This time Bill did not aim so much below and when he fired the fish came to the surface, belly up.
“Now you see that there’s no, trick to it, don’t you?” said Earl. “All you have to do is to aim where the fish is and not where it isn’t.”
So the morning was spent, drifting slowly down the Umpqua River. The forest fires, the fight for their lives in the clouds the day before, the other troubles which had bothered them during the routine performance of their duties, the drizzle which made them wetter and wetter, were all forgotten.
“How about pulling in for this island for lunch?” asked Earl as they came abreast of a large island in the river.
“I am ready to eat,” said Sam. “How about the rest of you fellows?”
“I am ready any time,” said Bill and Bob together.
A fire on the shore in the lee of a large tree trunk, baked potatoes, roasted corn, Earl swinging a steak—what more could a man desire? No wonder Sam liked the outdoor life in the woods. They had not seen anyone but their own party since leaving the shore near the hatchery. It was like being out in the wilderness.
After lunch they fished for a while from the shore of the island and then continued their trip down the river. Bill realized that the salmon were not as numerous in the water as they had been near the hatchery.
“Where have all the salmon gone?” he asked.
“This is the first part of the run,” said Sam. “The racks cause a block in the river and there is a congestion at that point. A little later, if there is a large run this year, the river will be full of them all the way up to the hatchery. There’s the bridge ahead of us. I guess that our day’s sport is over.”