Oct. ii, 1913. 
FOREST AND STREAM 
455 
what is known as Happy Valley, three miles 
above. 
Last summer while spending my vacation 
at Cromberg, Mr. and Mrs. Charles Patterson, 
of Berkeley, accompanied my wife and I on a 
trip to Happy Valley, where we camped for 
several days. The journey could easily have 
been made on foot, but horses were available, 
so we packed our supplies on one animal while 
the other was ridden by the ladies. The climb 
up the creek to the dam is quite steep, especially 
where the trail goes around a great granite 
point, but in less than three hours’ time we had 
reached the valley. 
At one time Happy Valley was inhabited 
and the ruins of the old cabins remain, but these 
did not look inviting, so we chose to make our 
camp in the open. It would be difficult to con¬ 
ceive of a more beautiful spot for a camp than 
the one we hit on. In time of high water the 
place is probably an island, but in June, when 
we were there, it was reached without difficulty 
from the meadow. It was a spot of ground 
probably fifty feet square, almost surrounded by 
the creek and shaded by a half dozen tamarack 
trees. A bench in the creek bed at the upper 
end afforded a splendid place for a fire for cook¬ 
ing, while at the lower end a sloping sandy beach 
formed an ideal spot for washing, with bushes 
convenient, for a towel rack. A few boards 
brought from the dilapidated cabins were soon 
formed into a table, and two rough benches 
completed the camp equipment. Long before 
noon the horses had been staked out in the 
meadow, fir boughs gathered for the beds, wood 
brought in for the evening fire, and the camp 
placed in ship shape. Less than a half hour’s 
fishing netted us all the fish we could hope to 
make away with at dinner in spite of the pro¬ 
digious appetites. There is but one drawback 
to trout fishing in Happy Valley—the fish bite 
too freely. 
The stream at Happy Valley is not large, 
and the fish run to small sizes, seven inches 
being about the average. The trout here are 
very dark in color, as the stream is well shaded 
by willows, while further down it makes its way 
over a long stretch of dark-colored rocks. The 
water is intensely cold, and the fish are of ex¬ 
ceptionally fine flavor. 
It is astonishing sometimes how one will 
land a large fish from a most unpromising pool 
and at an unexpected moment. The first eve¬ 
ning we were in camp I fished in the upper 
stretches of the meadow, sometimes in small 
pools of the tributaries of the main stream that 
were almost covered over with grass, and again 
among the willows that shaded the creek. I had 
secured ten trout, six and seven inches in length, 
and had returned to camp, when the idea came 
to me that it would be interesting to take a fish, 
if possible, right at the camp-fire. Overhanging 
willows prevented me from making a cast, so I 
merely dropped the fly into the water, slackened 
the reel and let the lure float under the bushes 
and around the bend. Ordinarily this would 
have been a foolish thing to do, for about all 
I could expect would be to get the hook snagged, 
especially since it was out of sight. A quick 
jerk and a turn of the reel told me that a fish, 
not a snag, had possession of the hook, and I 
commenced to pull in. Had the fish been lightly 
hooked, it would have been lost, for I had to 
pull it around the bend in the stream, then reel 
in before it could be dragged upon the bank. 
Compared with the other fish caught, this one 
was a monster, measuring a little over eleven 
inches in length. It proved to be the largest 
fish taken on the trip. 
Happy Valley certainly lives up to its name. 
Our stay there was undisturbed by visitors or 
any unpleasant circumstances. An hour's fish¬ 
ing each day furnished all the trout we could 
eat, and another hour sufficed for all the work 
that was necessary, such as caring for the horses 
and bringing in the wood. Charles and I demon¬ 
strated our ability as cooks, and gave the fraus 
their first taste of real flapjacks. Both had heard 
of flapjack flipping, but that was the first time 
either had seen these camp necessities turned 
without the aid of knife or pancake turner. 
It is surprising to note the number of in¬ 
teresting oddities in nature that one can see 
when on a trip of this kind. While fishing near 
camp one day I frightened a bird from a tall 
clump of grass, and her antics led me to believe 
that she had just flown from a nest. Carefully 
brushing aside the grass with my hand 1 dis¬ 
covered that the nest was there, with three eggs 
in it, but in turn I was startled to hear a dull 
buzzing sound apparently right under me. My 
first thought was of rattlers, and I jumped back. 
No snake was in sight. I moved the grass with 
my foot and again the noise, this time louder 
than before. Becoming bolder, I investigated 
more carefully and discovered to my surprise 
that the bird nest was built on top of a bumble 
bee nest. Before breaking camp I again visited 
the nest and found two baby birds, with a third 
attempting to get out of the shell. The bees 
probably became accustomed to the presence of 
the mother bird and left the family in undis¬ 
puted possession of their home. 
