July, 1918 
FOREST 
AND STREAM 
411 
THE PARADISE OF ALL TROUT FISHERMEN 
THE UPPER PECOS, WHERE THE WEST IS NOWHERE WILDER AND WHERE 
A MEAL LIES A-BASKING AND AWAITING THE MERE CASTING OF A BAIT 
I T matters not a jot how steeped you are 
in every angle of the angler’s art. Nor 
does it matter whether your specialty is 
pot-setting off the shores of Cuttyhunk, 
bass-baiting from the fisherman’s yawls of 
Provincetown, or deep-woods trouting in 
the wilds of plenteous 
Maine. You will in¬ 
stantly admit, as an 
adept in the fine art 
of fishing, that there 
is no more skillful 
manceuvering to be 
found in all the realm 
of Fishdom than that 
to be found in the 
trailing of that wiliest 
of all Pisces, the brook 
or mountain trout. 
We had trailed trus 
tempting morsel in the 
wilderness of Maine. 
We had penetrated into 
the mountain streams 
of other Eastern fish¬ 
ing grounds. Some¬ 
what satiated with the 
regulation adventures 
offered by these quite 
conventionally s u r - 
rounded trout haunts, 
we planned out a 
unique motor trip 
which should not only re-discover Amer¬ 
ican-made scenic marvels but likewise 
nose out a few of the famous wild haunts 
for American trout. And nowhere in the 
United States, perhaps with the exception 
of the Yellowstone, is a wilder known 
aquarium penetrable than that which dwells 
under the brilliant skies of New Mexico. 
Accordingly, after we had made the mo¬ 
tor run of three-quarters of a continent, we 
were suddenly plunged into the great 
Southwest, into that mystic land of the an¬ 
cient pueblo and the Mexican adobe. And 
the landscape which was bearing us to that 
Mecca of all fishing, the far-famed Pecos 
river, was as strange as a bit of far Cas- 
tilia or some even more Occidental bit of 
the Orient. As we left Las Vegas our rad¬ 
iator browsed through a land of deep arro- 
yos, or sand gulches, of scrubby and plenti¬ 
fully sprinkled cedars, of winding trails and 
infrequent mud houses. For this is the set¬ 
ting which the great Southwest rolls out 
on all sides as a fitting introduction to her 
marvellous trout stream. 
For the first time in the history of our 
journey we got beautifully,'charmingly, and 
most completely lost. We had just passed 
by Bernal and Doretta in a wild and rugged 
country where curious Indians peek out at 
one like the leading characters in some un¬ 
believable primitive play, when we came to 
a fork in the sandy road. Unfortunately 
Mexicans and Indians tear down sign-posts 
as fast as they are raised, for both these 
races are still strongly superstitious in the 
wilder districts. Even now they get nut 
By FLORENCE M. PETTEE 
of the field of the camera’s finder as fast 
as they can skulk; feeling that they’re being 
spied on by an “evil eye.” These forked 
roads looked equally well defined, so we 
supposed they both led to Pecos—that is, 
the village of Pecos, if a group of half a 
dozen adobes may be called a village. The 
reason for this supposition on our part was 
due to our many experiences in finding just 
such newer cross-cuts always leading back 
into the same road again. So we struck to 
the left, since we imagined this looked a bit 
better. Soon the road dropped out of sight 
into the bed of a deep gulch or arroyo. 
This we traversed in its lowest strata for 
some hundreds of yards. Then we came 
up to earth again onto a path which trailed 
about like a cat chasing its tail. A strong 
suspicion came that this wild trail could 
scarcely be the better route, and that we 
had best turn about. But just then, dead 
ahead, we discovered a few low adobes 
doubtlessly constituting a pueblo or Indian 
village. So we went on adventuring. It 
was a down-at-the-heels pueblo, of cracking 
mud or infrequent red chilis strung from 
the roof, and of sparser inhabitants. Only 
two squaws appeared to contemplate our 
modern steel horse in none too friendly 
fashion. To the older we shouted one 
word, “Pecos” pointing ahead. The old 
woman remained stolid, but the other with 
a dramatic gesture pointed back across a 
spur track. On this track was a small 
shanty with a huge tank, undoubtedly a fill¬ 
ing station for one of the Santa Fe roads. 
Later the sign “Ribera” on this shack 
proved the correctness of our surmise. 
But to our dismay, the road, or burro 
path, led through an ambitious river which 
later proved to be our first introduction to 
the Pecos which we sought to fish. How¬ 
ever, it was obvious that we were destined 
to ford it by auto before we could ever cast 
a bait into its farther and more prepossess¬ 
ing waters. We learned from the tank 
keeper that by fording this deep stream we 
could sooner regain the main road which 
we had lost, and which was safely bridged 
over the Pecos— there. 
We plunged in and 
the water gurgled 
merrily over the run¬ 
ning board and 
swished high on the 
body of the car. It 
was a memorable in¬ 
troduction which this 
river extended, for 
why under the canopy 
of the brilliant New 
Mexican skies w e 
neither got stuck nor 
stalled by a wet igni¬ 
tion system was be¬ 
yond us. As last we 
regained the Post road 
and entered Pecos at 
sundown. Here is one 
commodious adobe- 
ranch, placed in a set¬ 
ting of Mexican and 
Indian dwellings. Here 
the village, store-ga¬ 
rage-office offers ac¬ 
commodations for 
travelers. And here we selected a choice¬ 
ly jointed bamboo pole, with a rqel, and 
the proper species of Mexican trout flies. 
These resembled red-bodied mosquitoes. 
We quite ignored our humbler equipment, 
since these accessories are offered the 
adobe guests gratuitously. 
T HE next morning we set out, taking 
, the precaution to see the sun high, 
for New Mexican trout are hot-house 
creatures, which rise to the surface to bite 
only when the sun has thoroughly warmed 
the waters. This upper part of the Pecos 
River offered some contrast to its lower 
relation which we had forded at Ribera. 
In all our journeyings, either abroad or in 
our own United States, it is difficult to find 
a more unique and picturesque stream. It 
is beautifully shaded by frequent trees, and 
the eddying pools of its habitable waters 
with uprooted stumps, overhanging banks, 
and moss encrusted logs offer an ideal re¬ 
sort for thousands of trout. And the Gov¬ 
ernment augments this natural condition by 
annually restocking the river. 
As we crept quietly through the long 
grass and the shading trees to find some 
summer boarding house for trout, far down 
the stream infrequent Mexicans and Indians 
waded their burroes through the waters, 
ignoring the log bridge above. We found 
an enticing spot, and cast far over into its 
blackness our slender lines. We waited 
quietly in the balmy air where no mosqui¬ 
toes and other insects gnaw away the pleas- 
(CONTINUED ON PAGE 4311 
Far downstream Mexicans waded their burroes through the water 
