forms a part of the upper Klamath Lake. My 



