They found it not so easy to go ahead as might have been supposed, for the trail passed through some very rough and troublesome country, made the worse by burned timber which had blown down. At last, however, they made their way along the northwest shore and neared the narrows at the lower end of the lake. Here they found a low peninsula jutting out into the lake, where there was a little grass and good clean footing as well as the fine shade of some tall pines.
“Here we are,” said the leader of the party; and soon they had off-saddled and the horses were grazing, while the others prepared for the bivouac.
“Now, if we had a boat,” said Rob, “I believe we would get some trout in this lake, and good ones, too.”
“They’re here, all right,” said Uncle Dick, “as I can testify, but boats don’t grow in the Rocky Mountains this high up. You’ll have to try it from the shore.”
“But could we not make a raft? I see some pretty good cedar timber lying along here. And I’ve got some hay-wire in my war-bag—I never travel without it.” Rob was eager.
“And a very good thing it is to have in camp, too. Well, try your raft if you like, but be careful.”
All three of the young Alaskans, more experienced than most boys of their age in outdoor work, now fell at the task of making themselves a raft or float. Soon they had half a dozen cedar logs lying side by side in the shallow water, their limbs trimmed off closely with the axes. Under Rob’s instructions they now lashed two crosspieces on top of the logs, using the wire to bind them fast to each. So in the course of half an hour they had quite a substantial raft ready for use. Securing a couple of long poles to use as push-poles, they set boldly out into the shallow bay that lay before them. They took only one rod along, assigning to John the task of doing the angling while the others endeavored to keep the raft steady.
“This is as far as we can go,” said Rob after a while. “Fifteen feet of water, and my pole won’t touch any longer.”
“Well, it looks fishy,” said John. “Hold on, fellows, and I’ll begin to cast.”
He did so, standing as best he could on the uncertain footing under which the green water, clear as glass, showed the sandy bottom plainly below them. Ordinarily it would have been impossible to catch trout in water so clear, but the trout of the Yellowhead Lake at that time were hungry and unskilled. Therefore John had hardly cast a dozen times before he saw a great splash and felt a heavy tug at his line. As a matter of fact, a four-pound rainbow had taken the fly.