100 THE ORBGON SPORTSMAN 
down. As he struggled to get up I struck him two blows with my 
tomahawk and he settled back, dead as a mackerel. 
The next morning we pulled for home, arriving at noon, 
And now, dear reader, I hope you will be as well pleased with this 
story aS we were with our hunt. 
OREGON GETS EASTERN LAKE TROUT EGGS 
Good news to the Oregon sportsmen comes in the announcement 
that the Oregon State Fish and Game Commission has received 1,000,000 
Eastern lake trout eggs from the United States government. These 
eggs came from Duluth and Northville government hatcheries, half from 
each, and have been hatched at the State Hatchery at Bonneville. As 
a result, the lakes of the State which are suitable for the purpose, will 
be stocked with this variety of trout. 
In some respects the Eastern lake trout are considered better than 
any of the kinds now inhabiting Oregon lake waters. Where the varie- 
ties common here won’t average more than two or three pounds, the 
Eastern lake grow much larger, and it isn’t uncommon to catch them 
weighing 10 or 15 pounds, and even more. The quality of the trout 
is also fully up to the standard of the local varieties, and within a few 
years this shipment ought to make fine sport for Oregon anglers. 
MOUNTAIN BEAUTIES 
By EILERT EILERTSON, Haines, Oregon 
I have shelved my pain and troubles, 
I have canned my bales of woe. 
For I’m going up on Rock Creek, 
Where the mountain beauties grow. 
You may take your long vacation, 
In the shadows of the pine; 
You may frolic on the beaches, 
Where the well-kept figures shine. 
But I hanker for no breezes, 
From the ocean or the snow, 
I’m going up on Rock Creek, 
Where the mountain beauties grow. 
Other folk may plan on fishing, 
In the crystal mountain streams, 
Where the sun to aid the setting, 
Strikes the hills with golden beams. 
Other folk may seek the river, 
Let the other fellow row— 
But I prefer old Rock Creek, 
Where the mountain beauties grow. 
I am foolish ’bout my beauties, 
I am erazy in the head; 
And when other folks are sleeping, 
When it’s time to hit the bed, 
Then with sack upon my shoulder, 
I await the time to blow 
To some secret place on Rock Creek, 
Where the mountain beauties grow. 
