254 
FOREST AND STREAM 
[Sept. 23 , 1905. 
Our Quest of the Golden Trout. 
There is a stream afar from the haunts of men in the 
heart of the southern Sierras, which for several years 
had been to me a source of peculiar interest. Its romance 
was delightfully suggestive of the “Arabian Nights” of 
our boyhood days, and its remoteness gave it all the 
glamour that a fertile imagination could embellish it with. 
Its pure waters were said to be the only known habitat 
of the golden trout, the most beautiful and most delicious 
of all the trout family. Their colors rivaled those of the 
most gorgeous denizens of the tropic seas ; their flavor 
fitted them for the table of the gods. 
Twice had I attempted to reach this mysterious stream, 
but, like the horsemen who chased the rolling bowl to 
the hill of the black rocks, I was foiled by unexpected 
obstacles when almost within sight of the goal. A series 
of heavy thunderstorms in the first and an accident that 
crippled my knee in the second, worked my undoing when 
only twenty miles away. This year I made the third at- 
tempt with Smith, the cattleman, companion of my 
Klamath and Broder Cabin outings, the details of which 
I feel inclined to lay before your readers. 
Leaving Oakland on the 9:30, we arrived in Visalia at 
5 P. M. The heat was excessive, the mercury standing 
at 116 degrees in the depot; but we found Mr. John 
Huntly awaiting us and were driven rapidly to the ranch, 
where his amiable wife welcomed us with all her old- 
time hospitality. Our couches that night were spread upon 
the cool upper verandas of the Huntly mansion, and the 
next day, while the boys overhauled kiacks and pack 
saddles, we drove to town and laid in supplies for the 
trip. 
In order to avoid the heat, we decided to make the 
first drive at night. Wilfred Huntly decided to gO' with 
us, and with four saddle and pack animals, we started 
about 4 P. M., traveling all night without a stop, reach- 
ing Three Rivers, thirty miles east of Visalia, shortly after 
sunrise. But we were still in the orange belt, and the 
heat was almost as great as in the valley. The tantalizing 
presence of those' cool summits only thirty miles away 
made us more miserable. 
A good rest was imperative after the long night drive, 
and it \vas thirty-six hours later when we reached Guer- 
negan’s, tired, dusty and nearly melting with the heat. A 
few rods east of the house a mountain stream found its 
way down to the Kaweah River, over a bed of porphyp^. 
In this the action of the water had made numerous cir- 
cular pot holes of assorted sizes in the solid rock. Some 
of these were six feet in diameter by three or more in 
depth, with a few inches of fine sand in the bottom. They 
were as smooth as marble, and filled,- to the brim with the 
purest water that was constantly changing. Disrobing on 
the clean, dry ledge, we stepped at once into a natural 
bath that no art of man could surpass. 
Guernegan had died since we were there last year, but 
his widow, with her son and daughter, still carried on the 
place, and a little later we sat down to the last table 
d’hote we were destined to see for nearly a month. The 
elevation here was about 3,000 feet, and from this on rose 
rapidly until we reached Mineral King, eighteen miles 
away, and 8,000 feet high. We found our old camp near 
the soda spring unoccupied, and at once we took pos- 
session for a few days’ rest. The climate here was a 
delightful change from the torrid valley; the tempei'ature, 
about ' 70 degrees during the day, dropped below freez- 
ing at night. Huge snowdrifts, not over three miles 
away, filled the mountain ravines. In the ice-cold waters 
of the streams the trout were darting about, and our old 
friend the water ousel again appeared. 
There were some twenty-five or thirty people at the 
resort, and just across the creek from our camp a pioneer 
of “the spring of ’50” had pitched his tent. Mr. Bequette, 
evidently of French origin, but born in Missouri, was a 
vigorous old man, although over seventy, who had lived 
near Visalia more than forty years, and knew every creek 
and ravine in these mountains, with which he had been 
familiar since ’64. Like most of his class, he had an in- 
exhaustible store of anecdote of those early days, and we 
delighted to go, over to his camp-fire in the evening while 
taking our post-prandial smoke, and listen to his instruc- 
tive as well as entertaining conversation. 
