OUTDOOR Nebraska

PUBLISHED MONTHLY BY NEBRASKA GAME, FORESTATION AND PARKS COMMISSION Editor: Dick H. Schaffer Associate editors: Pete Czura, Jim Tische Photographer-writer: Gene Hornbeck Artist: Claremont G. Priichard Circulation: Lillian Meinecke MARCH, 1959 Vol. 37, No. 3 25 cents per copy $1.75 for one year $3 for two years Send subscriptions to: OUTDOOR NEBRASKA, State Capitol Lincoln 9 NEBRASKA GAME COMMISSION Leon A. Sprague, Red Cloud, chairman Don F. Robertson, North Platte, vice chairman George Pinkerton, Beatrice Robert H. Hall, Omaha Keith Kreycik, Valentine Lee Nauenburg, Columbus DIRECTOR M. O. Steen DIVISION CHIEFS Eugene H. Baker, engineering and operations Glen R. Foster, fisheries Lloyd P. Vance, game Dick H. Schaffer, information and education Jack D. Strain, land management and parks FEDERAL AID CO-ORDINATOR Phil Agee (Lincoln) PROJECT AND ASSISTANT PROJECT LEADERS Orty Orr, fisheries (Lincoln) Bill Bailey, big game (Lincoln) Clarence Newton, land management (Lincoln) Dale Bree, land management (Lincoln) Malcolm D. Lindeman, operations (Lincoln) Frank Sleight, operations (Lincoln) Harvey Miller, waterfowl (Bassett) Raymond Linder, upland game birds and small game (Fairmont) AREA MANAGERS Melvin Grim, Medicine Creek, Carl E. Gettmann, Lewis and Enders, Swanson (McCook) Clark Lake (Bloomfield) Ralph Craig, McConaughy Reservoir (Ogallala) Richard Wolkow, Cowles Lake (Omaha) DISTRICT SUPERVISORS DISTRICT I (Alliance, phone 412) L. J. Cunningham, law enforcement Lem Hewitt, operations John Mathisen, game Harvey Suetsugu, big game Keith Donoho, fisheries Robert L. Schick, land management DISTRICT II (Bassett, phone 334) John Harpham, law enforcement Delmer Dorsey, operations Jack Walstrom, game Bruce McCarraher, fisheries Gerald Chaffin, land management DISTRICT III (Norfolk, phone 2875) Robert Benson, law enforcement Lewis Klein, operations H. O. Compton, big game George Kidd, fisheries Harold Edwards, land management DISTRICT IV (North Platte, phone 4425-26) Samuel Grasmick, law enforcement Don Hunt, operations Oliver Scar vie, game Robert Thomas, fisheries Chester McClain, land management DISTRICT V (Lincoln, phone 5-2951) Bernard Patton, law enforcement Robert Reynolds, operations George Schildman, game Richard Spady, land management Delvin M. Whiteley, land manager RESEARCH BIOLOGISTS Karl E. Menzel, coturnix quail (Lincoln) Marvin Schwilling, grouse (Burwell) David Lyon, pheasants (Fairmont) AREA CONSERVATION OFFICERS William J. Ahern, Box 1197, North Loup, phone 89 Robert Ator, Box 66, Sutton, phone 4921 Cecil Avey, 519 4th Street, Crawford, phone 228 William F. Bonsall, Box 305, Alma, phone 154 H. Lee Bowers, Benkelman phone 49R Dale Bruha, 1026 Elmer Avenue, York, phone 1635 Loron Bunney, Box 675. Ogallala, phone 247 Robert Downing, Box 343, Fremont, phone PA 1-4792 Lowell I. Fleming, Box 269, Lyons, phone Mutual 7-2383 Richard Furley, Madison Raymond Frandsen, P. O. 373, Humboldt, phone 5711 John D. Green, 720 West Avon Road, Lincoln, Phone 8-1165 Ed Greving, 316 South 31st, Kearney, phone 7-2777 H. Burman Guyer, 1212 N. Washington, Lexington, phone Fairview 4-3208 Larry Iverson, Box 201, Hartington, phone 429 Norbert J. Kampsnider, 106 East 18th, Box 1, Grand Island, phone DUpont 2-7006 Jim McCole, Box 268, Gering, phone 837 L Jack Morgan, Box 603, Valentine, phone 504 Roy E. Owen, Box 288. Crete, phone 446 Paul C. Phillippe, Syracuse, phone 166W Fred Salak, Box 152, Mullen, phone KI 6-6291 Herman O. Schmidt, Jr., 1011 East Fourth, McCook, phone 992W Harry A. Spall, 820 Clay Street, O'Neill, phone 637 Joe Ulrich, Box 492, Bridgeport, phone 100 Lyman Wilkinson, R. R. 3, Humphrey, phone 2663 Don J. Wolverton, Box 31, Rushville, phone David 72186 V. B. Woodgate, Albion

IN THIS ISSUE:

BUNNY HOP SHOWDOWN (Pete Czura) Page 3 COW TRAIL ICING (Gene Hornbeck) Page 6 ABC'S OF DOG CARE Page 9 TRAIL OF THE BIG CAT (Jim Tische) Page 10 MEDICINE CREEK RESERVOIR (Jim Tische) Page 14 SPORTSMEN'S NEMESIS (E. A. Rogers) Page 17 SMOKING IS EASY Page 18 BULLETS AND BALLOTS (Frank Foote) Page 20 CHARLIE CHANNEL CATFISH Page 23 SPEAK UP Page 24 OUTDOOR ELSEWHERE Page 25 NOTES ON NEBRASKA FAUNA (Pete Czura) Page 26 MATCH THEM UP Page 28

OUTDOOR NEBRASKA of the Air

SUNDAY WOW, Omaha, (590 kc) 7:15 KXXX, Colby, Kas. (790 kc) 8:15 KBRL, McCook (1300 kc) 10:00 KMMJ, Grand Isl. (750 kc) 10:15 KODY, N. Platte (1240 kc) 10:45 KOGA, Ogallala (830 kc) 12:30 KCNI, Broken Bow (1280 kc) 1:15 KFGT, Fremont (1340 kc} 4:45 KFOR, Lincoln (1240 kc) 12:45 KLMS, Lincoln (1480 kc) 7:15 MONDAY KJSK, Columbus (900 kc) 1:45 KSID, Sidney (1340 kc) 5:15 THURSDAY KCOW, Alliance (1400 kc) 7:30 FRIDAY KLMS, Lincoln (1480 kc) 5:15 SATURDAY KOLT, Scottsb'ff (1320 kc)12:45 KCSR, Chadron (1450 kc) 1:30 KWBE, Beatrice (1450 kc) 5:00 KHAS, Hastings (1230 kc) 5:45 KVHC, 0,NeiIl (1400 kc) 6:00

BUNNY HOP SHOWDOWN

by Pete Czura Associate Editor

MY COMPANION, Al Mart, whispered, "Easy does it. He's right behind that sapling to your right. Watch the left side so he doesn't head for the creek bottom as I come in."

I nodded my head and moved off. As I drifted to the left, Al carried his .22 target pistol on "ready". He circled slowly to the right to get a clear shot at our quarry.

I stopped moving as Al raised his pistol, drawing a bead. I held my breath. One second . . . two . . . three . . . four, then spat, the high-velocity .22 erupted. Al's shot was dead on target. The rabbit jetted about a foot in the air, then dropped earthward. Still game, the bunny tried to get away. On the double, I plowed through the dense brush, climbed a fence, and caught the rascal hiding under a clump of shrubs. I put an end to its suffering by clipping it behind the neck with my hand.

