The stream's name shall remain untold;
For reasons that will soon unfold;
Twenty two miles from the nearest road;
Six miles by boat if you know the code;
Salmon fishing with guide Bill Penn;
Bill says "Bring trout gear when you come again";
Chance of a lifetime for a lad of fourteen;
To fish sea-run cutthroat in the deep evergreen;
Into the lagoon, hidden, lush and regal;
In a snag over the creek, my first Bald Eagle;
On his way to check for big game;
Bill says "Upstream two miles, stake your claim;"
Beautiful water with holes lavish;
I went fifty yards and started to fish;
The lure I cast about;
Rewarded with flash of silvery trout;
I tried once, twice, three times more;
The hole seemed an empty store;
Not to be upstaged by a trout;
My box of lures came out;
Gold, red, white, silver, some looking mean;
Nothing worked till I tried an old green;
It worked quite well, I'd have to say;
Paint chewed off by end of day;
Other memories are less clear, I feel;
But I do remember a heavy creel;
Back to the boat after a day of play;
Old Bill Penn was heard to say;
"I was just wishing you guys had gone farther,
to the really good fishing!"
