118 



THE OREGON SPORTSMAN 



hynchus tschawyischa) and Silver (Oncorhynchus kisutch) salmon 

 thread their certain way along the paths of the trackless ocean, 

 straight into the shallow and devious channel of Nehalem bay. 



And this brings me back to my fishing. 



The quaint, sleepy little town of Nehalem straggles along the 

 margin of the bay on the north, and is seriously threatened by 

 a very obstinate and very flourishing growth of verdure encroach- 

 ing from the hills above. The town presents an aspect of uncer- 

 tainty. It appears to have approached the bay with some mis- 

 givings, establishing itself temporarily up by the old cannery. 

 Then gathering itself up, it ambled further down, stopping here 

 and there, until it finally located in the little hollow against the 

 western hill. 



"The srame was on! Forty yards away a huge, silvery monster cleared the 

 water and hit it agrain with a mighty splash." 



Here at Nehalem, after a forty-minute walk from the moun- 

 tain, we negotiated for a small skiff, loaded in our miscellaneous 

 assortment of tackle, and were on the point of shoving off when 

 an ancient citizen, who had been eyeing our movements from the 

 wharf, volunteered a bit of advice. 



"Y' ain't goin' to try it on this tide, are y'!" 

 ''What's the matter with it?" I inquired. "Looks to me like 

 a good, strong, vigorous sort of a tide.' , 