Al's kill raised our total for the day to a nifty 15. Though we were after rabbits, this wasn't an ordinary rabbit hunt. This expedition near Bennet had been arranged for one express purpose: to determine in a friendly rivalry which type of weapon is superior on a rabbit prowl.

Our group consisted of men highly skilled with their pet weapons. We had archers, a pistoleer, a rifleman, a shotgunner and, in some mysterious way, a muzzle-loader crept into the act, too.

We employed slugs, arrows, pellets in a friendly test of weapons. The results might surprise most of you

If the rabbits had known about this army of marksmen about to invade their stomping grounds, they'd have gone into hiding for the rest of the day. There was Allen J. Mart, world renowned pistol shot, of Lincoln. Al has garnered over 800 trophies in top-notch pistol competition. He was a member of that famous world-record pistol team composed of Wayne Welty, Floyd Flader, and Bob Dietemeyer, all of Lincoln. This team held the world pistol team title for four years. Al also tied the world individual record in pistol shooting on two separate occasions, besides winning the state pistol crown seven times.

Bob Jensen, businessman of Bennet, was our rifleman. Bob is an expert marksman and an avid coyote hunter. The Bennet clan he goes out with has accounted for 17 coyotes so far this winter.

3 MARCH, 1959  

The bowmen were Dr. Richard "Dick" Dean, assistant professor of zoology, and Keith Christensen, assistant professor of architecture. Both teach at the University of Nebraska.

Dick Dean has been an archer for 23 years. Last year he was runner-up in the state free-style meet. An ardent big-game hunter, Dick has bagged four deer with bow and arrow. Keith is one of the finest instinctive archers around. He is deadly at any range and doesn't use a sight.

The guy relegated to toting the shotgun was a character named Roman "Pete" Czura—that's me. Since I am not the proud possessor of any kind of shooting record, I felt out of place with these champion marksmen. To bolster my sagging confidence I hauled out the old reliable meat-getter, my 12-gauge shotgun. I don't wish to brag, but I was the first of our group to fill—five rabbits, and in only six shots.

We converged upon sloughs, brushy draws, shelter belts, brush piles, and heavy weed growths along creek bottoms southeast of Bennet. We followed no set pattern in looking for rabbits; we didn't have to. They were out thicker than fleas. Our usual procedure was to have the bowmen skirt the outer flanks of the heavy cover (to give them clean shots) while the gunner advanced slowly through the middle.

The first slough we hit provided all kinds of action. We made one pass through brushy cover and kicked up about a dozen rabbits. The gunners were scoring, but the archers were missing.

Christensen grinned wryly after his fourth miss, "In the space of 10 yards, a swift-moving arrow, going through stuff like this, can change directions four times."

As we trudged alongside Dick on one of our passes through some likely looking cover, he explained how easy it would be for an archer to miss his intended target.

"You see, Pete," he murmured softly, "it is comparatively simple to miss any target, even in the open. A miscalculation of one-half inch can cause a bowman to miss his intended target by six feet. Elevation and angle are the most-important factors in successful shooting.

"An archer is like an athlete. There are days when anything he shoots will hit dead center. A golfer, or baseball player, is the same. There are days when these athletes perform in a flawless manner; then there are days when they do nothing but err."

Well, today apparently wasn't Dick's or Keith's day. But like true competitive sportsmen they didn't give up.

Possibly you're wondering how the muzzle-loader made out and how it got into the act. Gene Hornbeck, the photographer, simply couldn't stand around seeing so many people enjoying themselves. He ran to the station wagon around noon, ripped up some newspaper for wadding, and loaded his muzzle-loader quickly.

Five minutes later I heard the BOOM of his gun and a shout, "Hey, I've got one you guys and ..." His shout hung suspended in mid-air as the sound of another BOOM hit the woods. He loaded the muzzle-loader again and got four straight misfires, then hung up his gun in disgust.

4 OUTDOOR NEBRASKA  

Everyone but the archers had scored by 1 o'clock. The scoreboard read as follows: shotgun, 5; pistol, 4; rifle, 3, and muzzle-loader, 2.

As we hiked back to the car from our last foray in the woods, I asked, "Should we call it a day or should we give the archers another try?"

"I know just the spot for them," Jensen suggested. "The cover's not too heavy and I know there are enough rabbits there to haul out on a wheelbarrow."

We all clambered into the station wagon, and as we drove off, Bob related an unusual tale. "This hunt reminds me of a friend who hunted rabbits by imitating a barking dog. One morning we were drawing nothing but blanks, so he said he would go into the heavy cane break and begin barking. I thought he was nuts, and told him so.

"My friend became indignant and. bet me that he could drive three rabbits out for me to shoot at. I bet him five bucks and wanted to make it 20 but he said 'no'.

"A few minutes later I heard the 'goshawfullest' howl, followed by several high-pitched yips. Admittedly, he did sound like a hound. Two minutes later a rabbit came busting out of the break. I let him have it with one shot. Then another bunny tried to zip by.

"In five minutes he barked out five rabbits. Well, I lost the five-buck bet, but it was worth it."

At that moment we arrived at the spot selected by Bob Jensen. Within seconds we scrambled out and in a few minutes Keith and Dick were peppering arrows all over the place but with no luck. In defense of the archers, try hitting a moving target at 30 or 40 yards. And for your information, a rabbit moves exactly 44 feet per second.

We proceeded toward an abandoned barn and there, Dick broke the ice. We were all so happy over his feat you'd swear this was the only rabbit between us and starvation. Keith had several other opportunities but scored only close misses.

Along about here would be as good a place as any to inject an interesting theory propounded by my friend Professor Uriah Sheepshanks. It might help you obtain more action and rabbit fills.

"Use psychology on them," Uriah told me once.

"What's psychology got to do with rabbit hunting?"

Uriah smiled, as if I were a boob, and explained in a condescending manner: "Psychology wins out always. For instance, there's the standing cover trick. By nature, a rabbit is a nerv.ous animal. He remains in cover because he feels he's hidden. However, since he's a fidgety critter, he will spring out of cover the moment he believes he has been discovered."

"I know that," I told Uriah.

"Just a minute sonny. Let me finish, will you?"

Since my pappy taught me to respect my elders, I kept my bazoo shut.

"When a rabbit believes he is safe and unfound," Uriah continued, "he sits tight. Trick is to play on his nerves. Take four slow steps and then stop. When a rabbit hears you moving about he thinks he's safe. But the moment you stop, he begins to worry. That's when he panics. The slow movement works on his nerves and the halt between moves is more than he can bear. When that happens, Mr. Rabbit flushes and you've got him."

Since Nebraska is blessed with an abundance of rabbits, we never found the need to try our friend's psychological approach.

Hitting a rabbit on the run with a shotgun is no difficult feat. It's another matter, however, with a pistol or rifle or bow. The smallest twig can deflect the course of a bullet or an arrow.

With the afternoon slipping away, we made one more try for Keith's benefit. We circled an area and tried to flush the rabbits out toward him but the unpredictable creatures they are, they flushed not outward, but deeper into the cover. Finally he suggested we call it a day.

As we hiked back to the car, Al Mart was telling Bob Jensen, "That second rabbit you bagged. . . ."

"Second? That was my third!"

"Second or third," Al grinned slyly, "who cares? That last bunny had no business folding up for you. He was on the dead run and you were lucky."

"Is that so?" barked Jensen good-naturedly. "Tell me how many did you knock down on the dead run? For two cents I'd go out and show you I could get my two for a fill before you could get one."

