May 19, 1892.] 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



4 71 



TROUTING ON1THE ELOKOMON. 



A MAP of "Washington will show you a heavy spur of 

 the Coast Range projecting out to the east from the 

 range, and sweeping, with a great curve, around the 

 northeast corner of Wahkiakum county, one of the 

 Columbia River counties of the State. 



Somewhere in this spur springs a most remarkable 

 trout stream, variously known to those of us familiar 

 with its lower waters as the Elokomon, Lokoman or 

 Lackamute. It empties into the Columbia about three 

 miles below Cathlamet, the county seat of the aforemen- 

 tioned county, but its mouth is hidden from the view of 

 voyageurs of the Columbia by a beautiful, well-wooded 

 island, and there are many people perfectlv familiar 

 with the Columbia from the mouth of the "Willamette 

 to Astoria who never even heard of the lovely Elokomon. 

 But it is there all the same, and its loveliness is not in 

 the least diminished by reason of the mysterious, half 

 mythical reputation it bears. It is a great place for both 

 mountain and salmon trout. In fact it is a great place 

 for almost anything in the shape of Northwestern fish 

 and game. I have seen 201b. salmon six or seven miles 

 up the Elokomon in spawning time. Black bear, cougar, 

 wildcat, elk and deer are plentiful. It is my candid 

 Eelief that there are more bears to the square rod in the 

 blokomon country than anywhere else in the United 

 States. It is the home of the wonder- 

 ful water ousel, and I believe it is the 

 only place I ever saw where the forest 

 birds sing all night. Of course, in the 

 rainy season the Elokomon is a mighty 

 river, but ordinarily during trouting 

 season it is just the stream for good 

 long casts and good heavy fish. 

 Some of the best catches of my life 

 have been made in its waters. 



The valley is narrow, and the moun- 

 tains on either side are clothed with a 

 thick growth of giant firs, spruces, 

 cedars and pines, which have never 

 been mutilated by the hand of man or 

 the scourging forest fire: and all in all 

 it is a most enchanting place for the 

 hunter, the angler and the lover of 

 nature in general. 



Warren's cannery, alias Cathlamet, 

 the nearest landing place to the Eloko- 

 mon, is about seven miles down the 

 river from Portland; and so, when 

 Harry Beal and I went aboard the 

 night boat Harvest Queen at 8 o'clock 

 P. M., we requested the steward to 

 call us at Cathlamet. However, the 

 request was unnecessary, for neither of 

 us could sleep. So we sat and watched 

 the spectral bluffs fade into phantom 

 shadows, and counted the flickering 

 stars of the salmon fishermen, as drift- 

 ing with the tide, they swept the wide 

 river with their slow bending nets. At 

 3 o'clock in the morning we were 

 landed at Cathlamet. The little nest 

 of fishermen's huts in the shadow of 

 the bluff looked ghostly enough by the 

 yellow light of the steamer's lanterns, 

 and after she had cast loose and gone 

 on her way we were in Egyptian dark- 

 ness. 



It was one of those proverbially dark 

 nights when one "couldn't see his hand 

 before him," and we had great diffi- 

 culty in finding the trail that led up 

 and over the mountain to the Eloko- 

 mon. By this trail we were to strike 

 the stream pretty well up from its 

 mouth and about five miles from Cath- 

 lamet. A lantern would have been a 

 great blessing, but we had not brought 

 one, for Beveral reasons. Too much 

 other absolutely necessary luggage left 

 no room for such luxuries, and besides 

 we had entirely forgotten it. As uaual 

 old Mike was with us, and by follow- 

 ing close behind him we managed to 

 keep the trail pretty well most of the 

 way. Now and then we would scratch 

 a match or burn a fragment of paper to get our bearings 

 and view the surroundings. There was one spot where, 

 apparently, the sun had never looked in, and I assure 

 you that it was a damp, dismal place. It was so dark 

 that tar would have made a white streak on the walls. 

 Hearing the faint pur of a tiny waterfall, and after assur- 

 ing ourselves that we were not sure of anything except 

 that we were wrapped in absolute blackness, we twisted 

 up a bit of paper and burned it to find ourselves on the 

 brink of a precipice, at the bottom of which another step 

 would have landed us, some hundreds of feet below. 

 Mike could keep the trail all right of course, but without 

 a bell on him it was not an easy matter for us to follow 

 him, and as we had no spare bells with us, we were 

 forced to spend about half our time manufacturing paper 

 torches. Once Mike brought both our feet and hair to a 

 stand by bounding back against our legs with a growl, 

 We hurriedly lit a match and peered into tbe night, ex- 

 pecting to see nothing less than tho Prince of Darkness 

 himself. All we could see was the end of an old log that 

 protruded out of the thick sal-lal at the side of the trail, 

 and we both giggled in a nervous sort of way at the idea 

 of the dog getting scared at an old log. But Mike him- 

 self seemed earnest in his opinion of that particular spot, 

 and as he sidled around it suspiciously, growling and 

 with hair bristling, we also sidled around it with hair 

 sort o' bristling. Somehow we couldn't help manifesting 

 a certain degree of respect for the old dog's judgment, 

 even though he was an "old fool" and a "low-bred cur" 

 for getting scared at "only a log." We were so provoked 

 at him for his cowardice that we even made him walk 

 behind for a while, possibly as a punishment, possibly as 

 a rear guard. It is true that we only got a flash-light 

 impression of that old log, but the impression was a good 

 one, and I will never forget just how it looked. 



