10 THE OREGON SPORTSMAN 



false, and sometimes they change over night. Slowly the big and 

 rushing river came into view, and our hearts palpitated, for all depended 

 on the height and color. "The color is fine/' said the enthusiast; "a 

 little too yellow," said the pessimist; "a little too much water, I am 

 afraid," said number three, but all agreed that it was worth trying 

 because we were there. Fishermen are peculiar fellows and often 

 superstitious. We talked about the color for fully an hour, and finally 

 persuaded ourselves that it was getting better and clearer as we 

 approached the end of our journey. To be truthful, the color of the 

 water was a little yellow, but we could not see it that way. 



Arriving at our station in the afternoon on time, we went to our 

 farm house and prepared ourselves hurriedly for a try at the fighting 

 steelhead. The weather was clear and mild, and all augured well for 

 a successful catch. 



Our first try was at Cook Creek, a place that has never failed us, 

 and where we were sure many a fifteen pounder was waiting for some 

 juicy bait. We cast, and cast, and cast, and nary a strike except on 

 an ugly rock which took from us some fine new hooks, hand made and 

 highly recommended. Suddenly old reliable "Doc." sent forth his 

 favorite cry — "I've got him!" and the fignt was on! 



Down, down the rushing and gurgling stream went the big silvery 

 steelhead, and out goes the line, the reel singing a lively tune, in fact, 

 too lively to be comfortable; suddenly there was a check and the big 

 fellow came back slowly; out he went again, and into the air, and 

 when he struck the water there was a sound like a shot from a big gun, 

 but he recovered quickly and darted down the stream again, but this 

 time not quite so far. Slowly he came back, and when we thought he 

 was quite near the bank and ready to land, with a sudden jerk he 

 rushed away again, this time also stopping a little closer in. It took 

 "Doc." just thirty-one minutes, to be exact, to land that splendid 

 specimen of the steelhead family, and I tell you he looked beautiful as 

 he lay on the bed of rocks with the sunlight streaming over his silvery 

 scales. There were others hooked that afternoon, just like this fellow, 

 but they were not so beautiful to us, because they got away. There 

 was one, however, who played "Doc." a nasty piece of camouflage — he 

 took the hook beautifully and sailed away like a true sport, never 

 stopping until "Doc's" line was all out, even to the end of the 

 "filler," when he halted and mad£ a sudden dash across the stream, 

 taking "Doc." for some distance with him. After many struggles he 

 finally responded to the check and came slowly back, but tugging and 

 struggling on the way; another dash down the stream, and another check, 

 thus they kept up the combat, "Doc." and the fish, for some time, 

 until the fish became exhausted and allowed "Doc." to bring him in. 

 Imagine the indignation when our joyful eye caught a glimpse of him — 

 a fifteen pound ' ' chub ' ' ! but he was a fighter and he deserved his 

 release. 



When we returned to the farm house, saturated with good old- 

 fashioned "Webfoot" mist, we hung our fish in the woodshed high up 

 in the air away from the hungry cats, and then went in to dry and 

 dinner. 



Around the red hot stove sat a couple of cruisers, whose acquaint- 

 ance we soon made, and whom we found to be two interesting and 

 muchly traveled woodsmen. 



There was to be a change in the tenancy of the place, but the old 

 family had not yet moved out, notwithstanding the new family had 

 moved in, therefore, we had two hosts, two hostesses, five children and 

 three dogs. All participated in a hearty welcome, and congratulated us 

 on our catch. 



