background.

Orinda Creek, the object of our quest, runs through this beautiful
valley, shut in on each side by the hills. Along the trail leading to
the stream blue and white lupines grow in profusion, giving a delicate
amethyst tinge to the landscape. Wild honeysuckle, with its
pinkish-red blossoms, is on every side and the California azalea
fringes both banks of the stream, its rich foliage almost hidden by
magnificent clusters of white and yellow flowers, which send out a
delightful, spicy fragrance, that can be detected far back from the
stream.

[Illustration: THE TROUT'S PARADISE]

The meadow larks called from the hillside their quaint "Spring o' the
year," the song sparrows sang their tinkling melody from the live
oaks, catbirds mewed from the thicket, and occasionally a linnet sang
its rollicking solo as it performed queer acrobatic feats while on the
wing.

Ahead of us a blue jay kept close watch over our movements, but at
last decided that we are harmless, and with a last shriek of defiance
flew away to pour out his vituperations on other hapless wanderers.

Adjusting our rods, and baiting our hooks with salmon roe, we crept
down to where a little fall sent the water swirling around a rock,
making a deep pool, and an ideal place for trout. Dropping our lines
into the rapids, we let the bait float down close to the rock in the
deep shadows. As soon as it struck the riffle there was a flash of
silver, and the game was hooked. Away he went, the reel humming a