Everybody spoke up at once, "Not today!"

And that's the way our hunt ended. The rifleman claiming he could outshoot the pistoleer.

To us the hunt proved up one important fact: If we had to bank on living off the land, the shotgun would be an ideal meat-getter. But, I'm like most outdoorsmen: I go out for the sport, not for the meat.

THE END 5 MARCH, 1959

COW TRAIL ICING

Flowing Well Lake is a real perch paradise, my host exclaimed. No truer words were ever spoken, as we enjoyed a fabulous day on ice by Gene Hornbeck Photographer—Writer

IT'S A fisherman's paradise," offered Fred Salak, as we stood overlooking Flowing Well Lake in Cherry County. "Fishermen from all central Nebraska are taking tremendous hauls of perch.

"I checked some bags last week and found some fabulous results," he continued, leafing through his notebook. "Julius Jensen of Ord had 100, Harry Dubas of Ord, 125; John Kraye of Mullen, 75; Sly Bogus of Elyria, 60; and Joe Hladky of Ravenna, 25."

That's only a sampling, he continued. "Last Sunday there were about 100 fishermen here and everyone took fish."

"Let's not just stand here looking," I exploded. '"Grab that ice bar, your rods, and let's see what's doing."

The brilliant afternoon sunlight was misleading as far as the weather was concerned. A north wind whipped down over the Sand Hills, picked up speed as it came across the lake, and blasted the near-zero temperature through our heavy clothing.

6 OUTDOOR NEBRASKA  

"Wow," I howled, turning my face from the icy blast, "Cutting a hole in weather like this is cold business."

"Oh, it's not too bad," replied Fred, with teeth chattering like castanets. "Just wait till the fish start to bite, you'll forget about the weather."

"I'll buy that," I added, as water gushed into the hole. "But I don't see anyone else foolish enough to be out here today."

Noticing the rubber-treated mittens I was using to skim slush and ice out of the hole, Fred remarked what a good idea they were.

"Hardly ever have to use the strainer since I got them," I told him.

Fred rigged his line and hooked a lively minnow under the dorsal fin. I'd just finished rigging up when he pulled a monster out through the hole in the ice.

I had to squint to see the little four-inch perch with the big appetite. "Better toss him back before he freezes stiff as a board," I hollered.

Dropping my baited line into the hole, I let it run to the bottom. To my surprise there was less than six feet of water. Pulling the hook about a foot off the bottom, I snapped a bobber in place and waited for the minnow to do its work.

Fred asked me to watch his-line as he took the spud to open more holes in the ice. The staccato sound of the spud chimed in with the howling wind and the occasional booming of the shifting ice as I huddled down in my parka. I'd just settled into a cold-numbed trance when my cork plunged down into the hole. Grabbing the light jigging rod, one I'd made from an old glass fly-rod tip, I set the hook.

The limber rod whipped toward the ice like a divining rod over an underground lake. The battle was short as I had a little better footing than the fish and he popped out of the hole.

"A couple dozen perch like this," I yelled above the gale, "and I'll have enough for a real fish fry." I unhooked the foot-long perch, tossed him on the ice, and baited up again.

I barely had time to get the line back in the hole when Fred's cork went plummeting for the depths. Sprinting to his rod, I rammed the hook home and played tug-of-war with a twin to my perch.

We each hurriedly rigged another line for the new holes. Each with two rods working, the action was fast and furious. Late afternoon, after a couple of trips to the car to warm up, found us with about 75 perch, ranging from 7 to 13 inches. The females, growing big with spawn, out-numbered males three to one. Biologists reason that because of increased body activity due to the growing spawn, the females' food intake is greater and more of them show up in the anglers' creels.

Action slowed for almost an hour. But then, as the sun dropped behind the hills, the fish went on a feeding spree. Seldom have I seen anything to compare with it. The tempo was so fast that Fred worried about our fast-diminishing minnow supply. To calm his fears, I switched to an old faithful of winter perch fishermen, the perch eye. This is one place the old adage of an "eye for an eye" is multiplied twofold. You always get back two for one.

Mildly surprised when my catch began outnumbering his, Fred said that he's often heard of using eyes but never got around to trying them himself.

"Fish eyes," I offered, "are real go-getters when perch are hitting. But when things are slow, minnows will usually take more fish. With any luck at all it's not unusual to take half a dozen on one eye."

Just as we were about to leave, another fisherman from a party of four asked if we would give them a hand at getting their car out of the lake.

"Out of the lake?" we both asked.

"It's not as bad as it sounds," replied our fisherman. "We thought we would drive out on the ice and use the car for a windbreak. But the ice began to do a lot of cracking, so we started back to shore. Almost made it back, too. The MARCH, 1959 7   front end of the car is up on land but the rear wheels are in a foot of water."

A tow chain, lots of elbow grease, and 20 minutes later, we had the car up on dry land.

"I shudder to think what those guys would have been in for if we would have left earlier," I said.

"I don't know about the shudder," replied Fred, "but they would do a lot of shivering before they hiked the 15 miles back to the ranch by the main road."

It was dark by the time we finally loaded our "iced" fish in a box and headed for Mullen. Some 19 miles of wandering Sand Hills trail and about the same of gravel had passed under the wheels on our way to town. I asked how anyone could ever find a lake like this.

"I wouldn't suggest trying to tell anyone where it is," confessed Fred. "If a visitor is in luck he may find one of the local fishermen going out or can easily talk one into a trip. You are asking for trouble when you try telling a stranger which turn to take when these trails divide."

After supper we cleaned fish until midnight, packed them in small packages, and put them in Fred's freezer.

"What time are we going over to Frye lake in the morning," I asked a bit weary and blurry eyed.

"Have to drive down to Hyannis, so we had better get on the road about 7:30."

Old man winter had loosened his grip a little by the next morning; the wind had abated and the temperature had climbed to 7° above.

"Not bad compared to yesterday," I said, as we swung westward out of Mullen on Highway No. 2.

Frye Lake, located just northeast of Hyannis, had been producing a lot of frying-pan sized bass and some big crappie. Once again Fred checked his notes and came up with some names and catches. Lewis Folk of Mullen had three bass in an hour, Joe Adams of Mullen took six bass, four crappie, and six big perch. Ruth and Buss Huddle of Mullen came in with 16 bass and one huge perch.

Holes were spudded through the five inches of ice in hurried anticipation. Dropping our lines into the holes, we set the bobbers at about six feet. Fred was first to score, flopping a bass of about 10 inches onto the ice. Ten minutes later I landed a big perch. Action on Frye was noticeably slower than on Flowing Well, but then in fishing for bass and crappie a fisherman learns to expect that.

Three other anglers were set up on the lake, and we ambled over to see how they were doing. Dean Davey, Bill Small, and Jim Redenour of Merna each had a fish of different species.

The perch and crappie in Frye are all good size. And on the average, the bass taken through the ice will run 8 to 12 inches. It's not unusual to catch bass in some of the Sand Hills lakes in winter, but the smaller fish will predominate.

We fished until noon and had half a dozen bass and one big perch.

"Too bad you have to go back to Lincoln this afternoon," Fred complained. "Fishing is usually at its best here in late afternoon and evening."

But schedules are made to be kept, so I had no choice but to head home. "I've come to one conclusion," I told Fred. "I've fished Wisconsin's Lake Mendota and Michigan's Little Bay de Noc, two of the nationally known perch hot spots, but the fishing here won't take a back seat to either of them."

