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Collection: Directories and Documents > Pamphlets
Nevada County, California (PH 1-19)(1926) (19 pages)
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Page: of 19
A NEVADA COUNTY TROUT STREAM
The dog circles his way up the knoll sniffing all the while and
of a sudden he scents his quarry. Then things begin to happen,
A certain sharp note in the dog's yelp tells his master that the
trail is getting hot and it also tells Mr. Buck to be up and away,
Up he jumps, his siesta forgotten, and instinctively his nose points
towards water. Maybe in his deer way of thinking, he imagines
that he can lose that little bundle of color in a few jumps. Yelp,
yelp, barks the dog; thump, thump, sounds the hoofs of the buck.
Nester and nearer comes the sound of the deer crashing over the
brush, and the hunter, in a frenzy of expectation, tightly holds
his gun; then suddenly, just as the deer should appear, the sound
of crashing grows fainter, and the race between dog and deer is
beyond his vision. Mr. Buck has outguessed the hunter and took
the opposite course, Another magnificent four-pointer left to
browse the hills and, perhaps, furnish amusement to some other
hunter within a day or two. Soon the dog returns, for his short
legs might as well have tried to catch an express train as that
fleet deer. Hot and panting, his tongue lolling, dripping with
sweat, the look in his eyes seemed to say to his master: “I did
my part—why didn’t you guard the other slope?” Of course, the
hunter has an alibi. “Itsa game of chance,” he tells himself and
dog. “Anyway, if we got every deer we saw, sportsmanship
would soon degenerate into slaughter. Let's try the next knoll;
it looks promising.”
But perhaps our friend, who is typical of hundreds and even
thousands who live here or visit here, ts a disciple of that genial
soul, Izaak Walton. If so, on holidays, evenings and other spare
time, you will probably find him whipping one of the innumerable
lakes or streams, These lakes and streams must be inspiring to
the fisherman, because rare indeed, is the fishing trip which does
not furnish a wondcrous tale of his encounter with the proverbial
big one.” His quest, of course, was for some variety of the
beautiful and gamy trout, and his narrative will run something
like this:
“T got a good early start and had pretty fair luck—had fifteen
by noon—but for some reason or other, hadn't been able to tic
up with a big one. . was skirting the bank of the stream a considerable distance up the hill, in order to avoid a water-fall and
some rough going, when [ noticed a big, quict, deep pool; just
-the place for some of those big fellows to rest. Those big fellows
are a little smarter than the average size fish, that’s the reason
they have lived long enough to grow big. I slowly worked my
way down the hill, careful not to give warning of my approach
by foot-noise or casting my shadow on the pool. It’s my experience that you can’t be too cautious if you expect success with
trout. Smart? I'll say they are. Well, . found a likely place to
cast my line, and I sized up the layout—considering of course, the
time of day—and decided that a ‘royal coachman’ would be the
best fly to tempt one of those deep-pool fellows. I carefully
measured the distance with my eye and made my cast; it was a
beautiful cast, the fly fluttered to the water and rode the water
life-like. Well, sir, the fly hadn't more than settled on the surface
before the water broke with a pop and before . knew it my reel
went a-buzzin’. The old boy headed up-stream and how my reel
did sing! Then turing, he raced down the stream, Then we had
it back and forth. I tightened up on him slowly and that made
him madder than ever, All of a sudden he jumped every inch of
himself out of the water—and, snap, went my leader. Big? He
looked like a whale to me—five pounds if he was an ounce. I
could've cried when that big speckled beauty got away.”
The above is just a lunch-room fish story, but the experience
related is eric of thousands which are actually enacted in this
county during cach open season for fishing. Often, however, the
ending is different, for it is comparatively seldom that the fisherman returns without at least a partly filled basket containing
some “big ones.”
Now, we want to tell you something of our wonderful lake
district, the lower fringe of which is reached with only one and
a half hours’ drive from either Grass Valley or Nevada City.
“NMfother Nature” used a lavish hand when she cupped our slopes
with lakes with which to hold the water from the winter snow for
Sera)
ee a eee Be ee aw e
A DAY'S CATCH OF TROUT