14 
FOREST AND STREAM 
January, 1918 
thest down of the series and the highest 
of all, but the path was blocked here. We 
attempted to climb out through a likely 
looking chimney, but after getting almost 
to the top found that the last few feet 
were composed of rock that threatened to 
fall at any time and returned the way we 
had come down. 
As the closed season was still on we 
were compelled to confine’ our inspection 
of the golden trout to those we could coax 
into view in the still pools. The pools be¬ 
tween the falls were full of trout and they 
rose readily to the surface whenever we 
threw in a grasshopper or any other in¬ 
sect, the rich cadmium of the belly being 
plainly discernible as they leaped for the 
food. We longed for the season to open. 
Following a week’s stay at Camp Lewis 
we decided that the time had come for the 
trip to Mount Whitney and accordingly 
started off up the canyon, leaving our be¬ 
longings behind, except those of a neces¬ 
sary nature. The food selected was of 
the most concentrated and nutritious kind, 
rice, cornmeal, Erbswurst, dried milk and 
egg, chocolate, bacon, hardtack and de¬ 
hydrated vegetables. Everything was 
wrapped in our sleeping bags and tied be¬ 
hind our saddles, for both of us were to 
ride on this part of the trip. 
The most wonderful part of the Kern 
Canyon lies between the Funston Meadows, 
a few miles above Camp Lewis, and Junc¬ 
tion Meadows, where it virtually comes 
to an end. The walls rise higher and 
higher as you follow the stream toward its 
source and the coloring becomes more 
vivid. On the east side two streams of 
importance come tumbling out of the sky, 
Rock Creek and Whitney Creek, the latter 
rising at the great mountain of that name. 
Both of these streams have been stocked 
with golden trout and are now fairly alive 
with fish which have grown to a larger 
size than in their native home a few miles 
Half mile waterfall above Funston’s 
away, and at the same time re¬ 
tained their wonderful color¬ 
ing. Golden Trout Creek, Rock 
Creek and Whitney Creek are 
the three streams that enter 
the Kern Canyon from the 
east and make up the list of 
those in which golden trout 
are plentiful, although they are 
to be found in the South Fork 
of the Kern and in streams re¬ 
cently stocked by the Fish and 
Game Commission. They are 
admirably suited for the pur¬ 
pose, being at the high eleva¬ 
tion required by this trout, 
protected from the invasion of 
river fish by impassable water¬ 
falls and located in a wild sec¬ 
tion of the mountains visited 
by but few fishermen. 
Two days after leaving 
Camp Lewis we were at Crab¬ 
tree Meadows at the base of 
Mount Whitney, with snow 
and ice all around us, and ex¬ 
perienced the joy of waking 
next morning and finding our 
mush bowl, which we had left 
filled with water the night be¬ 
fore, full of ice. We made 
the ascent of the mountain 
without any trouble, left our ^ 
names on the highest point in 
the United States, outside of 
Alaska, enjoyed the panorama of snow¬ 
capped peaks stretching away as far as 
the eye could reach, and returned to camp 
in time to feed the golden trout in Whit¬ 
ney Creek and the crystal-clear and cold 
lakes that form its source. 
The next day we started homeward, cut¬ 
ting across the high plateau toward the 
headwaters of Golden Trout Creek, going 
through Guyot Pass and crossing Rock 
Creek, which flows through a deep canyon 
very suggestive of the name 
of the stream. The Siberian 
Outposts, also appropriately 
named, were traversed and to¬ 
ward evening we came to the 
great meadow in which Golden 
Trout Creek has its source, 
passing the headwaters of this 
stream and finding fish even 
in the springs from which 
the river rises. 
We spent that night at the 
Big Whitney Meadows and 
found a stockman there who 
insisted on presenting us with 
a huge beefsteak, a pan of bis¬ 
cuits and a dish of canned 
pears, a veritable feast for us. 
Next morning we returned the 
compliment by cooking break¬ 
fast, which he seemed to ap¬ 
preciate very highly. 
We had timed our visit to 
this stream so as to be on hand 
for the opening of the fishing 
season, which was on August 
first in 1916, but which has 
since been set ahead a month, 
and planned to go only as far 
as Long Meadow that day, a 
journey of but a few hours. 
The trail follows the stream 
closely and for at least five 
miles there is scarcely any 
Camp brush, the water coming down 
healthy “baby” Sequoia Gigantea 
over granite boulders placed almost as 
regularly as the rounds of a ladder, form¬ 
ing the finest place imaginable in which 
to fish. Had we desired we could have 
undoubtedly taken the limit of twenty 
without dismounting from our mules. 
About four miles below the meadows the 
South Fork of the Kern River approaches 
very closely to Golden Trout Creek and 
is separated from that stream by an allu¬ 
vial bank not more than forty feet in 
height. At one time these streams were 
probably joined as there are golden trout 
in each of them, although they differ 
enough to be called different species. We 
stopped to lift a fish from the South Fork 
and found that it was spotted, with the 
belly a rich orange, while those in the 
other stream are almost free from spots 
and the belly is a rich cadmium. Years 
ago irrigationists cut a tunnel through the 
dividing bank and diverted the water from 
Golden Trout Creek, but this has long 
since caved in. 
That afternoon, after we had made camp 
at Long Meadow, we had a genuine scare 
and at the same time were treated to an 
example of devotion on the part of one of 
the mules. Jack refused to eat and 
stretched out on the meadow at full length, 
as though dead. Becky was deeply af¬ 
fected and stood for at least two hours 
near her partner without eating a bite and 
never once taking her eyes from him. After 
a time Jack arose and proceeded to eat 
as though nothing unusual had happened 
and Becky lost no time in joining him. 
We concluded that he had simply been 
taking a rest. 
The next morning we were out early 
and as soon as a fire had been built we 
made for the creek to catch our first mess 
of golden trout. A pool directly in front 
of the camp, from which we had been se¬ 
curing water, yielded eight fish, which rose 
eagerly to a black ant fly, despite the fact 