Our supply of newspapers gave out before the darkness 

 did, and our progress over the mountain was slow in- 

 deed, so that by the time we reached the crest the eastern 

 sky was tinted with the coming morn. The descent was 

 more abrupt, and broad daylight found us boiling our 



coffee and jointing our rods on the bank of the stream. 

 Such rapids, such pools of pure, unpolluted mountain 

 spring water. The fish were of the finest, the songs of 

 the birds the sweetest, and as the rosy morning brightened 

 nature blushed at her own loveliness. What monster 

 salmon trout in the deep, still pools; what lovely moun- 

 tain trout in the sparkling rapids. Several times we took 

 over 61b8. at a cast; but these, of course, were salmon 

 trout, a number of which weighed more than 31bs. each. 

 Now if anybody thinks that the salmon trout is not game 

 let him hook a couple of three-pounders; yes, or even 

 one. I am constrained to admit that they fight about as 

 hard as either the mountain, rainbow or Dolly Varden. 

 They do love salmon eggs, but the prevalent opinion that 

 they can be successfully taken with nothing else is erro- 

 neous. As many can be taken with a whip made of 

 royal-coachman, professor and ginger-hackle as anybody 

 can catch with salmon roe; and then, the one is sport 

 while the other smells too strong of the pot. For my 

 part I never, under any circumstances, fish for any kind 

 of trout with anything but the fly. I am convinced that 

 where bait will be taken, so also will the fly if properly 

 presented. This I say advisedly, but with particular ref- 

 erence to the fishing of this coast. 



In this connection, although somewhat digressive, I will 

 say further, that tbe assertion so often made and so gener- 

 ally accepted as true, that there is no fish in Alaskan waters 



JUDGE S. H, GREENE. 



that will take the fly, is not strictly true. This I also say 

 advisedly, and with permission to use the names of repu- 

 table sportsmen if required that have caught trout in that 

 country with the fly. But the Elokomon is far enough 

 away from home without straying off to Alaska; so we 

 will return to its luxurious solitudes. When we lunched 

 at noon we figured out that we must be at least seven 

 miles from Cathlamet, and as we had taken a large num- 

 ber of heavy salmon trout we concluded that we had bet- 

 ter begin to figure back toward the landing, as, under the 

 circumstances, we didn't care to miss the night boat. To 

 do so would involve a wait of twenty-four hours, which 

 was not a pleasant contemplation. 



An incident occurred at about this time which was 

 really so funny that I will have to tell it on Harry, even 

 at the risk of losing his frier dship, Harry is a good 

 boy and is blessed with more than ordinary intelligence, 

 but in this instance his judgment was sadly at fault and 

 made an ass as well as a water-soaked wreck of him. As 

 we munched away at our lunch, trying to talk and swal- 

 low simultaneously, as hungry anglers generally lunch 

 on the mountain stream, we were startled by a loud flap 

 behind us. Turning we saw two enormous Chinook sal- 

 mon lying side by side, half out of water on a riffle, the 

 water of which was so shallow that it was about all they 

 could do to keep their gills under water. Here was an 

 opportunity, as you see, to capture with our naked hands 

 two handsome fish in their own element; an opportunity 

 seldom met with and too good to be lost. So laying our 

 rods on the bank and our sandwiches back in our ditty- 

 bags we quietly surrounded the monsters, Harry above 

 and myself belbw them. At a given signal we grappled 

 with our unsuspecting victims ('?). Tableau: Two sim- 

 ple fishermen staring at each other, hatless, not a dry 

 thread on either, boots full of water, speechless with dis- 

 gust, but each ready to jump the other for making such 

 a fool of him. Moral: Fish for salmon with only the 

 most approved tackle. But, of course, the joke was on 

 Harry, for he ought to have had better sense. 



On this trip we saw two black bears and met an old 



hunter who told us that during the past winter and 

 spring he had killed five cougars and unnumbered elk, 

 deer, wild-cat and bear. We saw plenty of elk and deer 

 sign but none of the animals themselves. Tbe old hunter 

 informed us that back in the mountains about eighteen 

 miles was a beautiful lake, and he thought the Elokomon 

 found its source there; that about and adjacent to the 

 lake was a lovely, open, grassy park of wide dimensions 

 where an immense herd of elk use, and I am glad to say 

 that Harry and I succeeded in arranging for the old hun- 

 ter to meet us at Cathlamet about the first of August to 

 pilot us back to that lake and that park. What a place 

 for a two weeks outingr it must be. 



