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By P. W. LEE

The first of May, my wife and I left Portland, Ore., for southern Idaho. After arriving in Idaho we visited for awhile, my old pal, Roy Lindley. He and I were pretty anxious to get into the hills for a fishing trip. We had been on many such trips before and knew something of what was awaiting us. For several seasons we had been going into the same locality after elk and always came home with some of the best elk steak to be had.

I had my rods all in good shape, a good supply of spinners, also a fine lot of flies (all my own make) of various sizes and colors. We loaded our provisions in Roy's Buick and early on the morning of July 18, were rolling on our way.

We hadn't gone more than a few miles when we struck a real deep hole. We both cast in, challenging whatever might hook on. About the second cast I anchored on to a, real whale (it seemed). I wasn't long teaching him to lead, but broke my tip in the struggle. We fished up the stream for about six miles, and I never saw a stream that could beat this one for large fish. Although we couldn't get a strike so often, when we did he would be one of the old granddaddies. When we reached camp that evening, we found the boys had quit early and gone down into the valley to a ball game. Some sports, eh? Well, I had nineteen fish, which made me a good load along with my old thirty-eight Colt on my hip and Fred had about-the Lindsey, Ben Lindsey (Roe’s father and an old timer in the hills with rod and gun) Fred Frock, Roe’s brother-in-law, and Benin, his nephew, and myself. We made Pocatello for breakfast and via Blackout on to Idaho Falls. Here we stocked up on provisions, as this was our last town. Getting out of Idaho Falls, we headed east and struck the south fork of the Snake River and followed it into Swan Valley. We camped the first night with Emery Mickerson, a rancher, at the mouth of Elk Creek. We were now in God's own country, where fish and game are plentiful. We tried out the fishing that evening, but to no success as the water was a trifle roily. Next day Roy said he was going to the Snake River and land some big ones. Fred and I took in the small stream. We took a good catch of fish from Elk's Creek and the second day rolled on up the Snake River camping that night on Salt river.

Next day we moved on leaving the Snake and picking up Salt River. We took a good catch out of the Tincup, a tributary of the Salt River. We spent the next day on the Tincup, which was full of native trout and furnished plenty of sport to all in the crowd. That night we had a big rainstorm and lucky for us we had a good tent and plenty of fir boughs under our blankets. We left the Tincup next day over a high divide, with some difficulty, as the roads were slick.

The next evening we came to the head of the Blackfoot River. Roy and I fished down it side by side and Oh Boy!—we sure did land some big beauties. Our whole trip consisted of spinner fishing, which is real good sport, but Roy and I both prefer the fly-fishing.

After fishing down the Blackfoot we headed for home, where we landed the sixth day. Making a trip of about four hundred miles, which will be remembered by all. We came to Salt Lake City last fall and here I am working indoors again, some life for an out of-door man.

We are going back to Idaho some day, as that is the best place I know of now for real fishing and hunting. I will have to teach my wife to fish, as she has never learned. She has a dandy outfit and is a real little sport on outing trips.

Besides the rod, I like the rifle and also the trap line. In fact my wife and I are figuring to get another couple some day and spend a season on the trap line. Not merely for the novelty of it, but it is a healthful and profitable business if properly followed. I love the cool streams and mountains, in fact, all nature. If anyone desires to ask any question concerning this beautiful country I will be more than glad to answer them.

Hunter-Trader-Trapper. October: 1921,

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