That flight up the Willamette and down the Umpqua was ever afterwards a nightmare to Bill. There were so many times when the difference between life and death rested upon his moving that heavy three thousand pound plane in a fraction of a second. Sometimes he missed an unusually high tree by a fraction of an inch when he was sure that he would hit it. Once he did not miss a tree, but was fortunate in that the landing gear merely smashed its way through the small top branches. Other times he was forced to jump up into the clouds to escape colliding with a hill which suddenly loomed up ahead. It was tough going all the way, with no let-up.

By the time that they reached Steamboat Creek the rain had slackened somewhat and the clouds had risen. The flying was easier, but as far as being safe was concerned, they were far from being out of the woods. The valley still had many sharp bends which could not be foreseen. Bill had to fly that plane all the way and fly it every minute.

They came to a place where the river made a turn of almost a complete circle. For a while Bill was sure that he had turned up one of the tributaries to the river. He did not see how such a large river could meander around so much. Just as he was about to turn back, he saw an exceptionally bright area ahead. River or no river, he would get into that section and get away from the abominable weather that he had been flying through.

Suddenly the valley opened and Bill saw a railroad track stretching across his path. He was out of the mountains and somewhere near Roseburg. Bill turned along the railroad and instantly searched the ground for the landing field at Roseburg. The rain was now falling steadily, but not so hard. The town came into his view and he circled it several times before he could locate the landing field through the falling rain. Another circle and he dropped his plane onto the ground.

The plane stopped rolling and both Bill and Earl jumped out.

“What a ride,” exclaimed Earl.

“Let’s put on the cockpit covers and then get out of the rain,” said Bill.

“O. K., let’s go,” replied Earl.

They fished out the canvas covers and put them over the engine and cockpits. Then they crawled under the wings of the plane to get out of the rain.

“I never want another ride like that one,” said Bill.

“I will never know how you missed some of those ridges and hills,” said Earl Simmons. “Sometimes I never saw them until you had turned the plane and they were under the wing. Then when that extra heavy flash of lighting whizzed past the plane, I thought that we were surely hit. It didn’t miss us by more than ten feet.”

“The worst part of it was that it blinded me so that I did not see a hill directly ahead,” replied Bill. “I came near running into that hill without knowing that it was there. I rubbed my eyes to get them back to normal and there it was almost on top of us. The old bus certainly came around beautifully when I kicked her over.”

An automobile drove up to the side of the field and someone started across the field toward the plane.

“I never thought that we would have any spectators a day like this,” said Bill.

The man approaching had on a raincoat and large hat, so that they could not see his features. Furthermore, neither one was interested in the identity of the man, as they did not expect to see any friends on such a miserable day.

“Hello, birds,” said the visitor. “Where did you hail from?”

There was something about the man’s voice which sounded familiar to Bill, but he could not place it. The wing shielded his face from view and Bill edged over to make a more complete scrutiny.

“Came down from Eugene,” replied Earl.

“Do you know a chap by the name of Bruce up there?” asked the man.

“If it isn’t Sam Crouch,” exclaimed Bill. “What are you doing down here? I thought that you were upon your clearing on the McKenzie.”

“I also have a shop down here,” replied Sam. “I am glad to see you again. How about a fishing trip? You can’t fly in this weather, and this rain will continue for several days. What do you say?”

“I am game,” said Bill. “How about you, Earl?”

“Nothing would suit me better,” said Earl.

“We couldn’t get away from here today, anyhow,” said Bill. “Let’s go into town and we will talk it over.”

They rode into town and Bill sent a wire telling where they had landed and that they were held up by bad weather. He ended it by saying that unless there was some urgent need for them back at Eugene, they would stay at Roseburg for a couple of days.

“The fires will be out by tomorrow,” said Bill. “They don’t need us now, and will not for a couple of days.”

“The lightning may start a few new ones,” said Earl. “However, no patrols can be made as long as it rains like this, and we will get back before they start in again. The weather man says that we are in for several days of rain.”

“Bring on your fish,” said Bill. “When do we start, Sam?”

“First thing in the morning,” replied Sam. “I will stop at the hotel for you. The salmon have started to run and we can get some salmon eggs for bait. We ought to have a wonderful trip. We will go up by the hatchery. I will see you in the morning. I have to go and round up some tackle.”

“Can’t we help?” asked Earl.

“No, thanks, I have all afternoon to do it,” replied Sam as he went out the door of the hotel.

Late that night Bill received a telegram from Bob Finch at Eugene. It read: “Wait for me. I’ll be there in the morning. Bob.”

