12 
FOREST AND STREAM 
January, 1918 
Commencing the ascent of Mount Whitney late in July 
apologies enough, offered to help us find a 
good camping place, and finally disappeared 
down the trail tipping his hat at every 
turn. This was the only approach toward 
discourtesy we met with on the entire 
trip of four weeks in a lonely country. 
C AMP Lewis is a delightful spot in 
the very heart of the Kern Canyon, 
with river, lake and small stream 
fishing near at hand, 
plenty of horse feed and 
several peaks more than 
thirteen thousand feet 
in height within a few 
miles to test the mettle 
of the mountain climber. 
Of late years a store has 
been conducted there 
during the summer 
months by Jules Con- 
terno, a mountaineer 
whose knowledge of the 
Far West and whose 
affability makes him an 
interesting character. 
Within sight of this 
camp Golden Trout 
Creek comes tumbling 
down the east wall of 
the canyon in a series 
of picturesque water¬ 
falls, making a drop of 
sixteen hundred feet in 
the last two miles of its course. On the 
west side Coyote Creek empties into the 
river almost directly at the camp, a stream 
but little smaller than Golden Trout Creek, 
while two miles up the river Laurel Creek 
pours over the western 
rim of the canyon. Di¬ 
rectly opposite the camp 
Tower Rock looms al- 
m o s t perpendicularly 
over the river, a sym¬ 
metrical pile that rises 
more than two thousand 
feet above the water and 
a monument that can be 
seen throughout the 
length of this remark¬ 
ably straight canyon, or 
for more than twenty 
miles. 
We selected a camp 
site near the soda spring 
taking possession of an 
abandoned camp, com¬ 
plete with tables, fire¬ 
places, fir beds and other 
mountain luxuries. 
There were but few 
people around the camp 
and we soon became known as “those two 
gals”—the objects of kindly curiosity. 
We had heard of Kern River fishing 
long before we started on our trip and 
soon found that the reports had not been 
exaggerated. There was 
no trouble in getting all 
the trout we could use 
and often we caught 
some for the camp, 
when the folks there did 
not care to go fishing. 
Probably we would have 
tired of fish as an article 
of diet had we not pre¬ 
pared them in so many 
different ways; frying 
them in oil or bacon 
grease, baking them with 
onions and tomato sauce, 
making trout chowder, 
broiling the large ones 
over the coals on a wire 
standard, and, away from 
camp, broiling the small¬ 
er ones on hot stones. 
We had not been in 
camp long before we 
were let into a deep secret by the ge¬ 
nial Jules Conterno. He described in de¬ 
tail a hole in Kern Lake where he declared 
that the fish family made its home, but to 
reach it he said that we would have to 
cross the river. Bridge there was none, 
but he told us that he had that day felled 
two trees across the stream near the camp 
and was building a footbridge, adding that 
it was even now in shape to be crossed. 
The next morning we were up early, 
and, after digging a can of worms for 
bait, made our way to the crossing. The 
logs were there as described, with the 
river, lashed into foam a hundred feet 
wide, racing beneath them. At first we 
decided to stay at home, but soon mus¬ 
tered courage to get on the wet logs and 
finally got across by sitting down and 
sliding foot by foot, a most ungraceful 
performance, but one that landed us safely 
on the other side. The walk to the lake 
was over a very rough trail, but we ar¬ 
rived at the big hole before the first rays 
of the sun had struck the water. 
This hole is near the lower end of the 
lake and would be passed ordinarily, as a 
low fringe of willows conceals it. While 
these interfere with casting, and with the 
landing of fish, they serve the purpose of 
a hiding place, as the water is very clear. 
Scarcely had I thrown my baited hook 
into this pool than it was seized by a big 
trout and my reel was humming. I ex¬ 
citedly cleared a place in the willows and 
prepared for the tussle that I felt was 
coming. I was not mistaken, for suddenly 
the fish leaped out of the water and shook 
his head as though in anger. Fortunately 
I saw him break and handed him a little 
slack line in time. Six times during the 
next fifteen minutes this was repeated, on 
several occasions after I thought I had him 
in the net, but finally he allowed himself 
to be reeled in and netted without a strug¬ 
gle, so completely exhausted was he. It 
was the largest fish I had ever caught, 
measuring twenty inches in length and 
weighing three pounds. 
S PORT was good, but all we caught 
that morning were not big ones, so 
when lunch time approached Katie 
suggested that we broil some of the smaller 
ones with the bacon we had brought along. 
After some search we located two flat 
rocks ^nd placed one above the other, with 
small stones in between at the corners to 
hold them about five inches apart. A great 
pile of wood was then built up around 
them and a fire started. 
While the rocks were heating we cleaned 
ten small fish and then explored the lower 
end of the lake, the formation of which 
we were familiar with, having the infor¬ 
mation in our notebook, compiled from 
Government maps before we left home. 
The lake, which is about a mile in length, 
was formed in 1868, when a cloudburst 
brought an immense amount of debris 
down a ravine on the east side, blocking 
the river and inundating a flat and a 
meadow to a depth of from ten to twenty 
feet which forms the present lake. 
On returning to the fire we found that 
it had burned low, so scraped away the 
embers and dusted the ashes from between 
the rocks as well as we could. Strips of 
bacon, impaled on willows, were then 
thrust between the hot rocks and were soon 
sizzling in great style. The fish were then 
One of “those two gals” fishing on Coyote Creek 
The store conducted by Jules Conterno at Camp Lewis 
