454 
FOREST AND STREAM 
Oct. ii, 1913. 
The Feather River Country 
By GOLDEN GATE 
( Continued, from page 426.) 
gun in each hand, and another under each arm. 
Anyway, the old fellow with the arsenal did some 
execution, for we saw him pick up six birds, 
but the cripples bothered him considerably. A 
few shells loaded with njtro powder would have 
done the business in short order, but that boon 
to gunners had not invaded the bay as yet, 
and with the exception of a few Brunswick 
Gun Club shooters who came that way occas¬ 
ionally, we say nothing of the smokeless 
powders. 
Bringing the old “pinky” around into the 
wind, we headed back for Little Whaleboat, and 
the next thing we knew a white-winged coot 
was tearing across our bow. Where he came 
from we didn't know. Frank saw him first and 
let drive. Then I fired and Frank fired again. 
This time he doubled up prettily and struck the 
water with a “plunk.” It was a good shot and 
I told Frank so. Picking up the bird we swept 
the southern horizon with our eyes. There was 
nothing stirring. We could still hear an occas¬ 
ional gun from up the bay. The man with the 
nmzzleloader had gone home, and we could just 
make out Will Getchell’s small craft disappearing 
behind Barnes’ Island. “What do you think, 
Frank,” I asked. “Better go home?” "No.” 
He came back like a shot. “Let’s hang round 
a spell longer. I've got to saw wood when I 
get home.” That settled it. The same situa¬ 
tion faced me when I got home; anything 
but sawing wood, so we promptly headed up 
the bay. 
There came an unusually heavy “whang” of 
guns from the north, and we cast our glances 
expectantly in that direction, hoping for favor¬ 
able results. After a few moments we sighted 
a “raft” of coots headed toward us, and Frank 
whistled to vent his excitement. But the whistle 
ended in a dismal groan, for the birds kept off 
and passed us a good 150 yards away. We 
watched the long lines of their steady flight as 
it turned the bend of Basin Point and trailed 
gracefully up into Ash Cove. We knew they 
were headed for our respective wood piles, but 
it was time to go home anyway, and the antici¬ 
pation of gray-feathered possibilities was strong, 
so pulling the foresail down to a close haul, we 
stood down the bay. 
Rounding the point, we kept on, up into 
the cove, and sighted the birds midway between 
Bar Island and Ash Point. This time we de¬ 
cided to sail on to them, and letting the “sheet” 
out an ample amount, we scudded before it. 
Nearer and nearer we drew, until the birds began 
turning their heads nervously to right and left, 
and swimming away with all their might. Sud¬ 
denly several dove like a flash, the others rising 
straight into the wind. It was just a matter of 
pulling the trigger with scarcely any regard for 
aim, so prettily were they bunched. Already 
Frank had swung the boat a trifle, enabling us 
to give them a raking broadside. For a moment 
the air was gray with birds, feathers and powder 
smoke, then we were slamming right and left 
at cripples. What a time we had! When we 
thought we had got the last one, pop! up would 
come another, and we made a quick “tack’’ and 
put after him. When the last gun had been 
fired, and the last coot had flattened against 
the waves, we took account of stock. Nineteen 
all told, including the last addition of eight, and 
we headed for home, entirely reconciled to the 
wood pile. 
T HE mistake of the average visitor into the 
Feather River country by rail is to believe 
that he has seen the principal streams, the 
most fascinating scenery, and the leading points of 
interest. Instead, he has seen but the river, and 
perhaps a few miles of one of its tributaries. 
That one hundred mile stretch of river, every 
inch of which is a trout stream, seems a large 
fishing ground, but it sinks into insignificance 
when the tributaries are taken into account. The 
Middle Fork of the Feather, which is seen only 
above Spring Garden, teems with trout, and 
there are stretches of this stream that have been 
scarcely explored, let alone visited by anglers. 
This river has as tributaries Nelson Creek, Bear 
Creek, Willow Creek, Fall River and a score 
of smaller streams. 
The North Fork of the Feather River is 
a better fishing ground than the main stream. 
It joins the Feather at Belden, one of the best 
known stations for lower country fishermen in 
the Feather River country, and one visited yearly 
by the members of the California Anglers’ Asso¬ 
ciation. The Big Meadows district, at the head¬ 
waters of this turbulent stream, is one of the 
greatest fishing grounds in the State. Rainbow 
trout of immense size are taken here, and fly¬ 
fishing of high order is enjoyed. A power cor¬ 
poration is now at work transforming the 
meadows into what will be the largest artificial 
body of water in the world. 
Other prominent tributaries of the Feather 
River are Yellow Creek and Chip Creek, also 
near Belden, and Indian Creek further up the 
river. Some of these streams are of large size 
and more than fifty miles in length. 
Lakes are to be found in great numbers in 
this watershed, notably in the extreme northern 
and extreme southern parts. In the latter dis¬ 
trict they are so numerous that from some of 
the highest mountains in the vicinity as many 
as twenty can be seen. What is known as the 
Lakes Country lies directly south of Cromberg, 
and is easily reached from Blairsden, ten miles 
away. Here are the Jamison Lakes, Wades Lake, 
Long Lake, Bear Lake, Gold Lake, Silver Lake, 
Squaw Lake, Sardine and Salmon Lakes, Grassy 
Lake and dozens of others. Gold Lake is the 
largest of all, being a mile and a half long by 
three-quarters of a mile wide. The high alti¬ 
tude of this Lake Country and its sheltered loca¬ 
tion makes it difficult to reach before the middle 
of June, as the ground is covered with snow 
until that time. 
For several seasons past I have been spend¬ 
ing a part of each summer at Cromberg, a small 
station on the Middle Fork of the Feather, near 
some of the finest fishing grounds in the whole 
Feather River Country. The river fishing here 
is of high order, and in addition several small 
streams enter the river at this point. On the 
south side Poplar Creek comes into the Feather 
about a mile below Cromberg, and Long Valley 
Creek empties into it from the north, both of 
these streams being well stocked with trout. 
Long Valley Creek is within a short distance 
of Cromberg, being reached by a walk of less 
than a mile through the woods, and is one of 
the best fishing streams I know. One may fish 
in the meadow for a distance of fully two miles, 
or in the beautiful canon above this to the head¬ 
waters of the stream, six miles away. About 
half way from the meadow in the valley to the 
source of the stream is an old log cabin and 
earth dam. Most of the fishing is carried on 
below this, although occasionally parties visit 
OFF FOR A WEEK’S CAMPING TRIP. 
Photograph by the author. 
