Down the Rogue River 101 



as best I could. This was not absolutely neces- 

 sary, as men in tall waders were standing braced 

 against the current casting up-stream and reel- 

 ing. I had gone about twenty feet down, when 

 the line came taut, the rod bent violently, and 

 the line cut a furrow in the rushing waters as 

 a splendid fish dashed up-stream. I was just 

 from the region about Pelican Bay, where trout 

 run up to six and seven pounds, my best weigh- 

 ing nine and three quarters, hence I was not in 

 a condition to be alarmed or put to rout by big 

 trout; yet this splendid rush, this firm thrilling 

 strain on the line, was a new sensation in trout 

 fishing. There was a suggestion of force and 

 power altogether new in my experience, and I 

 handled the fish as well as I could and with 

 especial caution. 



The trout dashed up-stream against that ex- 

 traordinary rush of water as though it were 

 standing still, making the little reel sing and 

 the line toss flashes of spume; and as I checked 

 it and the resilent rod went to the danger point, 

 it came out of the water, a flash of vibrating 

 silver that seemed to hang in the air for a few 

 moments, to be swallowed up in the copper-hued 

 flood. I saw my line dropping down-stream, 

 come slack, and for a second supposed that the 

 fish had flung out the hook, when with a blow, 

 as though the rod had been struck, the fish hit 

 it, at the end of a long run down-stream, and 



