They say it's great.

You can sure catch fish! Lots of little creeks coming down outa the canyon, and all of them full of trout.

You'll have all kinds of sport." "Aw, Russian River's the place to go," Jack dissented craftily, and got the reply that he was waiting for.
"Aw, what's the use of going away up there?
And not get half the fish?
Why, you can take the train at the ferry and in the morning you are right in the middle of the best fishing in the State.

Buh-lieve _me_, it'll be Feather River for mine, if I can make the change I want to! Them that have got the money to travel on, can take the far-off places--me for the fish, bo, every day in the week." He took up his tray and went down the car, offering his wares to the bored, frowsy passengers who wanted only to reach journey's end.
The next round he made, he stopped again beside Jack.

They talked of fishing--Jack saw to that!--and Jack learned that Lake Almanor was nothing more nor less than an immense reservoir behind a great dam put in by a certain power company at a cost that seemed impossible.