THE END 8 OUTDOOR NEBRASKA

ABC's Of DOG CARE

THE next time you take a look at your sporting dog, remember this: He didn't ask to come into your life. You, of your own accord, went out after him and brought him into your life. So, you are obligated to him.

Remember the day you acquired him? Sure you do. You were as proud as a peacock. Looked pretty good to you. You had checked his pedigree and were impressed to find he came from a long line of field-trial champions. Spending your hard-earned money for him was a pleasure.

Now that you own this dog, can you recall the last time you were concerned with his appearance or welfare? The owner who refuses to take care of his dog should be a man without a dog; he has no right to one.

Compare your dog with an automobile. Both require attention, right? If your car is not lubricated regularly, tires checked, the interior cleaned, and outside washed, it would soon go to pot. Someone has to see that these things are done, and these are the responsibility of the owner.

Why can't dog owners be just as zealous in keeping their dogs in tip-top physical condition? When is the last time you brushed your dog's coat? How about cleaning the burrs out of his coat? Have you ever examined his pads for cuts, bruises, or sores? And how about caked mud, which hardens like a rock in your dog's paw? This can be removed easily and quickly by sponging in warm water.

Have you ever given much thought to the serious consequences your dog could suffer after a cold-day's hunt? Have you ever rubbed him dry when you finished a day afield? Ever think of wrapping him in a cotton blanket when he rides with you in a chilly car?

When you are damp, you change your clothing to prevent the possibility of catching a cold. But your dog can't change clothes like you. He has only one coat, one skin. Next time out, give him a rubdown to make him more comfortable and lessen his chances of catching a cold.

Too much bathing is worse than none. However, daily grooming, such as brushing his coat, will greatly improve a dog's appearance. Too much bathing will destroy the natural oils his coat and skin need to stay in good condition.

How about the place he sleeps? Is it clean? Or is it infested with fleas and parasites? No amount of grooming will do any good if the dog must sleep in a filthy place.

If you use shavings or shredded newspapers in his dog house, change these often. Spray his sleeping quarters often with a good parasite-killing solution. These are available at most pet-supply stores.

Give your dog an opportunity to exercise daily. Let him run in the open. Lack of exercise has weakened many a dog, making him lazy and vulnerable to pneumonia and other ailments.

Which would you rather be seen with, a mangy, shabbyappearing dog, or a dog that proudly prances, faultlessly, clean, and neat?

Since your sporting dog is your companion afield—your faithful retriever, sometimes choking your heart with emotion as he performs a bit of clever bird work—why can't you repay him by caring for him and his needs? He is your friend; be his friend, too.

THE END MARCH, 1959

TRAIL OF THE BIG CAT

MAYBE we were downright lucky. Looking back, it seems that this was one bobcat we had little chance to get, for right from the beginning we were fighting a losing battle. And the one time the odds swayed our way, the all-important snow cover was fast melting. Without snow, we could say good-bye to any hopes of taking a bobcat.

Gene Hornbeck, staff photographer, and I arrived in Harrison on Monday, January 26, for the cat hunt. With 10 OUTDOOR NEBRASKA   some other assignments to pick up in western Nebraska, wre'd hoped to wind up the cat hunt in one day or two at the most. We were overly optimistic, we were quick to learn.

Finally, after two days of drawing blanks, we spotted tracks of our quarry. But then the sun threatened to beat us to the punch by Jim Tische, Associate Editor

"The weather isn't exactly right for cat hunting," Cecil Avey of Crawford, area conservation officer, told us. "Sure wish there was a little snow. Then we could get a cat without much trouble."

The usual procedure, he informed us, is to drive the back roads or search creek bottoms until cat tracks are spotted. When some are found, and if they're fresh enough, the hounds are turned loose and the hunt is on. Because of the dry, powdery soil in the Pine Ridge area, it is extremely difficult for dogs to hold the scent unless there is snow. And there wasn't any on the ground at this time.

It may come as a surprise to some people, but bobcats are numerous in Nebraska. They are scattered across the western and northern parts of the state. But because the bobcat is nocturnal, he is seldom seen. Very few people train dogs to trail bobcats, so the animal is not heavily hunted.

"Bob Todaro, Sioux County extension agent, has arranged tomorrow's hunt," Cecil said. "We will meet him at Harrison."

The next day, after picking up Bob, we traveled some 15 miles south of Harrison to the Rex Osborne ranch. Rex had checked with his neighbors and learned of several places where bobcats had been spotted recently. Nellie, a 12-year-old black and tan, and King, Walker-Airedale cross, were loaded and we were ready to hunt.

This was a safari into rough canyon country, and it was tough keeping up with the dogs. There was plenty of cat sign. King found some tracks warm enough to break into his deep-throated bay. But as the trails moved out of the canyons, the scent was lost in the wind. We put in some rough climbing and had several encouraging moments but ended up with no cats.

The next two days of our hunt were in some of the most picturesque country in Nebraska. We traveled north of Harrison where the landscape is dotted with beautiful canyons, sparkling clear streams, and pine-covered ridges.

For this portion of the chase, we used Ivol Buckley's cat hounds. The young rancher had four dogs—two redbones, Old Red and Young Red, and two 14-month-oldhound pups, Jiggs and Maggie. Old Red, 16, and lacking most of his teeth, was slow but sure on a hot trail and was to show plenty of courage before the final chapter was written.

The Rev. Keith Bruning of Harrison, a Methodist minister, joined Bob, Cecil, Gene, and me on Wednesday. But it was the same story—lots of walking, plenty of sign, but no cats. The dogs just couldn't hold the cold trails in the dry soil.

Then our luck began to change as light snow fell early Thursday. More hopeful than ever, we picked up the dogs MARCH, 1959 11   about 8:30 a.m., and 45 minutes later were some 13 miles northeast of Harrison. Cecil, Gene, Ivol, and I made up the hunting party.

Cecil pulled the jeep to a stop near a bridge on Monroe Creek. "I've seen cat tracks near here before," he remarked. "Take the dogs through this bend and I'll meet you on the other side of the meadow."

Ivol, Gene, and I piled out of the car and started out. We didn't travel more than 100 yards before picking up a cat track. It appeared the old boy had waited out the storm in some buckbrush and then started in search of food. Snow had drifted in the tracks so we had a trail at least five hours old.

"This is a big cat, but the trail is old," Ivol commented. "I'll put Young Red on the trail and see what happens. We may have a long run before catching up with this one."

The idea of trailing this animal suited Gene and me fine. After three days of dry runs, we were determined to get this bobcat. It was a lucky thing we had a plucky dog such as Young Red along. Young Red was to give an amazing demonstration of sight-tracking for the next 2% hours as he cold-tracked the bobcat for eight winding miles. The big dog seldom held his nose to the ground for scent, generally watching ahead to see which way the tracks turned.

The old bob was moving down Monroe Creek on a leisurely morning hunt. After three miles of tracking, we found where our quarry had jumped a cottontail. There were tattered remains where he had enjoyed a quiet breakfast.

"We're in luck," Ivol reported. "I've found that a cat will not travel far after eating. We may be within a mile or two of him."

But it is said that bobcats are unpredictable, and this one was no exception. He didn't stop but continued his morning stroll down the creek, never hunting, just ambling along. The cat passed through pockets which were loaded with rabbits but he never slowed up.

After four miles of trailing, Cecil thought it was a good idea to return for the jeep. He pointed out it would not be very much fun lugging a bobcat back to the car, if we got one. The way this fellow was traveling it might be another hour or so before we caught up. And how right he was.