Much to my disappointment, he knew nothing about the 
little golden bear, vague rumors of whose existence in 
these parts had reached my ears many years ago ; and I 
was reluctantly obliged to. file it away with other ex- 
ploded myths. He was very intelligent and well educated, 
and drew our attention especially to the wonderful botan- 
ical wealth of this region, pointing out to us spikenard, 
Solomon’s seal, a straw-colored columbine which he said 
was unknown elsewhere, and many other plants, which 
are highly valued for their medicinal virtues ; and yet he 
had never been upon a railroad car. This idiosyncrasy 
was doubtless due to the antipathy held by most Visalians 
against the S. P. R. R., although few of them had carried 
it to that extreme, and still Mr. Bequette was one of the 
mildest of men, neither vindictive nor arrogant. 
Three or four days with such favorable surroundings 
put us in fine condition for the work before us, and the 
luxuriant and nutritious pasturage of the mountain mead- 
ows had fully restored our horses. Up to this point 
there is a county road and a tri-weekly mail, but be- 
tween this and Kern River, into which flows the stream 
of the golden trout, there are three lofty and rugged 
ranges of mountains accessible only with pack animals. 
On the morning of July 15 we started for Farewell Gap. 
It was only three miles tO' the top, but the elevation was 
3,000 feet greater, and we were over two hours getting 
there. The great snow of former years still lay on the 
eastern slope, forcing us tO' make a detour on to the side 
hill. Just below this there was the same wonderful floral 
display of acres of Mariposa lilies, lupines, shooting stars, 
columbines, etc-, and from the rocks the woodchucks, 
basking in the sun, took a speculative interest in the 
cavalcade as it filed along the narrow trail. It was noon 
before we came in sight of dear old Broder Cabin, the 
roof peeping out of its bower of silver firs. On two dif- 
ferent occasions, it had shielded us from terrific thunder- 
storms when no other shelter was near, and had also been 
the eastern terminus of our former outings. We were 
glad to see it again, but it was a little off the trail, and 
between rolled the boisterous Little Kern, so we did not 
visit it. 
The sagacity of this decision was revealed later, when 
we encountered a tremendous hill, where for a full mile 
the trail was so. steep, tortuous and rocky that it was ap- 
propriately known as the Devil’s Corkscrew. When 
about half way up, one of the pack saddles suddenly 
shifted, throwing the horse from the trail over on to his 
back, and smashing and demoralizing his load to such an 
extent that at least an hour was required to put things 
into shape to continue our journey : and it was 9 o’clock 
that night when we reached the first meadow on Coyote 
Creek, w'here we encamped. 
Early the next day we reached the edge of the great 
canon of the Kern River, and almost opposite, across the 
chasin, possibly a mile away, in an air line, a stream came 
tumbling by three falls down into the Kern from a height 
of about 1,500 feet, and we realized at once that those 
shimmering waters were the goal of our three years’ 
quest. It was Whitney, or Volcano Creek, as now called, 
the home of the golden trout. 
Descending by a steep but fairly good trail for three 
miles, we reached the bottom, where we found several 
parties encamped. There were quite a number of women 
and children among them, and their elaborate camps in- 
dicated that they intended staying there several weeks. 
One of the bough beds I noticed was encircled by a 
horse hair rope, probably a substitute for snake antidote. 
While we were busily engaged in making camp, two 
men came up from the river with rods and well-filled 
creels. They proved to be Clinton Miller, principal of the 
Whittier school in Berkeley, and Fred Balaam, a busi- 
ness man of Exeter, both fl>y-fishermen of the highest 
Forest and Stream type. We were making rather ex- 
tensive , preparations for a two weeks’ stay, and seeing 
.that there would probably be a dearth of fish in our 
camp for at least a couple of meals, they quietly opened 
their creels and placed five trout on our kiack lid, the 
smallest over three-quarters of a pound, and the largest 
2J/2 pounds in weight. 