“It looks as if we will get a late start tomorrow,” said Bill to Earl after he had read the wire. “I wonder what time the morning train gets in?”

“I think that there is a train that leaves Eugene this afternoon,” said Earl. “By taking it, Finch could get here quite early tomorrow.”

As a matter of fact, Bill was awakened the next morning by Bob pounding on the door of his room at the hotel.

“How did you know that we were going fishing?” asked Bill after Bob had entered.

“With Earl Simmons along and the hunting season not opened, what else could you do with a couple of days here?” replied Bob.

“Well, you will never guess who is going to take us out,” said Bill.

“I give up before I start,” said Bob. “Who is it?”

“Sam Crouch. He has a store down here and met us at the aviation field.”

“It looks like a put-up job to me,” said Bob. “You and Earl, one of the most ardent fishermen in the state, start out for Medford and end at Roseburg, where you meet Sam Crouch, another fish enthusiast. I’m glad that I could horn in.”

In a short time they were all in Sam’s automobile headed up the Umpqua River. They drove about fifteen or eighteen miles up the river and stopped at the hatchery. Neither Bill nor Bob had ever seen a hatchery before and immediately began asking questions.

“Tell me something about the hatchery and what it is for?” asked Bill.

“I hardly know where to start,” said Earl.

“Why do they have hatcheries?” asked Bob.

“To increase the number of fish which are incubated from the eggs,” replied Earl. “The salmon lay their eggs in the sand and gravel in the bottom of the rivers and creeks. The eggs stay there until they hatch out. While they are incubating the other fish eat them, in spite of the fact that the large salmon try to conceal them by covering the eggs with sand. Then, again, as soon as the small fish comes out of the eggs, they are in turn prey for the larger fish. You can accordingly see why a very small part of the eggs ever bring forth fish which grow to any size. The hatcheries take the eggs and hatch them out, as you will soon see, in small basins. They hold the small fish for some time and then plant them in the streams. In this way the young fish, called fingerlings, have more of a chance for their white alley.”

“How do they get the salmon to come to the hatcheries?” asked Bill.

“They don’t have to,” replied Earl. “Salmon have a peculiarity which makes it easy for the hatchery people. When spawning time comes, salmon always return to the place where they were born. The young ones gradually work their way down to the sea and go out into the ocean. Just where they go, no one knows, but after a period of three to five years they come back up the streams in swarms. They never mistake the streams, but always come up the one which they went down years before. The Fishery Department has determined this by tagging the salmon and then catching the same ones years afterwards.”

“Let’s go over to the river and let them take a look at the fish coming upstream,” said Sam.

They walked over to the river and Bill and Bob were astounded at the sight. There were thousands of fish working their way upstream. It looked as if a person might walk across the river on fish.

“What happens to all these fish?” asked Bill.

“In the bygone days the Indians used to spear them as they came upstream to spawn,” said Earl.

“If you went downstream a ways you would probably find people spearing them now,” interjected Sam.

“After they spawn the large fish die,” continued Earl. “The banks of all the streams in the Northwest are literally covered with dead fish after the run is over.”

Earl led the way to the racks where the fish were caught. The racks were so arranged that the fish could get upstream through the bars, but could not get downstream. Inside this large area there were thousand of salmon which soon enter the hatchery to have the roe removed.

They then went into the hatchery and saw pool after pool so arranged that there was a continuous stream of fresh water running through each one. In some were the eggs. In others there were fish of various sizes. It seemed to Bill that there could not be that many fish in the entire world. The small fish just hatched out were so small that they looked more like young tadpoles than fish. Outside in the racks the salmon were of various sizes, from three feet in length up to four or even five feet. Some of them were tremendous. It was hard to realize that just a few years before these giant fish were as small as the minute wiggly things in the pools in the hatchery.

“Have you seen enough?” asked Earl after a while.

“I think so,” replied Bill.

“Come on, then, and we will go fishing.”

They left the hatchery and went downstream to a point where a small creek emptied into the river.

Here Earl handed Bill a three-pronged hook and told him that they must get some salmon eggs for bait.

“Put that hook on your line and I will tell you which of the fish to snag. Then you bring it in to shore and we will get the roe.”

Bill assembled his rod and threaded his line. He attached the hook and announced himself as being ready.

“See that large fish out there just holding herself against the current?” asked Earl. “Her top fin is just a few inches below the surface of the water. Cast your line over and snag her.”

Bill made a cast and missed. He tried again and the hook caught in the top fin. He reeled in on his line and looked around for further instructions, only to see Earl and Sam sitting down on the bank laughing at him. He knew that he had been caught at a tenderfoot trick, but just what it was he did not know.