But the sun was sinking into the ocean and we had a 

 long tramp ahead of us with wet feet and heavy loads; so 

 we wrung the water out of our clothes, emptied the water 

 out of our boots and packed up for the return trip. We 

 had had a great day; were proud of our catch and happy 

 in the thought that it would not be long until we would 

 have a better knowledge of the upper stream and coun- 

 try. Loaded down with fish we trudged back over the 

 mountain to Cathlamet, where we connected with the 

 night boat at 9 o'clock P. M., and slept soundly until her 

 whistle at 4 o'clock in the morning announced our ar- 

 rival home from a day's (and two nights') fishing trip to 

 the Elokomon. S. H. Greene. 



Portl and, Oregon, May 3. 



After you have camped with a man 

 a month or two you think that you 

 know him real well; and some times 

 you may fancy that you know him if 

 less intimately, not the less truly, 

 though his camp happens to have been 

 pitched two thousand miles away, and 

 he tells about it relating his experi- 

 ences and revealing his personality to 

 you in the columns of your favorite 

 weekly journal. If fortune should 

 ever bring you into his neighborhood 

 it is quite likely that your inclination 

 would be to look him up, to claim ac- 

 quaintance and comradeship with him . 



The other day our contributor "O. O. 

 S.," who lives in Pennsylvania, found 

 himself away on the other side of the 

 continent, in Portland, Oregon, and it 

 was the most natural thing in the 

 world that he should make his way to 

 the corner of First and Ash streets, 

 where the directory told him the law 

 office of S. H. Greene might be found. 

 "Judge Greene, I believe," said Mr. 

 Smith, extending his card. "How have 

 you been since we were on the Mo- 

 lalla?" The Judge looked at the name 

 on the card and at his visitor, but he 

 did not appear to recollect him. "I was 

 on the Molalla," he said, "but I don't 

 recall that you were of tbe party." 

 "Oh, no!" put in the man from Penn- 

 sylvania, "I was not there actually; 

 wish I had been; I only did the next 

 best thing, I read your papers in 

 Forest and Stream, and was with 

 you in fancy; but I feel that I know 

 both you and. old Mike there, though 

 of course you don't know me, and per- 

 haps I should apologize." "I am de- 

 lighted to meet you," said Judge 

 Greene heartily; and the setter Mike 

 rapped on the floor a canine indorse- 

 ment of the welcome. That this meet- 

 ing and others which followed were 

 most pleasant has been amply tested 

 by letters received at this office from 

 both parties in interest. When "O.O. 

 S." returned to his Eastern home he 

 bore with him as mementoes of the 

 Northwest a handsomely mounted spe- 

 cimen of the Mongolian pheasant, 

 also a cougar skin of large proportions, 

 concerning which we understand a fit 

 and adequate yarn is now in process of 

 manufacture. 



Judge Greene, we are told by one 

 who knows him well, comes honestly 

 by his love of sport with rod and gun. 

 The predilection is a family trait inherited from both sides 

 of the house. His grandfather on the maternal side, A. 

 B. Sturgis, hunted big game for more than sixty years, 

 all the way from the forests of the Adirondacks to the 

 Coast Range of the Pacific. Annually for many years Mr. 

 Greene and his father would spend a month every autumn 

 with covered wagon and camp outfit among the pretty 

 lakes of northern Iowa. Those years he is wont to allude 

 to as his prairie-chicken days, and it is suspected that the 

 diminution of game in his native State of Iowa may have 

 prompted him to go West. In 1879 he removed to Oregon, 

 and took up his residence in , Portland. Here, with the 

 exception of two years, during which he was judge of one 

 of the inferior courts, he has practiced his profession and 

 is known throughout the State both as a successful lawyer 

 and as an expert hunter and fisher. "I want no office of 

 any kind," he once laughingly declared to a friend, 

 "for if the weather should happen to be suggestive of 

 ducks, or if the trout should be taking the fly, public 

 interest might suffer if I were a public servant." 



Judge Greene was born in Adel, Iowa, in 1850, and 

 lived in his native city, of which for five successive years 

 he was mayor, until 1879. The portrait is from a recent 

 photograph. 



He is president of the Oregon Fish and Game Protective 

 Association, an organization which has a record of much 

 substantial good work accomplished, and which gives 

 promise of like usefulness in the future. 



Mrs. Greene, it is interesting to know, is an adept with 

 the rod and the gun, and often accompanies her husband 

 on his extended excursions. 



Those who have read all about "Teufel the Terrier." and 

 we doubt if there are many dogmen who have not perused 

 Mr. Yates Carrington's interesting little volume, will sin- 

 cerely regret to hear of this author's death a couple of weeks 

 since. Though only thirty-five years old at the time of his 

 death, he was well known as a clever animal painter and 

 especially of dogs; his fox-terrier Teufel, until his death iu 

 1889, being an unfailing study and a tireless model. 



