“What are you fellows laughing about?” asked Bill. “I caught the fish,
didn’t I?”
“Bring it into shore,” said Sam.
Bob Finch was as much in the dark as to the cause of the merriment as
was Bill. Bill tried to reel in his line, but the fish would not
respond. He fought against every move on Bill’s part. Bill soon saw
that he had a task in front of him. The fish was snagged in the middle
of the body and, accordingly, could use all its power against the pull
on the line. If he pulled hard against the fish, he would break his
line or snap his rod. If he didn’t pull, the fish would run downstream
and take the line with him.
It seemed as if every move that he made was anticipated by the fish.
Try as he would, he could not get that fish closer to shore. It was
about twenty feet from him when he snagged it, and it was still twenty
feet away. The fish started to run and Bill gave a yank on the line.
The rod bent almost double and then the tip broke with a snap.
“Bring him in,” yelled Earl between peals of laughter.
“Don’t let him get away,” yelled Sam.
“I thought that you said he was a she,” said Bill.
“We must have made a mistake,” said Earl. “You have snagged the
largest buck salmon in the stream. You have to bring him in now or you
will lose your rod and line.”
It was all clear to Bill now. They had picked out the largest buck
that they could see and had him cast the hook to catch it. They knew
that the chances were ten to one against his landing it. Bill made up
his mind that he would bring that fish into shore even if he broke
every section of his rod.
It was not such an easy job, but little by little he worked that buck
salmon into shore. The closer it came, the more astonished he was that
he could move it in the water. Finally he had it in close enough for
Bob to catch in his hands. Bob picked up the struggling fish and was
covered with a shower of water.
“What shall I do with it?” asked Bob.
“Take out the hook and throw it back,” said Earl. “We can’t get any
eggs from him.”
Bob released the fish and it went scurrying through the water to join
the numerous others which were moving upstream.
“You did better than most of the other tenderfeet who come up here,”
said Earl. “Ordinarily they break their rods and lose their lines and
never bring the fish anywhere near the shore. You landed your fish and
you ought to be proud of it. We will get a boat here and go fishing.”
They walked a short distance down the river and came to a place where
a boat was tied up to shore. A man was standing by the boat.
“Tom,” said Sam, “drive the car down to the highway bridge. We will
meet you there some time this afternoon. Did you bring the rifle?”
“Here it is, Sam,” replied Tom.
“We’ll see you later then,” said Sam.
“What are you going to do with the rifle?” asked Bob after they had
started to float down the river.
“Get some salmon eggs for bait,” replied Sam.
“You can’t fool me again,” said Bill. “I’ll let Bob shoot the salmon
eggs.”
“This is no joke this time,” said Earl. “It is the easiest way to get
them.”
“Do you want to shoot first, Bob?” asked Sam.
“I’ll bite, but what do I shoot at?” asked Bob.
“I’ll pick out the fish and you shoot it,” said Sam.
He handed Bob the rifle and pointed to a fish near the boat.
“Get that one,” he said.
The fish was within four feet of the boat. It seemed to Bob that he
could touch it with the muzzle of the rifle. He aimed at the fish and
fired. Just where the bullet went was a mystery to him. The fish never
even budged from its position. One thing was certain: he had not made
a hit.
“I aimed right at that fish,” said Bob, “but never hit it. Are there
any bullets in the gun?”
“Look at this one before you load,” said Sam as he handed Bob a
cartridge.
Bob examined the cartridge. Apparently it was all right. Once again he
aimed at the fish and fired. Another miss. Bill was just as mystified
as Bob. There was no doubt that the bullet went into the water, but it
certainly did not hit that fish.
“Let me try it,” said Bill.
Bob handed the rifle to Bill and sat down to watch the proceeding.
Bill loaded the rifle and took careful aim. The boat was steady, so
that there was no reason why he should not make a hit. He aimed right
at the fish and carefully squeezed the trigger. He watched expectantly
for the fish to show some signs of being hit, but it didn’t.
“Give me the rifle,” said Earl.
Earl took the rifle and apparently did not aim at all. He fired, and
almost immediately the fish began to struggle in the water and then
floated to the surface. Sam pulled it into the boat.
“Now you see that it can be done quite easily,” said Sam.
“It’s easy enough if you know how,” replied Bill. “One thing is sure:
either we have phony ammunition or we don’t know how.”
“You are absolutely right, it is easy enough if you know how,” said
Earl. “It’s like cutting a pencil with a dollar bill. Everything is
not done exactly the way it looks. Maybe the pencil is actually cut
with the dollar bill and maybe it isn’t. The chances are ten to one
that it isn’t, but it looks as if it was during the act. You don’t aim
at where the fish seems to be, for it isn’t there. The water makes it
look where it isn’t. Accordingly, you must shoot where the fish really
is, and not where it appears to be.”
