74 



THE OREGON SPORTSMAN 



AN OUTING ON THE DESCHUTES 



In Every Pool, Behind Every Sheltering Rock, for a Distance of 

 Two Hundred Miles, Lurks a Gorgeous Rainbow 



BY 

 BLAINE HALLOCK 



HE question has been often put to me by 

 enthusiastic anglers, "Where can I go for 

 a Sunday fishing trip, that I may get a mess 

 of trout and still lose no time from work?" 

 And I reply, "The Deschutes." This, too. 

 with very little consideration for the so- 

 called "fishing season." Big fish can be 

 taken from the Deschutes the year round. 

 Even today but comparatively few of 

 the cult realize what an angler's paradise this wild stream really 

 is. Tumbling from the high mountain meadows and draining a 

 myriad of crystal lakes at the very top of the Cascades, the 

 Deschutes river rushes north for nearly the entire, length of our 

 good old state, finally roaring into the Columbia east of The 

 Dalles, where its turbulent waters are soothed and blended into 

 that great flow to the sea. 



In every pool, behind every sheltering rock, along every 

 choppy riffle for this whole distance of more than two hundred 

 miles lurk gorgeous rainbow trout eager to attack the proffered 

 lure. This stream is at our very dooryards. Two nights on a 

 sleeper, a whole eighteen-hour day on the river, and we are back 

 on the job, refreshed from the jaunt and richer by a full creel 

 and a full heart. 



There are at least three kinds of game fish in the Deschutes, 

 the beautiful, gamey rainbow (Salmo irideus) or red-side,, as he is 

 locally known; his less sportive though more powerful cousin, 

 the Dolly Varden (Sahelinus malma), who is a char as distin- 

 guished from a true trout; and the rather inconspicuous though 

 really good fish, the whitefish (Coregonus oregonus) sometimes 

 called a grayling. 