Now the trail was getting more difficult, up and down creek banks and across short patches of prairie land. The conversation was short as we were saving our wind for the chase. We had to travel fast as it was 11:30 a.m., and the snow was rapidly melting on the sunny side of the creek bank and on the prairie. If the cat cut for open country, we were sunk.

Young Red, who was ranging out half a mile in front, was having trouble. The cat was traveling the creek bottom for short distances and then cutting to the top of the bank. Young Red repeatedly overran the trail, losing precious time. Several times we caught up with our tracker as he tried to unravel the wanderings of the cat. The dog would slowly circle up and down the creek bank and eventually pick up the trail again.

Finally, several hundred yards short of a big bend in the stream, Young Red lost the trail. When we caught up, he was frantically searching for the lost tracks. We fanned out to aid in the search. Cutting a big circle, we finally located the tracks. The cat had cut across the prairie, hitting the creek on the other side of the bend.

12 OUTDOOR NEBRASKA  

The trail was getting warm; Young Red was baying happily and the other dogs, trailing along, started to get excited. But again the old bob pulled a real cutie. Deciding to return to the creek bottom, he slipped through a small tunnel in the bank. Our dogs lost the scent and were making little headway in picking up the trail again.

Time was running out. Another hour and the snow would be gone. Another precious 5 or 10 minutes were lost before the tracks were located again, this time on the creek bottom. The trail was hot enough to put the dogs to talking.

We continued the chase to the mouth of Monroe Creek and down Hat Creek. The dogs, bawling and traveling fast, probably alerted the cat as he pulled another sharp trick.

The creek cut back into a small canyon to make a horseshoe bend. It was here the dogs lost the cat again. I slid down a 25-foot bank and trotted over to help the dogs. The cat had left the creek and headed for a brush pile in the middle of the horseshoe. Once he reached the brush, the crafty fellow cut back to the creek and walked across a beaver dam. He took several jumps down the bank, cut back across the ice and into the brush.

While Young Red was momentarily thrown off the trail, it was time for Old Red and Jiggs to strut their stuff. Old Red caught the trail across the dam, back across the ice, and down the creek. Jiggs and Old Red lined out down the creek, bawling excitedly at the top of their lungs. There was no mistaking this message; we had a real hot trail. The cat was not too far off.

Gene and Cecil were on the far side of the creek while Ivol and I angled across a small bend to look for more tracks. Young Red and Maggie by now had caught the other dogs and the four were really whooping it up. The cat, now pressed, left the ice and headed into a small patch of buckbrush. All of the dogs overshot the trail, but in a short time Old Red was back and Gene put him on the trail.

As Old Red dashed into one side of the buckbrush, the cat bounded out of the other side, face-to-face with Gene, not 15 feet away. Who was the more surprised, the hurrying cat or camera-toting Gene, is hard to tell. But the cat didn't wait for a second look, as he bounced swiftly into a small crevice in the bank.

Later, Gene told us, "I had my camera set for 500 feet to get some chase shots and the cat almost ran over me."

Gene scrambled up the bank and we got his disappointing report. "The cat's holed up." (Continued on page 24)

MEDICINE CREEK RESERVOIR

by Jim Tische Associate Editor With strong ties to days of old, this southwest multiple use area is popular haven, beckoning the entire family

ONE of southwest Nebraska's prized recreation areas, that is Medicine Creek Reservoir. The name "Medicine Creek" brings to mind the early days of Nebraska—Indians, buffalo hunts, and famous pioneer names.

It is an area with strong links to the past, having old Indian villages, traces of an important overland trail, and some native wilderness left from the early days. Now it is being developed into a modern-day playground by the Nebraska Game Commission.

This is a picturesque country with high bluffs and wooded canyons adding color to the shoreline of the huge man-made lake. Once out of the creek valleys, the plains country, which surrounds the reservoir, is lacking in trees. Cedars and pines recently planted throughout the reservoir area, will soon add to the rugged charm of this section.

The canyons of the Medicine Creek country have been of great archaeological importance. The University of Nebraska has made several excavations here to gain knowledge of the early history of Indian tribes. Some of the findings date back thousands of years. Arrowheads and other Indian relics are still being found near the lake.

This territory was ideally suited for the red man. Springs along the base of the bluffs and side canyons furnished water. Soil was fertile, and such crops as maize and beans did well. There was an abundance of small game and deer in the timber, and buffalo herds were plentiful on the plains.

Wagon trains followed Medicine Creek on the Old Fort McPherson trail. The fort was established in 1863 in Lincoln County to protect the area from Indian raids. This trail, coming through the present reservoir area, brought pioneers and supplies to the fort from the south. Fort McPherson is now a national cemetery with soldiers of several wars buried there. Historical markers show where the old trail ran along the northeast side of the reservoir.

This was great buffalo country. W. H. Miles and John Bratt wrote in an early history of Frontier County:

"The abundance of buffalo and other game that majestically roamed this territory, and drank of the waters of the Medicine, attracted men of note from abroad on a round of pleasure in pursuing the game of the plains.

"William "Buffalo Bill" Cody, would often bring parties in. . . . The Russian Duke Alexis, General Sherman, and other noted men came in for a share of the hilarious sport of buffalo hunting. The Duke could not ride over rough country fast enough to kill a buffalo; he did not want to return to Russia before killing one. So Bill Reed ran down a buffalo calf and held it until the Grand Duke came up and shot it."

This is the area, abounding in early day history, which is one of Nebraska's newest recreation grounds. It is a popular spot with an estimated 101,000 visitors taking advantage of the facilities last year. Heading the list of visitor activities was sight-seeing, 31,000. Another estimated 25,000 14 OUTDOOR NEBRASKA   came to fish and 21,000 to picnic. Boating was also popular with an estimated 2,100 boats put in the lake during the warm months. Cars in the area numbered 25,250, with an average visitor traveling 180 miles to and from the recreation grounds.

To learn more of this interesting area and its future, I recently visited the Medicine Creek Reservoir. Melvin Grim of McCook, Game Commission's superintendent of Medicine Creek, Swanson, and Enders Reservoirs, escorted me on a day-long tour of the area. Grim has been connected with this reservoir area since 1952.

The dam, facing northwest, is seven miles northwest of Cambridge. Impounded behind this large earth structure is Harry Strunk Lake, named after a McCook editor and publisher. This dam was completed by the Bureau of Reclamation in late 1949. It is one of the features being operated by the Bureau for irrigation and flood control in the Kansas River Basin.

The dam is a 4,000-foot-long earth-fill structure with a height of 115 feet above the bed of the creek. The reservoir backs water upstream approximately seven miles and provides a water supply for irrigation of a planned acreage of 16,630 acres of land.

And the recreational value of this lake and its surrounding area is invaluable to the people of Nebraska. Fish and wildlife abound and there is ample room to expand existing recreational facilities.

The dam is operated by the Bureau of Reclamation while the grounds surrounding the reservoir are maintained and operated by the Game Commission. The administration of the area for wildlife as well as recreational purposes was turned over to the state in May, 1952.

Four creeks—Medicine, Lime, Mitchell, and Elk—drain into the lake. Medicine Creek follows through a valley, varying in width of two to five miles, bordered by bluffs up to 200 feet in height. The sides of the canyons are short and steep.

One main recreation area has been developed while several others are in the planning. The Game Commission's recreation grounds is located on the southwest side near the dam. It contains picnic grounds, fireplaces, camping facilities, benches, and a boat ramp. A new concrete MARCH, 1959 15   boat ramp and a shelter house are included in this summer's development. The building will be located on a bluff point, offering a spectacular view of the sprawling lake and dam.

