Famous Trout Streams 377 



climb the Sierras. Then the flowers. If one is 

 in good luck he may come upon such bands of 

 lilies that he will forget trout and fishing, lake, 

 stream, or rod. 



The sublimity of the forest affects men in 

 various ways. The day I shall recall the longest is 

 one passed mostly lying on my back looking up 

 at the rivers, lakes, and streams of turquoise 

 seen through the tops of the Sierra trees; yet 

 I have known those who were lonesome in these 

 forests ; the silence oppressed them although there 

 were countless voices. It is unfortunate not to 

 be a natural born linguist so that you can un- 

 derstand the language of brooks, trees, the tribe 

 of pines, aspens, and that gentlest of all sounds, 

 that Muir tells us about, perhaps no sound at 

 all, but an echo of the imagination, the lan- 

 guage of falling snow. 



But this is a fishing day, and the angler comes 

 down out of the forest onto the shores of the 

 deep lake, looks over the deep-water tackle, and 

 shoves off. Several boats are now in close prox- 

 imity attracted by the true story of a fisherman 

 who caught in that vicinity a giant over thirty 

 pounds in weight, literally an armful for the 

 boatman who held the trout for the photog- 

 rapher; a trout which excited many people and 

 lured them on to fish. 



Slowly the long lines were lowered down into 

 the depths with the big abalone shells flickering 



