The way along the shore of the pool was difficult. The bank was
very steep, and the rocks by the river's edge were broken and
glibbery. Presently I came to a sheer wall of stone, perhaps thirty
feet high, rising directly from the deep water.

There was a tiny ledge or crevice running part of the way across the
face of this wall, and by this four-inch path I edged along, holding
my rod in one hand, and clinging affectionately with the other to
such clumps of grass and little bushes as I could find. There was
one small huckleberry plant to which I had a particular attachment.
It was fortunately a firm little bush, and as I held fast to it I
remembered Tennyson's poem which begins


"Flower in the crannied wall,"


and reflected that if I should succeed in plucking out this flower,
"root and all," it would probably result in an even greater increase
of knowledge than the poet contemplated.

The ledge in the rock now came to an end. But below me in the pool
there was a sunken reef; and on this reef a long log had caught,
with one end sticking out of the water, within jumping distance. It
was the only chance. To go back would have been dangerous. An
angler with a large family dependent upon him for support has no
right to incur unnecessary perils.

Besides, the fish was waiting for me at the upper end of the pool!