There is a public concession building on the main recreation site. Across a small inlet of water from the recreation grounds is another small picnic area. It has benches, fireplaces, and a rock and gravel boat ramp.

A cabin site on the southwest side—on Lime Creek, located between Timber Canyon and the creek—is also being developed. Here there are 43 cabins or club sites for lease and two cabins that have been built. Cabin owners are allowed to make such water-front improvements as boat docks. There is parking space for 20 trailer homes in the summer.

The future will see another large recreation area grow up on the northeast side of the lake. One small area already has been developed near the dam. A picnic site with fireplaces, tables and sanitary facilities has been partially completed near the spillway, to accommodate the anglers.

Angling is good just about anywhere in the lake. Some of .the hot spots have been: near the dam on the northeast side for walleyes, Lime Creek and Timber Canyon for crappie, and Benedict Canyon for walleyes and crappie. Medicine Creek near the northwest end of the reservoir has been a good spot for catfish. An estimated 62,500 game fish were taken out of the lake last year.

Hunting is going to be fabulous because of the uplandgame management program for the area. Waterfowlers, too, should benefit, for the lake will attract and hold ducks and geese. Thousands of ducks were rafted up on the lake at one time last fall. The public hunting grounds cover a spacious 8,573 acres.

Eight wildlife habitat replacement sites and one large area have been left in native timber and grassland. Plans for habitat replacement on the reservoir lands were prepared by the Fish and Wildlife Service. The plantings were designed to replace, where practical, the loss of valuable wildlife habitat resulting from impoundment. Also, it was to compliment the state-wide habitat development and management programs of the Nebraska Game Commission.

The habitat replacements are in reality two shelterbelts set a short distance apart. Between the two plantings, sunflowers, weed patches, and grass are left to grow wild. This makes ideal nesting and hunting cover for upland birds.

Habitat replacement here was initiated in the spring of 1950. A total of 44,608 trees and shrubs were planted the first year and approximately 17,622 in 1951. Since then the Game Commission has done additional tree planting and replacement planting.

More than 1,000 acres controlled by the state are farmed on a share-crop basis. A certain amount of the crops are left standing over the winter to insure adequate survival of upland-game breeding populations.

Near the head of the reservoir, a large tract of land, designated as Area A, has been completely fenced in and left in native timber and grass. Also, 46 acres of trees and shrubs have been planted in the area. Crops are grown in some sections of Area A but no grazing is permitted. This wilderness, open to hunting, is a wildlife haven for upland birds, small game, and deer.

There are 19 miles of access roads and 22 miles of interior roads, so the visiting hunters, fishermen and sightseers have little trouble getting around. Travelers from the east and west can use Highways 6 and 34, turning off on a graveled county road just west of Cambridge. From the north, the best bets are Highway 83 out of North Platte and 23 south out of Maywood.

For those who like to travel fast, there is a state approved air strip near the dam.

Medicine Creek Reservoir and its recreational facilities will continue to be developed as time and money permits. But don't put off until the future to enjoy what the southwest playground has to offer today.

THE END

PHOTO NEWS

16 OUTDOOR NEBRASKA

SPORTSMEN'S NEMESIS

by E. A. Rogers, M. D.. M.P.H Director, State of Nebraska Department of Health

TETANUS BACILLUS was discovered in 1884, but it was not until six years later that a Japanese physician found that blood serum from an infected animal injected into a healthy animal would produce an effective antitoxin for treatment of humans. These antibodies were the means of saving hundreds of lives during World War I. Since that time, science has found that chemical treatment of the toxin given off by the germ would render it nonpoisonous, but would not destroy its power to stimulate the production of antibodies when injected into the body. The result is a toxoid now available to all physicians in building long-time immunity against tetanus.

What does all this mean to you as a fisherman and hunter? Read on and you will find the answer.

Tetanus bacteria can live in the intestines of humans and other vegetable-eating animals, particularly horses, without causing trouble. The excreta in the soil is teeming with spores waiting to enter wounds, where they give off the poisonous toxin during the reproduction stage. Because of this fact, everyone who comes in direct contact with soil should be immunized against these germs.

Where do fishermen look for fish worms? In these same enriched soils where tetanus spores abide.

Because germ-laden dust may settle on the skin, one can readily understand that hunters in contact with barbedwire fences and with the possibility of intercepting stray bullets are especially vulnerable. In fact, gunshot wounds and protruding bone fractures lead all other causes in the development of lockjaw. Fishhooks, nails in the shoes, blisters, or anything leaving an open lesion where these powerful germs may enter, are potential trouble makers.

Perhaps you are one of those optimistic people who believe "It can't happen to me." Although it is a relatively infrequent infection, one must not underrate its power to produce one of the most poisonous substances ever discovered. According to authorities, one teaspoonful of this toxin is enough to kill 400,000,000 people.

Tetanus germs are strange organisms that live only on dead cells in the body where air is not available. If the bacilli do not find favorable conditions in which to continue growth, they may die or they may form spores which can live for several years defying dryness, cold, and heat. Bright sunlight will quickly destroy them, however.

The danger is not confined to deep wounds. Germs may enter a minor scratch where the scab formation may exclude oxygen. For this reason, the likelihood of infection in children is especially high. It is advisable that the first in a series of tetanus toxoid injections be administered in early infancy. Many family physicians recommend that it be given in conjunction with whooping cough and diphtheria serums to be followed by "booster shots" at various intervals. It is recommended that an additional injection at age four will insure a high level of immunity before entrance in school. Booster shots at three-year intervals throughout life will help to maintain excellent immunity.

Even with medical attention, there are frequent deaths once the germs have been given the chance to secrete their toxin. This poison travels along the nerves to the brain and spinal chord where the violently stimulated nerve cells cause the frightening spasms. After the lungs and heart have been attacked, death usually occurs.

The first symptoms may be inability to sleep, irritability, headache, a slight stiffness in the neck.

Again, we remind you sportsmen that lockjaw is preventable and that it is seldom encountered since the advent of immunization. Wash a newly inflicted wound thoroughly with soap and water. Apply a mild antiseptic and cover with a sterile dressing. Visit a physician promptly. He may decide to protect you against infection by giving a shot of tetanus antitoxin for the immediate injury. Tetanus toxoid is recommended for long-time immunity.

THE END

CLASSIFIED ADVERTISEMENTS

Rates for classified advertising: 10 cents a word: minimum order $2.50 Mounting fox, raccoon, or badger rug, $10, Coyote or bobcal, $15. Strange, Nebraska City, Nebraska. If you want your school, rural or town, to do a good job of teaching pupils soil and water conservation, see that each pupil has a copy of the text workbook entitled LEARNING ABOUT SOIL AND WATER CONSERVATION, ideal for pupils from grades 5-8, written by experts, George Rotter, State Department of Education, and Adrian Fox, United States Soil Conservation Service. Price 80c. Write for quantity discounts and informative brochure. This book is being used in many schools throughout the United States. Johnsen Publishing Company, 1135 "R" Street, Lincoln, Nebraska. MARCH, 1959 17

SMOKING IS EASY

Your mouth watering for a tasty treat? You can make it with this economic, do-it-yourself smoker

THE art of preserving food by smoking was employed by our earliest civilization. Our cave-dwelling ancestors, who wore skins for clothing and courted the wife with a club, didn't know they were enjoying a delicacy when they partook of smoked game and fish. It was possibly their only method of preparing meat.

