第 39 节
作者:双曲线      更新:2021-04-30 17:21      字数:9322
  cattle。    On arriving he threw off his saddle; turned his horse loose; and set
  about the construction of supper。            This consisted of boiled meat; strong
  tea; and an incredible number of flapjacks built of water; baking…powder;
  salt;   and   flour;   warmed     throughnot      cookedin     a  frying…   pan。    He
  deluged these with molasses and devoured three platefuls。                  It would have
  killed an ostrich; but apparently did this decrepit veteran of seventy…two
  much good。
  After   supper   he   talked   to   us   most   interestingly   in   the   dry   cowboy
  manner; looking at us keenly from under the floppy brim of his hat。                     He
  confided to us that he had had to quit smoking; and it ground him he'd
  smoked since he was five years old。
  〃Tobacco doesn't agree with you any more?〃 I hazarded。
  〃Oh; 'taint that;〃 he replied; 〃only I'd ruther chew。〃
  The   dark   fell;   and   all   the   little   camp…fires   under   the   trees   twinkled
  bravely forth。      Some of the men sang。          One had an accordion。          Figures;
  indistinct and formless; wandered here and there in the shadows; suddenly
  emerging      from    mystery    into   the  clarity   of  firelight;  there   to  disclose
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  themselves   as   visitors。     Out   on   the   plain   the   cattle   lowed;   the   horses
  nickered。      The     red   firelight   flashed    from    the   metal    of  suspended
  equipment;   crimsoned   the   bronze   of   men's   faces;   touched   with   pink   the
  high lights on their gracefully recumbent forms。              After a while we rolled
  up in our blankets and went to sleep; while a band of coyotes wailed like
  lost spirits from a spot where a steer had died。
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  XX
  THE GOLDEN TROUT
  After   Farewell   Gap;   as   has   been   hinted;  the   country  changes   utterly。
  Possibly that is why it is named Farewell Gap。               The land is wild; weird;
  full   of   twisted   trees;   strangely   colored   rocks;   fantastic   formations;   bleak
  mountains of slabs; volcanic cones; lava; dry powdery soil or loose shale;
  close…growing grasses; and strong winds。              You feel yourself in an upper
  world beyond the normal; where only the freakish cold things of nature;
  elsewhere crowded out; find a home。              Camp is under a lonely tree; none
  the less solitary from the fact that it has companions。              The earth beneath
  is characteristic of the treeless lands; so that these seem to have been stuck
  alien    into  it。 There     is  no  shelter   save   behind    great  fortuitous    rocks。
  Huge marmots run over the boulders; like little bears。                 The wind blows
  strong。     The streams run naked under the eye of the sun; exposing clear
  and   yellow   every   detail   of   their   bottoms。    In   them   there   are   no   deep
  hiding…places any more than there is shelter in the land; and so every fish
  that swims shows as plainly as in an aquarium。
  We   saw   them  as   we   rode   over   the   hot   dry   shale   among   the   hot   and
  twisted little trees。     They lay against the bottom; transparent; they darted
  away   from   the   jar   of   our   horses'   hoofs;   they   swam   slowly   against   the
  current;   delicate   as   liquid   shadows;   as   though   the   clear   uniform   golden
  color of the bottom had clouded slightly to produce these tenuous ghostly
  forms。      We   examined   them   curiously   from   the   advantage   our   slightly
  elevated trail gave us; and knew them for the Golden Trout; and longed to
  catch some。
  All that day our route followed in general the windings of this unique
  home   of   a   unique   fish。   We   crossed   a   solid   natural   bridge;   we   skirted
  fields   of   red   and   black   lava;   vivid   as   poppies;   we   gazed   marveling   on
  perfect volcano cones; long since extinct: finally we camped on a side hill
  under two tall branchless trees in about as bleak and exposed a position as
  one could imagine。         Then all three; we jointed our rods and went forth to
  find out what the Golden Trout was like。
  I soon discovered a number of things; as follows:               The stream at this
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  point;   near   its   source;   is   very   narrowI   could   step   across   itand   flows
  beneath deep banks。           The Golden Trout is shy of approach。                  The wind
  blows。      Combining these items of knowledge I found that it was no easy
  matter to cast forty feet in a high wind so accurately as to hit a three…foot
  stream a yard below the level of the ground。                 In fact; the proposition was
  distinctly sporty; I became as interested in it as in accurate target…shooting;
  so that at last I forgot utterly the intention of my efforts and failed to strike
  my first rise。      The second; however; I hooked; and in a moment had him
  on the grass。
  He was a little fellow of seven inches; but mere size was nothing; the
  color   was   the   thing。      And   that   was   indeed   golden。        I   can   liken   it   to
  nothing more accurately than the twenty…dollar gold…piece; the same satin
  finish;   the   same   pale   yellow。      The   fish   was   fairly   molten。      It   did   not
  glitter in gaudy burnishment; as does our aquarium gold…fish; for example;
  but   gleamed   and   melted   and   glowed   as   though   fresh   from   the   mould。
  One   would   almost   expect   that   on   cutting   the   flesh   it   would   be   found
  golden   through   all   its   substance。       This   for   the   basic   color。   You   must
  remember always that it was a true trout; without scales; and so the more
  satiny。      Furthermore;        along    either   side   of   the   belly    ran   two    broad
  longitudinal   stripes   of   exactly  the   color   and   burnish   of   the   copper   paint
  used on racing yachts。
  I thought then; and have ever since; that the Golden Trout; fresh from
  the water; is one of the most beautiful fish that swims。                    Unfortunately it
  fades very quickly; and so specimens in alcohol can give no idea of it。                       In
  fact; I doubt if you will ever be able to gain a very clear idea of it unless
  you   take   to   the   trail   that   leads   up;   under   the   end   of   which   is   known
  technically as the High Sierras。
  The   Golden   Trout   lives   only   in   this   one   stream;   but   occurs   there   in
  countless      multitudes。      Every     little  pool;   depression;      or  riffles   has   its
  school。      When   not   alarmed   they   take   the   fly   readily。      One   afternoon   I
  caught an even hundred in a little over an hour。                 By way of parenthesis it
  may   be   well   to   state   that   most   were   returned   unharmed   to   the   water。
  They run small;a twelve…inch fish is a monster;but are of extraordinary
  delicacy   for   eating。      We   three   devoured   sixty…five   that   first   evening   in
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  camp。
  Now the following considerations seem to me at this point worthy of
  note。    In the first place; the Golden Trout occurs but in this one stream;
  and is easily caught。        At present the stream is comparatively inaccessible;
  so that the natural supply probably keeps even with the season's catches。
  Still the trail is on the direct route to Mount Whitney; and year by year the
  ascent of this 〃top of the Republic〃 is becoming more the proper thing to
  do。    Every   camping   party   stops   for   a   try   at   the   Golden   Trout;   and   of
  course the   fish…hog   is   a   sure   occasional   migrant。       The   cowboys   told   of
  two who caught six hundred in a day。                As the certainly increasing tide of
  summer   immigration   gains   in   volume;   the   Golden   Trout;   in   spite   of   his
  extraordinary numbers at present; is going to be caught out。
  Therefore;   it   seems   the   manifest   duty  of   the   Fisheries   to   provide   for
  the    proper    protection     and   distribution     of  this   species;    especially    the
  distribution。      Hundreds of streams in the Sierras are without trout simply
  because of some natural obstruction; such as a waterfall too high to jump;
  which prevents their ascen