SPORT WITH ROD AND REEL
The three young Alaskans were all very fair masters of the art of
fishing with the fly, and now surely had excellent opportunity to
practice it. The trout and grayling were rising in scores, and for half
a mile the surface of the bright water was broken into countless rings
and ripples. Now and then some fish sprang entirely above the water.
John and Jesse took the nearer shore, while Rob hurried around over the
pole bridge at the head of the stream, just below the head spring.
"What have you got on, John?" asked Jesse.
"Jock Scott, No. 4," replied John. "Try a good big Silver Doctor; these
big fellows ought to take it."
They began to cast, trying to reach the mid-channel, where, over the
white sand of the channel, the fish were rising most vigorously. All at
once Jesse gave an exclamation.
"Wow! Look at that, hey?"
His fly had been taken by a great fish which had made for it a dozen
feet away. The rod went up into an arch. Again and again the fish
sprang high above the water, four, five, six times, one leap after
another; and then came a long, steady savage run which carried Jesse
down along the bank, following the fish. He had all he could do to
master the powerful fish, but, keeping on a steady pressure, he at last
got him close inshore, where John netted him.
"That's a steelhead--that's why he's such a jumper!" exclaimed John.
"Well done, Jess!" exclaimed John, holding up the splendid fish to view.
"Six pounds, if he's an ounce!"
A sudden shout from Rob, across the water, called their attention. He
also was playing a heavy fish, which broke water again and again.
"What you got, Rob?" called John.
"Rainbow!" answered Rob, across the stream. "He's a buster, too!" And
truly it was a fine one, for that night it weighed five and
three-quarter pounds.
"Hurry, John--your turn now!" shouted Jess. "They're the fightingest
fish you ever saw."
John began casting, while Jesse watched, working his fly to where he saw
a heavy fish moving. An instant and he struck, the reel screeching as
the fish made its run. This time the fish did not jump, but played deep,
boring and surging, but at last John conquered it and Jesse slipped the
net under it.
"My! It's just like a big brook trout," said he. "I'll bet he'll go over
five pounds."
"No," said John, sagely. "That's a Dolly Varden--looks a lot like a
brook trout, but look at the blue ring around the red spots. They fight
deep--don't jump like a rainbow. But the steelhead out jumps them all!
Did you ever see such fishing! This beats the Arctic trout on Rat
Portage."
They followed down the pond made by the dam, and literally one or other
of the three was all the time playing a fish, and they all ran very
large. When at last they answered the supper horn, Rob had five fish,
John four, and Jesse two--the last a fine, fat grayling, the first he
had ever taken below the Arctic Circle.
Uncle Dick's eyes opened very wide. "Well, Billy," said he, "you've made
good! I never saw so many big trout taken that soon in any water I ever
knew!"
"They get a lot of feed in that stream," said Billy. "The watercress
holds a lot of stuff they eat, and there must be minnows in there, too.
I've heard lots of men say that, for big fish, this beats any water they
ever knew."
"Oh, maybe they don't run as big as they did," said Mrs. Culver; "I've
known several rainbows over ten pounds taken here. One gentleman came
for specimens to mount, and he caught a five-pound rainbow, but his
friend made him throw it back because it was too little. Then they
fished two days and didn't get any more rainbow at all; they're so
savage, I think they get caught first. But you've got some good ones,
haven't you? Well, I like to see a person have some sport when he comes
here."
"How long have you lived here, Mrs. Culver?" asked Billy, that night at
the dinner table.
"Oh, all my life, it seems," she laughed. "I was here early, in the
'nineties, when Mr. Brower came to get to the head of Hell Roaring. That
was in 1895. He and my husband, Mr. William N. Culver, and Mr. Isaac
Jacques went up there horseback. They called that Hell Roaring Canyon
then, and I think most folks do yet, though Mr. Brower as a scientific
explorer said he would call it Culver Canyon after that. He did, but his
story of the exploration never got to be very widely known. I guess they
were the first to get to the head, except Indians. The government
surveyors never followed out the river above Upper Red Rock Lake.
"They made two tries at it. The first time was August 5, 1895. They left
their horses and waded up the creek, till they came to a perpendicular
rock across the canyon. It was hard going, so they turned back that day.
"On August 29th they tried it again. They went up Horse Camp Creek and
left their horses at the foot of Hanson Mountain, and took one pack
horse and cut across over Hanson Mountain and then went down into the
Hell Roaring Creek; but they had to leave their pack horse then. Beyond
that they took to the stream bed on foot, and this time they got up on
top and followed the creek to its source.
"They came back all excited, saying they were the first ever to follow
the Missouri to its head. They named a little lake, up near the summit,
in a marshy flat, Lilian Lake, after me. Just a little way beyond that
they found a big saucer-like spot in the round little hole up
there--peaks all around it, like it had sunk down. Well, out of that
circular marsh the creek comes. That's the head--the utmost source. The
snow from the peaks feeds into that cup, or rather saucer, up on top,
back of Mount Jefferson.
"I don't think they went as far toward the actual head as I did myself,
for it was late and they had their horses to find. Now on September 26,
1895, I rode horseback up in there with Mr. Allen, and we rode right on
up over Hanson, and down into Hell Roaring, and beyond where they left
their pack horse. We rode almost all the way, and got into that Hole in
the Mountains, as Mr. Brower calls the depressed valley up on top. But
we rode on clear past it, three miles, and found the creek plain that
far.
"Almost up to the top of the divide, the creek turns northeast. It comes
out from under a big black rock, near a clump of balsam--like my spring
here, only not so big. Mr. Brower and Mr. Culver had marked a rock and
put down a copper plate for their discovery. I had a tin plate, and I
scratched my name and the date on that. There wasn't any mark of anyone
else there, and we were quite beyond the place where Mr. Brower stopped.
So maybe I am the first person, certainly the first woman, to see the
real upper spring of the Missouri River.
"Now here I am, all alone in the world, as you see. Would you like to
see my pressed flowers and my other things?"
The young explorers looked at the tiny, thin little old lady with
reverence, and did not say anything for a long time, before they began
to look at the treasured belongings of the faraway cabin home.
"Do you boys want to go up?" she asked, after a time.
"We came for that," said Rob.
"You couldn't climb up the canyon all the way, maybe. Do you think you
could get up over the mountain, the way we did?"
"You don't know these boys," remarked Uncle Dick to her. "They're old
mountain climbers and can go anywhere."
"They'd want a guide, and I couldn't go, now. And they'd want horses."
"Well, we'll leave out the guide, and we could leave out the horses,
like enough, for we can go to the foot of the mountain in the car. But
on the whole I can think we'll ride up, for a change."
"You can get horses down at the ranch a little way. I have none here
now."
"All right. To-morrow we'll outfit for the climb."
"Well, I rode all the way. Now you go on the shoulder of this mountain
back of us, above the spring, and work up the best you can, but keep
your eye on Jefferson. Get up right high, before you head across to the
canyon of the Missouri, so you can be above the high cliff that you
can't get over in the bed of the stream. Then you go down in the canyon
and cross, best you can, and then ride up on the far side, and then work
off for the top of Jefferson.
"You'll know the little bowl on top the mountain. That's the top sponge.
But the real head stream is even beyond that. You'll find my tin plate
there, I guess, with my name and date.
"I'm glad you had some good fishing here. We'll have some of your trout
for breakfast. The feather beds are made from wild-goose and duck
feathers. It's been a great country for them."