THE OREGON SPORTSMAN 11 
We arrived at the Grande Ronde Lakes with our horses, packs, buckets 
and everything that pertains to a ‘‘pack,’’ not omitting to inelude 
that necessary antidote against snake bites which every fisherman 
indorses. 
After making camp we set out for the upper lake, and while on 
our way we heard, growing constantly louder and louder, a great deal 
of noise. As the view cleared, we saw a number of people fishing, 
and from the surrounding circumstances we concluded that they were 
having rare sport and we proceeded to investigate. They were having 
the time of their lives. They were fishing for a prize. One man 
had a jug of whisky and was the arbiter. Each man that would rush 
to the lake, throw out his line, and if he caught a trout he would 
get a drink. If he came back empty handed he got simply a smell. 
It was nip and tuck between them. First one would be ahead and 
then another, because if one man would catch several fish in succes- 
sion and got a drink for each fish he caught, he would become wobbly 
and couldn’t cast so well, and the soberer man would then catch up 
with him, and it subsequently developed that they all caught too 
many and it was time for us to leave. 
We soon caught our allowance of fish, but there was no prize 
to stimulate our efforts, and then we set about securing minnows. 
We made a seine of gunny sacks and in several hauls soon had lots 
of them. Upon starting home we put them in buckets and started 
for Van Patten Lake. By taking a cut-off, we could shorten the 
journey by two hours, otherwise it would take at least four hours to 
reach our destination. We took the cut-off. I explained to my com 
panion that there was no trail and it might prove to be a little steep 
at times, but that we could make it. With this little picture in his 
mind he decided that he could go where I could and we struck out. 
Over logs and rocks, and through brush, we went until we struck an 
open place, very steep, but without rocks. By this time my partner 
looked up to where I told him we were headed for and remarked 
that I had told him it was only a ‘‘little’’ steep, but had he known 
it was so steep, he would not have come. [I explained to him that 
still it was only a little steep and, while admitting that this was 
correct, he said I had not told him it was leaning over. Well, he 
was in for it, and by telling him it was only a short distance, and 
by aiding him with his bucket over the bad places, we arrived there 
in good shape and with our minnows all alive and kicking. We had 
carried them in gallon buckets, about five hundred to the bucket, 
and when we emptied the minnows in the lake there were no dead 
ones, 
Van Patten Lake is about three-fourths of a mile long and half 
as wide, and about one hundred feet deep at an elevation of 6,800 
feet and is now a perfect lake, having an abundance of the largest, 
finest appearing, highest colored and best tasting trout on the Pacific 
slope. And they are a gamey outfit, well satisfied with their home 
and ready to fight at the drop of the bait. 
In subsequent years I have realized my big catches of trout from 
Van Patten and have felt repaid a thousand fold for the effort put 
forth in stocking it and making it perfect, and I half suspect that 
the old lake feels decidedly grateful to me for what I did. 