Modern-day canning and freezing methods make it unnecesary for us to worry about old-fashioned smoking. What few people realize is that the old-timers had something when it came to flavor and pleasing the stomach in a pleasant manner.

Now the tangy flavor and natural aroma of properly smoked meat is a real treat. Few people enjoy these tidbits, for the high cost of commercial preparations make them a rarity for modern-day taste buds.

One of the tastiest ways to prepare fish for the table is old-fashioned smoking. Rough fish such as carp become a flavorful morsel when introduced to smoke.

The art of smoking is just as simple today as it was centuries ago, so there's no reason for a person with a little ambition to forego these pleasures. Making a smoke house is ridiculously simple and takes a minimum of material, as the accompanying photographs indicate.

The smoke house illustrated here is of wood construction with metal oven racks and a tin heat deflector to keep the meat from becoming scorched. Or if you have an old ice box or refrigerator, you can convert either one into a smoker.

You need not follow any set plan- for the smoker. Improvise as you go along and make the smoker to your own specifications. Maybe it would be a good idea to adjust the width of the smoker to fit your set of oven racks. The oven height of the smoker should be at least 30 inches, though. This will give you room to have the first rack or tray 10 inches off the smoker floor. The second rack is 20 inches off the floor and this leaves 10 inches clearance at the top. A smoker this size has ample room for smoke circulation.

The rig shown here was built with old angle irons as a frame and is covered with scrap wood. Loose fitting boards on top allow the smoke to circulate and escape. If you wish, you can make all fittings tight and use a small stovepipe damper to adjust for proper circulation. In the refrigerator-type smoker, a one-inch water pipe run through a hole bored in the tops acts as a chimney. If the refrigerator is old and the rubber insulation is in poor condition, smoke will escape around the door and a chimney is not necessary.

Heat for the smoker is furnished by an electric hot plate, the larger the better for faster results. Smoke is generated from sawdust or wood chips in an old frying pan on container placed on the heater. Make a metal heat deflector to fit over the hot plate and pan.

Oak, apple, hickory, and cottonwood can be used to create smoke. Do not, though, use pine, fir, or any coniferous tree, as they seem to deposit resin and soot. The type OUTDOOR NEBRASKA   of wood you pick is what gives the meat its distinctive flavor. Chips and sawdust can be purchased commercially.

Now, we are ready to cook the fish. The fish must be cleaned and washed thoroughly; heads may be left on or taken off. A nice-sized fish for this type of smoker weighs from three-quarters to IV2 pounds.

Large fish can be smoked this way, too, but the process might take several days. The sensible answer is to reduce the fish to workable size by filleting or chunking. Keep the pieces as uniform as possible. If a fish is left whole, the larger ones may need splitting down the back before they can be laid out flat. The smaller ones will not need cutting.

Place the fish or pieces in a cold salt brine for 24 to 36 hours. Small fish may not take that long; 12 to 18 hours should do the job. Brine is made by adding 1V2 cups of salt to a gallon of water. Use enough brine to cover the fish to be cured.

After removing meat from brine, wash in clear water a few minutes and dry. Now place the fish on a rack or wire screen in the rig and start smoking. Fish should be turned every hour for evenness sake. When fish can be hung from hooks, turning is not necessary.

In this type of operation, smoking will probably take 6 to 12 hours, depending on the size of the fish and the hot plate. Temperatures should be between 150° and 200° Fahrenheit to insure proper cooking. In the ice-box type smoker, the temperature can be kept around 200° and the fish will smoke in three to four hours.

It was found in our experimental rig that after 10 hours of smoking, the fish started to feel firm to the touch. The smoking was continued for another hour and the fish were done. But remember, smoking can vary in each operation by several hours and the actual condition of the fish rather than the exact length of time in the smoker is what counts.

The fish I smoked for this article were carp that averaged four to five pounds each. To insure even smoking, the fish were split down the back so they could be placed in a flat position on the rack. It was cold on this particular day, and this was the main reason the smoking job required almost 12 hours. On a warm day, the process will speed up considerably.

Sawdust or chips are placed in the frying pan as soon as the hot plate is started. Experience will dictate the frequency of replenishing the fuel and how much smoke you want on your meat. Keep the smoke flowing slowing through the box.

After removing from the smoker, the fish should be kept where air is circulating and not allowed to sweat in a covered box or bag.

Wild game can also be smoked in the same manner. These meats should be dipped in a boiling brine solution for a short time prior to smoking. The brine is made by adding 1 1/2 cups of curing salt to a gallon of water. Meat should be cut in workable sizes, preferably strips that are not more than one or two inches thick in order to dry and cure correctly.

Quail, pheasant, and duck are considered very savory when smoked. Birds are better when hung from hooks and they should be rubbed with cooking oil first.

When serving the smoked meat, you can bring out the true smokey flavor by warming in the kitchen oven. The smoking process will have cooked the fish sufficiently so that only a short warming is necessary. Then you are ready to serve this treat as a hors d'oeuvres or as a main dish to your family or friends.

THE END MARCH, 1959 19

BULLETS and BALLOTS

by Frank Foote Historically, we owe much to the small lead missile. Its development is fascinating story

WHEN hunters drop a mallard with a load of No. 6's, or bag a "hat-rack" mule buck with a soft-point from their pet .270, or even when people bang away at each other in war, there is usually little thought given to the item that does the job. Let's take a look at a fascinating subject—projectiles in use today, their history, and developments in this field.

Man is unique in that he is the only animal using weapons that are not a part of himself. Weapons generally are of two kinds: The direct contact weapon held in the hand such as the club, sword, or lance, and the missile weapon such as the stones thrown by the Biblical sling of David, arrows, and finally, bullets.

With few exceptions lead has always been the major ingredient of small-arm bullets and shot. Lead is cheap, plentiful, easily molded, and soft enough not to damage the soft iron barrels of early firearms. Also, lead is the heaviest of cheap metals. This weight is an important quality as a heavy projectile will retain its velocity and power better than a lighter one of equal size.

In many ways, the development of sporting arms and bullets has followed and been dependent upon inventions made in the field of military ordnance.

Matchlock muskets, firing round lead-cast bullets, were in quantity use by 1450. The armorers of the day had little trouble with bullet making, as the accurate casting of leaden objects in metallic molds was a skill that went back to the Romans. Matchlocks were in common military use until about 1700, being gradually supplanted by wheel lock and flintlock weapons.

The basic difference in these three types of blackpowder arms was the system of ignition. Ignition of matchlock weapons depended upon a glowing match, held securely in a pivoted arm, which moved precisely to the touchhole when the trigger was pulled. Wheel locks were more complicated, involving a clock-work type main spring, controlled by the trigger, which turned a small rough wheel against flint or iron pyrites, and sent a tiny shower of sparks to the black powder load. The wheel lock principle had much in common with today's cigarette lighters. 20 OUTDOOR NEBRASKA   Flintlock ignition depended on the shower of sparks created when flint struck steel, and was simpler and cheaper to construct.

With notable exceptions these matchlock, wheel-lock, and flintlock weapons were usually smooth bored, like the shotguns of today. Rifled weapons, however, were produced rather early in Germany and Austria. German immigrants, possessing rifle-making skills, settled in Pennsylvania in the 1700's and were making "Kentucky" type long rifles before Daniel Boone was knee high.

All of these weapons had one thing in common — soft-lead balls for bullets. Rifle bullets were usually patched with cloth or leather, while musket bullets were often fired without patching.