“Take this oar and put the end in the water. Now does it look
straight? No. It appears to be bent. The water causes the light rays
to change their angle and you always see a thing much closer to the
surface than it really is. Therefore you must aim under the object
which you expect to hit.”
“I should have known that,” said Bill. “That is simple physics, but I
never thought of it.”
“We have the salmon eggs and now can start fishing,” said Sam.
They cut open the salmon and took out the eggs. They put them into a
can and then rowed the boat out into the center of the river. Here
they allowed the boat to drift while they fixed their lines and baited
their hooks. It was a most pleasant way to fish. There was no labor
connected with it. The boat floated slowly down the stream with the
lines drifting behind.
It had been drizzling slightly ever since they had been out, but so
much of interest had happened that neither Bill nor Bob had noticed
the rain. Occasionally someone would get a strike. They had caught
several small trout, but no large ones. Earl was the first to get a
real strike.
“Reel in your lines, for I have a fish that is a fish,” he cried
suddenly.
Sam was not fishing at the time and he took hold of the oars so that
he could maneuver the boat while Earl played the fish. Bill and Bob
were trying so hard to reel in their lines that they snarled them.
Everything was in a mess, but Earl managed to keep the fish out of the
tangled lines. It began to look as if the tangled lines might have to
be cut. Sam could not always move the boat so that the fish would
clear them, and Earl could not play his fish to keep it clear forever.
“What’s the matter?” asked Sam. “Can’t you get your lines in?”
“We have them untangled now,” said Bill as he started to reel in
again.
It was quite evident that Earl had quite a large fish on his line. It
played around the boat in large circles. Once it ran right at the boat
and Sam was quite busy keeping the boat in such a position that it
would not run under the keel. If it had done that, the chances were
that the line would have parted or the leaders broken.
Finally Earl brought the fish up to the side of the boat.
“Where’s the net?” asked Bill.
“We don’t need a net,” said Sam. “That’s what we brought the rifle
for. See if you can hit it.”
Once again Bill took the rifle and aimed at the new target. It was not
as large as the salmon, but it was a magnificent trout. Bill aimed at
a point about four inches below the trout and fired—another miss.
“This fish is closer to the surface,” said Sam. “Wait until it stops
moving so rapidly and try again.”
This time Bill did not aim so much below and when he fired the fish
came to the surface, belly up.
“Now you see that there’s no, trick to it, don’t you?” said Earl. “All
you have to do is to aim where the fish is and not where it isn’t.”
So the morning was spent, drifting slowly down the Umpqua River. The
forest fires, the fight for their lives in the clouds the day before,
the other troubles which had bothered them during the routine
performance of their duties, the drizzle which made them wetter and
wetter, were all forgotten.
“How about pulling in for this island for lunch?” asked Earl as they
came abreast of a large island in the river.
“I am ready to eat,” said Sam. “How about the rest of you fellows?”
“I am ready any time,” said Bill and Bob together.
A fire on the shore in the lee of a large tree trunk, baked potatoes,
roasted corn, Earl swinging a steak—what more could a man desire? No
wonder Sam liked the outdoor life in the woods. They had not seen
anyone but their own party since leaving the shore near the hatchery.
It was like being out in the wilderness.
After lunch they fished for a while from the shore of the island and
then continued their trip down the river. Bill realized that the
salmon were not as numerous in the water as they had been near the
hatchery.
“Where have all the salmon gone?” he asked.
“This is the first part of the run,” said Sam. “The racks cause a
block in the river and there is a congestion at that point. A little
later, if there is a large run this year, the river will be full of
them all the way up to the hatchery. There’s the bridge ahead of us. I
guess that our day’s sport is over.”
“I am of the opinion that we have had about enough,” said Earl. “I am
soaked through, and as I have no other clothes with me, I will have to
go to bed until these dry.”
“It will be about time to go to bed anyhow when we get to the hotel,
so what’s the difference?” said Sam.
They reached the bridge and shoved the nose of the boat ashore. Tom
was waiting with the automobile. They had caught a fine lot of fish.
The catch included steelhead, rainbow and salmon trout. The largest
was a fine fat fellow, twenty-three inches long, which weighed about
six pounds.
“I think that we ought to move the squadron up here for station,” said
Bill after they reached the hotel. “It’s much more fun going down the
Umpqua River in a boat than being hauled out of the cold waters of the
Pacific by the crew of an Artillery tug.”