rs are so clear that the best
anglers can only catch trout, with which the stream abounds, in riffles,
that is where the stream runs over rocks of such size as to keep the
surface in constant commotion, thus obscuring the vision of the fish.

Two miles, or thereabouts, from its source, Spring Creek empties into
the Williamson River. The Williamson rises miles away in a tule swamp,
and its waters are as black as black coffee. Where the two streams come
together, the dark waters of the Williamson stay on the left hand side
of the stream, going down, and the clear waters of Spring Creek on the
right hand side, for half a mile or more. Here some rapids, formed by a
swift declivity of the stream, over sunken boulders, cause a mixup of
the light and dark waters, and from there on they flow intermingled and
indistinguishable.

Nine miles down stream, the Sprague River comes in from the left. It is
as large as the Williamson, and its waters are the color of milk, or
nearly so. The stream flows for miles over chalk beds and through chalk
cliffs, which gives its waters their weird coloring. The union of the
waters of the Williamson and the Sprague Rivers results in the dirty,
gray coloring of the waters of Klamath Lake, into which they empty, and
of the Klamath River, which discharges the lake into the Pacific Ocean.

Killican.

The place where the Williamson is joined by the Sprague is known as the
"Killican." The stream here flows over a lava bottom and is quite wide,
in places very deep and in places quite shallow. There seemed to be
quite an area of this shallow water. The shallow places suddenly dropped
off into pools of great depth, and it was something of a stunt to wander
around on the shallow bed rock and cast off into the pools below. I
tried it and found the lava as smooth and slippery as polished glass.

After sitting down a couple of times in water two feet deep, I concluded
to stay on shore and cast out into the pool. Following this exhilarating
exercise with indifferent success, I noticed approaching a little, old
Indian. He was bareheaded and barefooted. His shirt was open, exposing
his throat and breast. His eyes were deep set, his hair and beard a
grizzly gray. He had a willow fishing pole in one hand and a short bush
with green leaves on it, with which he was whacking grasshoppers, in the
other. He circled around on the bank near me, now and again catching a
hopper. I noticed that he ate about two out of ev