Our camp was pitched in one of those delightful spots 
that nature seems to have arranged expressly for the pur- 
pose, a little grove of large trees in an angle where two 
pure streams join; on the third side a wild strawberry 
bed with many ripe berries ; on the fourth, a dead tree 
had fallen, shattering its limbs into a hundred pieces the 
right length for our camp stove. Elevation^ 6,000 feet ; 
climate perfect; fishing unsurpassed, and a ten-acre 
meadow close by that had been fenced by the Sierra Club, 
.where we were permitted to put our horses — what more 
was to be desired? 
There was one peculiarity in the arboreal features of 
this bottom that attracted my attention. While the trees, 
with the exception of a few willows along the streams, 
were all conifers, they were mixed in the most indis- 
criminate manner, and it was not uncommon to see a 
clump of five or six in which there were no two of the 
same species. Our bed was made under a sequoia ; our 
stove sat under a giant cedar, our kiacks beneath a sugar 
pine, and our rods rested against a bull pine, while silver 
balsam and red fir could be seen all about us. Of game 
there appeared to be practically ncne. A few squirrels 
and a flock or two of mountain quail were seen, but no 
grouse nor deer sign ; but as it was still the close season 
there was little to regret. 
Our first trip was to the lake, situated about a mile 
below our camp. As to scenery, it was a distinct disap- 
pointment ; but the fact that it contained many trout of 
five or six pounds weight, to say nothing of a multitude 
of smaller ones, was a fine point in its favor. It had 
been formed many years ago by a landslide, which had 
choked the bed of the Kern, backing up the waters for 
nearly a mile by about half that in width. Many dead 
stubs were still standing, and much submerged timber 
made fine lurking places for the big fellows, but were 
not so much appreciated by the angler. In former years 
two old but still serviceable dugouts were in use, but 
careless users had left them unfastened the previous fall 
and they had gone over the falls with the winter freshets. 
One wretched unwieldy log raft was the only substitute 
left, and this being in use, we contented ourselves with 
fishing from the shore, securing over twenty fish during 
the afternoon, none of which, however, would weigh over 
a pound. 
The next morning ushered in for me what proved to 
be the red-letter day of the trip. Zerah decided to- stay in 
camp; Wilfred went to the lake, and with tackle secured 
for a steep climb, I started up the river. This section is 
largely indebted tO' the Sierra Club for its opening up; 
two years ago nearly a hundred of the members, led by 
Prof. Le Conte, of the California University, encamped 
here on the Kern for several weeks, and besides greatly 
improving some of the trails, they threw a bridge across 
the river about a quarter of a mile above our camp. At 
this date it was not considered very safe for horsemen, 
although horses were sometimes led over it, and it was 
of course perfectly safe for footmen ; and from the far 
side of this bridge started the trail to the land of the 
golden trout. 
In laying out the trail, no attempt had been made to 
follow Volcano from its junction with the Kern. A rise 
of nearly 2,000 feet in about a mile, within which space 
all the falls were located, was considered too steep for 
general purposes, and was avoided by going around a 
mountain and striking the stream at the upper fall; and 
although for the most part this was very steep, it was 
in other respects one of the best trails I saw in that 
section. 
No fish can ascend either of the falls, and of course 
none of the golden trout that we carried over can ever 
return. This explains, the fact that no other species are 
found in the stream. Many of them, however, must be 
carried over, for they are as plenty below the upper fall 
as anywhere, but few are found below the second, and 
none below the third, from which they probably go down 
and are lost in the Kern. 
Once actually upon the ground and gazing into the 
stream that for two years had evaded me like a will-’o- 
the-wisp, I was in no hurry to joint my rod. The pleas- 
ure of anticipation is great when the realization has be- 
come a certainty, and I was determined to enjoy it to 
the utmost. I had heard of a beautiful meadow three or 
four miles up the stream, where hummingbirds and 
flowers made a harmonious setting for the golden beau- 
ties of the stream ; and while I paused and looked into 
the pool below the fall, where your old correspondent 
Van Dyke cast his line so many years ago, I did not wet 
my own there. Ages ago, just how many no one will 
ever know, there was a deep gorge where these falls now 
exist ; but the Sierras were still forming, and at its upper 
end about ten miles away a great volcano, whose crater is 
still lin evidence, belched forth its millions of tons of lava, 
filling the gorge many hundreds of feet in depth, all the 
way to its mouth. The first eruption was of a cream 
color, and evidently much the largest, forming in one 
place about a mile above the falls a natural bridge, over 
which the largest wagon could be driven and which is 
crossed by the trail with the stream passing under it fif- 
teen feet below. 