Another time I was surprised to see a large 
gray mouse come running by, evidently in great 
distress, with a baby mouse held in her mouth, 
and two others clinging desperately to her 
udders! At sight of me she gave a quick leap, 
dislodging one of the young ones, and made her 
way into a home in the sod. I toyed with the 
little fellow for a time, and then picked it up 
to place it near the hole where the old mouse 
disappeared. It emitted a series of faint squeaks, 
these being loud enough to be heard by the 
mother, who issued her head from the hole and 
looked at me appealingly. Lowering the baby 
mouse to the ground I held it in my hand about 
four inches from the hole. It began to squeal 
again, and the mother came forth cautiously and 
took possession of her baby. 
My friend, Fred Goble, tells of an experi¬ 
ence he had last summer while fishing on the 
river near Cromberg. He was seated on a rock 
at the water's edge when a large tree squirrel 
came out of the brush behind him and ran to 
a sandy bar probably ten feet away. The squir¬ 
rel looked across the river, dipped its front 
paws into the water after the fashion of a man 
about to enter a stream of cold water for a 
swim, and prepared to start for the other side. 
At this point Goble coughed, the squirrel turned, 
and for the first time saw him. For a moment 
the two looked at each other, then the squirrel 
waded into the stream, arched its tail above its 
back, spread its front legs before it, aitd swam 
out lustily. A landing was safely made a short 
distance down stream. After a pause and a 
shake of its wet fur the tree climber disappeared 
in the dense forest on the other side of the river. 
There are a great many streams that may 
be reached by trail within a day’s journey from 
Cromberg, and some of these are but seldom 
visited. In fact, such a beautiful spot as Happy 
Valley is not visited during a whole season by 
more than half a dozen strangers, though it 
is very easy of access. The anglers and sports¬ 
men who spend a vacation in the Feather River 
country stop at the hotels near the railroad 
stations or camp in the vicinity of the lakes that 
are easily reached, so that the streams a few 
miles from the railroad are, in reality, as iso¬ 
lated as they were twenty years ago. 
I have touched upon Happy Valley rather 
than a score of other attractive places in this 
section, because I have had such splendid times 
there, yet I have found it does not always pay 
to recommend camping sites even to your friends. 
Following my first trip to this beautiful spot, 
two brothers of Mrs. Patterson and a friend 
journeyed there early in the fall for their first 
taste of outdoor life, and at a time when deer 
shooting was in order. They located the camp¬ 
ing site without difficulty, but became frightened 
during the night at the presence of some ani¬ 
mal, probably a ’coon, and fired a volley of 
shots at the intruder. The next morning they 
found that the bullets had punctured every can 
of tinned goods they had in stock, besides ruin¬ 
ing most of the camp equipment. That day rain 
commenced to fall, and the disgusted party of 
hunters made their way back to Cromberg. 
Old settlers in the Feather River country, 
and sportsmen in a position to know, declare 
that in many streams better fishing is now being 
enjoyed than was the case before the entry of 
the railroad. In the main river a hundred times 
more fish are being taken out each season than 
was ever the case before, and he is a poor fisher¬ 
man who cannot make limit catches when the 
fish are rising to the fly. This does not mean 
in one or two favored spots, but almost any¬ 
where along a hundred mile stretch of river. 
These excellent fishing conditions are due to a 
great extent to the foresight and activity of 
the State Fish and Game Commission. Long 
before the railroad was completed heavy plant¬ 
ings of fry had been made, the fish having been 
taken long distances by stages and pack train 
to reach the most advantageous locations for 
planting. 
In two counties alone in the Feather River 
country, Butte and Plumas, a total of 2,421,500 
fry have been planted during the past seven 
years, most of these during the last three years. 
Of these, 981,000 have been planted in the former 
county, and the balance in the latter, which is 
more mountainous. The plantings are divided 
into varieties as follows: Rainbow, 1,436,000; 
Eastern brook, 435,500; Loch Leven, 534,000; 
black-spotted trout, 6,000; and a few black bass. 
The distribution of fry this season will prob¬ 
ably be on a greater scale than ever before, as 
the hatch has been large, and in some other 
sections of the State the streams are too low 
to permit of satisfactory planting. 
The Feather River country has hardly been 
touched by anglers or hunters. One might spend 
an entire season in a limited district and then 
not be able to visit all of the lakes or streams 
in which fishing is to be enjoyed. The country 
is too big to ever be fished out and too rough 
to ever be overrun by visitors. 
