THROUGH "OLD OREGON" 



BY WILLIAM PERKINS 



HAT pleasant memories 

 cluster around one's 

 heart as we return to a 

 land or place which has 

 endeared itself to us. 

 Such was my experience 

 as the train on the O. 

 R. & N. slowly steamed 

 into Portland on September 23, 1895. 

 Leaving Portland in the spring of '86 after 

 a sojourn there of two years, it was always 

 my wish to return where the "best" two 

 years of my life had been spent. And not 

 until this fall was my wish gratified. 



My old "chum," Ben E. Smith, who 

 owns a large ranch at Ocean view, Oregon, 

 was at the station awaiting me. After 

 spending a week at the Lewis & Clark Ex- 

 position, we started for Independence, forty 

 miles south of Portland, where there is 

 splendid "china" shooting. It seems almost 

 a crime to shoot these beautiful birds, and 

 my conscience hurt me not a little as I 

 would "draw a bead" on a fine cock. Ten 

 birds to a man is the limit, and with a good 

 dog you can make your "bag" in a half 

 day. After two days' "sport," we started 

 for Waldport, on Alsea Bay, going by way 

 of Yaquina City, Newport and then down 

 the coast sixteen miles with the mail wagon. 

 Fare one dollar, but you had the "privilege " 

 of walking most of the way as the load was 

 too heavy for the team to pull up the steep 

 grades. At Alsea Bay I had my first ex- 

 perience of catching the grand Chinook 

 salmon. The bay seemed to be alive with 

 them, jumping out of the water as far as the 

 eye could reach. 



My friend Smith pulled the oar, while I 

 stood in the stern of the boat and played out 

 my "young rope" with a large spoon hook 

 on it. Before we had gone a hundred yards 

 from the shore, I had a "strike" and I was 

 pulling for dear life a mighty fish. The 

 words of caution "Play him, Will, play 

 him" from my friend Smith fell unheeded 

 on my ears. "Play " a "fish" when I had a 



line strong enough to hold a horse! Well, 

 not if the court knows herself. After leaping 

 into the air several times, I got him along- 

 side of the boat, and having no gaff at- 

 tempted to lift him into the boat, when, 

 with a "splash" that wet me through, he 

 was gone, spoon and all. I will not try to 

 explain my feelings to you, dear reader, but 

 will leave that for your imagination. In- 

 side of ten minutes I had another spoon on 

 my "line " and a salmon on the spoon. This 

 one I "played," consequently soon had him 

 floundering in the boat. And now the 

 question confronts us, shall we catch more 

 for "sport," as the fish we have will last 

 us for three days at least. No, I silently 

 wind up my line and look to our guns 

 which we have with us, for there are some 

 fine mallard ducks at the head of the 

 bay. 



After slaying enough to last us for a few 

 days, we started for Mr. Smith's ranch, 

 which lay about twenty miles south, which 

 we reached the next morning, footing it over 

 the mountain trail with a pack horse to 

 carry our "traps." His cabin faces the 

 Pacific Ocean, while a beautiful moun- 

 tain stream flows at the side of the house, 

 and right here I "put in" one of the most 

 enjoyable weeks of my life. Within a few 

 steps of the cabin door were all the "speck- 

 led beauties" you wanted to catch, while 

 the quail was so abundant that, on a Sun- 

 day while there, I saw two flocks in Mr. 

 Smith's yard at the same time. One flock 

 stood on the lawn in front of the cabin, 

 while the other flock was running through 

 his vegetables at the back. At another time 

 I ran into two flocks on my return to the 

 cabin with a loaded gun in my hand and 

 would not shoot them, as I had nine dead 

 ones, all we could eat. 



I cannot begin to tell you of all the sport 

 I had, or the grand sights I saw, in this 

 short article, but would say to you that, 

 having the time and opportunity, "go thou 

 and do likewise." 



