Excerpt from page 20 of "B.C.'s Inland Empire" by Erskine Burnett associated with this image: Adams Lake Lodge, at the south end of the lake, offers all the facilities of a modern fishing and hunting camp. The distance from Squilax is about eight miles. Adams Lake stretches back some forty miles into the mountains and is one of the best fishing lakes in the interior. We have landed trout there that for size and quality would be hard to equal anywhere. At many points the bottom shelves gradually from the bench for several hundred feet and then drops suddenly, and it is at the edge of this drop that the best results are obtained while trolling. The writer has been unable to determine the gender of the lakes, but this lake has its moods like some temperamental humans. A rainstorm may be seen sweeping down the lake and you may think you are in for a drenching. Before it reaches you it may, or may not, dissolve in smiles of sunshine. Moral, don't forget your raincoat. Once, after a shower, the sun shone out in full strength and its heat drew up a haze of vapour between us and the shore. A breeze sprang up and carried off this vapour in the form of half a dozen cloudlets which sailed majestically up a neighbouring ravine, and all was clear again. One day we ran across one of the sheep-herders down from the plateau east of the lake. From his description it resembles the other elevated sheep ranges of the Shuswap country. This man hailed from Fraserburgh, a fishing metropolis in Scotland where they eat what they can and can what they cant. We talked sheep for a time and then started up the lake for the big ones. As we began pulling them in he nearly fell overboard in his excitement. Home-town memories! At the lodge we heard about the wonderful fishing at the Mouth River near the north end of the lake and the biggest grizzly ever, shot up in the country. But there are blank days. Once we got back with only one to our credit and another one came in alongside the biggest assortment of tackle we ever saw. As the owner was arranging everything in a tin box of trunk size we asked innocently - "what luck?" A growl and a vicious bang of the lid was his only reply. Poor old human nature!
