The Hood River glacier. (Hood River, Or.) 1889-1933, 1912-06-20

The amateur fisherman. standing At
the bottom Of the falls, looking up the
roaring cascades, was seized with an
irresistible impulse TO seek the pools
az the very top Of the gorge. Inc
only way TO reach the coveted position
was by a tsrtuous path along the steep
hillside above the precipitous canYcl
Of the creek, and the way was covered
over with the foliage Of bushes heavy
with the rain water, that only awaited
q touch 20 make it come qulVefihg
down upon the adyenturer. The end Of
the journey, however, stopped abrupt
. ly at the edge Of miniature prCclPicei
. the bottom of which was 20 feet away
down by the waters edge, with the
spray from the topmust falls spstief-
. ing on the pebbles there. The anna
teur fisherman, imagining be saw
Dolly Warden amidst the Whirilng wat
ers of the pool, eascd himself oven the
crags and with bis ingertips graspne
/ the edge, dropped 10 the water. ne
ended up by sitting 10 pool ice colo,
. bis fishing rod broken and drops OF
blood lrckling from bis hand lt was
so coufounded funny that be had To
. laugh. If there had been any sunshine,
I he would have dotted the garments ana
I beaten the water from them on @ rock
after which, while he imagined himself
a satyr, the sun might have dried the
pants. But the way Of retreat was
the most important thing before hlm
gt that moment. He arose from the
water, shiyered, sWore softly, for fear
Of frightening the nymphs Of the
falls. and scrutiuizel the route Cf bis
tumble. II was impossible 60 climb up
that slick basaIt. and he didn't even
try il. Instead a slightly less straight
up" way led to the top of the canyon
on the other side. He struck boldly
across the stream, and after falling
down but once on the waterW0rn rocks,
crept silently out among the bushes.
Yet the day had its pleasures. II
you don believe It, Try rainy day
for a fishing trip sometime. Let your
companions have about thirty nice
brook trout all ready for the frying
pan, after you have returned from the
adventure Of an attempt to break your
neck climbing like a mountain sheep
over places that we're never intended
for the feet of fishermen; not even
fool would rush into them, much less an
angel An old tin bucket, plucked
from a hobo camp is bubbling over
with boiling coffee The od0r OF the
coffee, perhaps it. would be more
proper to say aroma, kind Of makes
your stomach feel like an inflated bal |
loon. The rest of You dOesn 'ht amount /
to anything and as for your soul, it |
has melted, really and not fguratively, |
long ago.
You come strolling INTO camp non
trying not TO be self-cOn-
3cious, trying not to feel the cool,
.lammy touch of your undergarments
as they suck at your skin in different
ipots as you walk You imagine you
ook like a cockerel that has attempted
o fly across a lake and failed and you
eel as you imagine he feels when he
eturns to the barnyard and has turned
pon him the look of the old hens,
oosters and pullets.
But seated before the hot blaze that
putters, when the rain drops pelt |
trough the leaves of the maple upon !
!, with the steam arising from the
et garments. steaming cup of mud :
y, and yet thesmost delicious, coffee
! the world in one hand and a half a ,
'af Of bread and threeyslces of bacon
the other, on make that remark of
n optimistic philosopher, Gee, but
always feels good after it quits
lrtin'. -