92 THE OREGON SPORTSMAN 
JUST EXPERIENCES—ANGLING CATHERINE 
CREEK 
By W. T. WRIGHT, Union, Oregon 
Probably no stream of its size in the State of Oregon, has afforded 
more sport, to more people, with more bountiful returns, for more than 
fifty years, than Catherine Creek; the stream running through the City 
of Union, famous locally as the Stock Show town. ~ 
It is a stream of considerable size, and never-failing flow—furnish- 
ing power to the Union Flouring Mills; water for an extensive irriga- 
tion system covering several thousand acres; and the supply to the city 
water works of Union, a plant with sufficient capacity for a city of 
12,000 people. Its source is in the Blue Mountains lying southeast of 
Grand Ronde Valley, and its several forks originate on the divides of 
Big Creek, the various forks of Eagle River and the Great Minam 
divide. It coalesces into one main stream several miles above Union— 
its course—as well as those of its various branches, being through deep, 
fairly well timbered canyons. The waters are clear, cold, and pure, 
identical with all the waters originating in the snows and springs of 
the high mountains, and including the famous waters of Bull Run— 
Portland’s unrivalled supply. Incidentally, the first water power flour- 
ing mill of eastern Oregon—east of The Dalles, was erected in Union 
on the banks of Catherine Creek in 1865 by the late George Wright and 
his son, the writer. We came to Union under contract with D. 8. Baker, 
father of Walla Walla, builder of its first railroad—and A. H. Reynolds, 
the pioneer flouring mill man—to erect and put in operation a flouring 
mill at Union, being then an important supply point on the road to the 
Idaho and eastern Oregon mines. The mill was completed and put in 
operation in the fall of 1865. We operated a general merchandise 
business also, which together with the superintendency of the mills 
during the construction required all the writer’s time until well along 
in the season. 
Meanwhile Catherine Creek, the lovely, the beautiful, went dancing 
and smiling by, singing, beckoning in the most entrancing way, and 
inviting to the joys to be taken without asking, hidden in her sparking 
waters. Morn, noon and night, as I had caught glimpses of her dashing 
waters, the query had naturally suggested itself to my mind—‘ ‘Surely 
this is a trout stream?’’ I repeatedly propounded this question to the 
oldest settlers, every one of them, and only elicited the universal answer 
of a head shake—‘‘Don’t know, looks like it might be.’’ 
About the third day of August, 1865, a quiet time came around, 
business slacked up a little, and I realized that for the first time of the 
season I might venture to take a little leisure. My eyes turned more 
longingly than ever to the sparkling, dancing waters of Catherine 
Creek, the voices said come, so invitingly, so compellingly, that resist- 
ance was vain, and I announced to partner, my father, that I was 
‘‘going a-fishing.’’ His reply was, ‘‘Bully, my mouth is watering for 
a mess of trout; go and I will tend shop, and darn the business any- 
show: '2 
I had no tackle in the limited equipment that I had brought with 
me in the spring, and a search of all the stores revealed the fact that 
there was no tackle in town. It had apparently not as yet dawned 
upon the settlers in these parts that they were in the heart of a sports- 
man’s paradise. 
We had in storage the leavings of a stock of goods from Lewiston 
brought here the year before, and a search of this old stock brought to 
