It was about a mile and a half from my grandparents’ house on Carus Road to highway 213, and another three and a half miles to the Molalla River. There was a large swimming hole on the river under the highway bridge. There was a raft anchored in the middle of the river. On occasion, when we were not committed to tromping hay or picking raspberries or blackcaps (black raspberries whose juice is used for inspection stamping on meat), the kids would walk to the river to go swimming. At first we tried to hitch-hike, but stopped trying after a sheriff’s deputy scolded us.
On one incident I took along a length of fishing line with a fly attached thereto. Upon reaching the raft in the middle of the river I paused and attached the fishing line to my big toe. After about five minutes swimming with the fishing line attached, I hooked a six-inch cutthroat trout. My memory is fuzzy, but I think that I released the fish back into the water.
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