The superimposed stratum was of a dark brick color, 
its disintegration supporting a growth that greatly soft- 
ened the original desolation. As I advanced the gorge 
rapidly wddened int quite a valley, with the old walls, 
which in some places were almost perpendicular, still 
well defined. The will sufficient to make a rapid stream 
was easy and fairly regular, the elevation about 8,000 feet, 
and tamaracks, which in this section are not found much 
below that altitude, began to appear. Here also the sage 
brush so universal east of the Sierras, but which I had 
not before observed here, was abundant. The air was 
so invigorating that it seemed to fill my veins with the 
elixir of life, and my feet spurned the soil with the elas- 
ticity of youtli. Mile after mile I left behind me, still 
apparently as fresh as when I started. Twice I crossed 
the stream on fallen trees, each time seeing the golden 
objects of my search darting to- and fro in the clear 
waters beneath me; but I would not tarry until about ii 
o’clock I stepped out of the timber into' a great meadow 
over 100 acres in area. 
I was there at last, but even then I was reluctant to 
break the exquisite charm that had enthralled me ever 
since I had left camp, and which had been so strongly 
accentuated as I traversed that high plateau. Why I 
should feel this reluctance is inexplicable to most people, 
but perhaps some of your enthusiastic anglers will un- 
derstand it. Perhaps a faint memory of early childhood 
affected me, when with beating heart I chased an excep- 
tionally beautiful butterfly, wild to capture it as it flitted 
from flower to flower, and remembered my disappoint- 
ment as I saw it shattered and shorn of its glory by the 
blow that had reduced it to possession. 
Be this as it may, I leisurely made my way far into the 
meadow, and sitting dowm in the grass on the bank of 
the stream, carefully jointed my rod. Just below me, 
within reach of my lure but hidden by a bend in the 
stream, was a pool shaded by a clump of willows. Into 
this pool as deftly as possible without exposing myself I 
dropped my fly. A vigorous tug was the immediate re- 
sult, and the next instant a gorgeous creature resembling 
a scarlet tanager sailed over my head and fell in the grass 
beyond. For several minutes I stood regarding my prize. 
It was certainly the most beautiful fish I had ever caught. 
The length was about nine inches. The lower part of the 
body for an inch in width was the color of fresh-drawm 
blood on each side, running the entire length and includ- 
ing the gill covers was a stripe about half as wide of the 
same sanguinary color, but not quite so brilliant. Under- 
neath this stripe and faintly visible through it were five 
or six dark spots the size and shape of a lima bean, such 
as I had never seen on any trout before. The rest of the 
body and tail was thickly studded with the little black 
dots found on every species of the trout family. 
Out of this pool I took seven, ranging from six to a 
little over ten inches in length, which is as large as any 
that I saw or heard of, and at the end of one and one- 
half hours’ fishing I had twenty-eight fish, all that I 
cared for. 
For the table they proved to be superior to the Kern 
trout, and the only fish that could be classed with them 
in that respect were those from Eagle Lake, near Mineral 
King. Three days later Zerah and I made another trip to 
that mountain meadow and returned with thirty-six 
golden trout, finishing our record from that stream. 
The two weeks we spent upon the Kern was a season 
of unalloyed enjoyment. Messrs. Miller and Balaam, 
who were encamped near by, visited us often and proved 
to be the most genial of men. The thunder showers that 
are usually so prevalent here at this season of the year, 
failed to materialize, for which we were duly thankful. 
Trout were always abundant in camp, and were an "im- 
portant portion of every meal, although we seldom fished 
more than three or four hours a day. Of the big ones 
we caught, and the still bigger ones we lost — of which 
there were several that I still remember with regret — I 
cannot attempt to describe. In that pure atmosphere fish 
could be dried by simply drawing them and hanging them 
in the open air on a line; no blow flies or other insects 
disturbed them, and we dried about twenty to take home, 