As standardization of manufacture was unknown, each weapon varied a little in its bore dimensions. Quality civilian arms were usually sold with an individual bullet mold made to the right specifications for the particular gun. Military bullets were made to fit the smallest diameter musket of a particular model and bore size could vary three or four hundredths of an inch within a given model. So the phrase used at Bunker Hill, "Wait 'till you see the whites of their eyes, boys," was not all bravery; it was also necessity. Some of these old over-sized muskets, firing undersized bullets, literally couldn't hit the broad side of a barn at 200 yards.

Accuracy of the carefully patched balls in the better European and "Kentucky" rifles was another matter. Recent accuracy tests, following the same loading methods used 250 years ago, showed groups can be shot at 100 yards which compares favorably with those made by modern sporting rifles with open sights.

Gunpowder and bullets are often credited with making ballots possible. The Swiss people won their freedom early and were (and are) able to defend it against encroachment by requiring their citizens to be armed with accurate weapons. Historically, much of the power of effective legislatures and free elections can be traced to Cromwell's English Revolution in which the parliamentarians, armed with matchlocks and wheel-lock smooth bores, were able to defeat the better armored and more militarily experienced Royalists. The freedom of the United States was determined in the same manner at Yorktown and New Orleans.

With the rise of the industrial revolution and manufacturing skill in the early 1800's, dissatisfaction with the round lead balls led military men in Europe to begin experiments for better bullets. Ballistically the round ball is about the poorest possible shape, offering the most air resistance for the mass involved and therefore, the least range and the most curved trajectory. Many types of bullets were developed, and the most successful was the cylindroconoidal bullet with a hollow hole base developed by Captain Minie of the French Army. The hollow base allowed the bullets to be made smaller than bore size, so that loading was easy, even in rifles badly fouled with black-powder shots. Upon firing, he hollow base expanded to bore size, filled the rifle grooves and the bullet was given the spin necessary for ballistic stability.

Within a 12-year period, 1848 to 1860, the world's major powers dropped the , , , , . , round ball for military use and adopted Sportsmen can purchase todays elongated jacketed bullets in numerous shapes elongated bullets, mostly of expanding Minie-type. Hunters followed suit, and the round ball that had been in use 500 years was suddenly obsolete. The mechanical revolution was in full swing and methods of making bullets were changing fast. Casting machines were replacing individual and gang molds, and hydraulic swaying of lead slugs, a process in modified usage today, came into being.

The American Civil War showed the military need for breech-loading repeating weapons that used metallic cartridges. The dynamic, expanding frontier was a vast market for the same type weapon. The repeating rimfire .44 Henry rifle was adapted by the young Winchester Company. Soon a whole new group of self-primed, brass-cased blackpowder cartridges, shooting cast or swaged lubricated lead bullets, were on the market. In 1870, the army adopted a .50/70 cartridge and a single-shot rifle; changing again in 1873 to the famous .45/70 single-shot, trap-door Springfield. The latter saw rugged field service from the Custer Massacre on the Little Big Horn to Aguinaldo's Filipino Insurrection in the early years of the 20th century.

The nomenclature of these black-powder weapons will bring nostalgia to many readers who can remember the first Roosevelt's election. The .44/40, .40/65, .38/55, .45/90, .32/40, and .25/20 were popular loads of the day. Two or three figures were usually included in their designation at these calibers. The first figure was usually the diameter in one hundredths of an inch from land to land of the barrel rifling; the second was the number of grains of black powder used and the third, when included, was the weight of the bullet in grains. Thus the .45/70/500 had a land diameter of 45/100's of an inch, burned 70 grains of black powder, and expelled its lead and tin alloy .500 grain MARCH, 1959 21   slug at the then "high muzzle velocity of 1,315 feet per second.

Tin came into general use as a hardening agent to be mixed with lead as pure lead was too soft for the more powerful loads, and tended to lead the bore, destroying accuracy.

The advent of smokeless powder in the 1890's brought about higher internal temperatures and higher muzzle velocities. This caused leading and a device known as the gas check was developed to protect the bullet from the hot powder gases of smokeless powder. The gas check is not really a "gas check" at all, but rather a shallow copper cup pressed onto the base of lead-tin alloy bullets. As copper has a considerably higher melting point than lead-tin alloy, gas-check bullets can be driven at a faster rate than plain-base bullets without encountering leading problems.

Even the gas check was not the final answer to the bullet problems brought on with the advent of smokeless powder. In the United States, jacketed bullets made their appearance with the first .30/40 Krag cartridge and have been in wide-spread use for rifle shooting since. These bullets are formed by swaging a lead core into a cylinder of harder, more heat-resistant metal, usually a copper alloy, and then forming the bullet into the desired shape. Roundnose, soft-point, hollow-point, spire-point, spitzer-point, and boattail are descriptive of some of the various types of jacketed bullets on the market today. While some superaccurate bench-rest shooters make their own jacketed bullets in swaging dies, using lead-wire cores and prepared jackets, most riflemen buy their bullets either as factory loaded ammo or as finished bullets for use in hand loading. The factory making of jacketed bullets is an interesting and highly precise process which Nebraskans can observe at the J. W. Hornady plant in Grand Island, one of the largest bullet factories in the United States.

Jacketed bullets allow extremely high velocities to be reached. The factory load on the .220 Swift is now being rated at 4,140 feet per second muzzle velocity. For pistol shooting, cast bullets are still used, as pistol velocities do not require jacketed bullets to prevent leading problems. The rather new and hot .44 Magnum has pushed velocities up to the point that some pistol loadings now being made are gas-checked bullets.

Where time is not a factor, many rifle shells are yet being reloaded with cast bullets, with or without gas checks. Using cast bullets has a definite cost advantage for the reloader, as well as providing more variety of bullet weight than is possible in jacketed bullets and longer barrel life. Full-metal jacketed bullets have the lead core completely covered by a copper alloy or mildsteel jacket. There is no expansion upon contact and such bullets are notorious for ricocheting. Sporting use is limited to dangerous, thickskinned species where great penetration is desired.

Thus we have had a glimpse of the development of bullets from the first crude lead balls that were rammed down the muzzle of matchlock muskets to today's modern jacketed bullets which combine great strength to withstand the shock of acceleration at today's high muzzle velocities and yet are able to expand with great shock effect when striking target.

THE END

22 OUTDOOR NEBRASKA

THE day that Charlie Channel Catfish was born in a hollow, rottedout log in the swirling waters of the Elkhorn River, he had 8,000 brothers and sisters for company. For 10 days his daddy guarded him and the others, but on the 11th day, his father disappeared and Charlie was left on his own.

Right after Charlie's daddy departed, a large, ferocious-looking bass swam into his home and began eating his brothers and sisters. Charlie fled for his life and from that day on, the battle to exist began.

Charlie had to learn how to find his own food, to fend for himself, and to hide when big fish approached so he wouldn't become an easy meal for them. And when big fish chased him, he swam very fast.

Soon Charlie's family dwindled to less than 1,000 as more brothers and sisters were devoured by larger fish. Charlie didn't know this, but if he and two others of his family survived to become big fish, they would be lucky. Even if his daddy or mother were to come along now, chances are that they would be only too glad to eat him, too. You see, fish have no respect for kin.

Day by day, Charlie Catfish kept growing. He spent most of his time searching for food, and wasn't too particular what he ate. There were many other species of fish competing for food, so finding an ample supply was no easy task. He fed upon the common fishfood invertebrates, aquatic insects and their larvae, crayfish, and other crustaceans and mollusks. Sometimes he would just lie in the water and rest.

As Charlie grew, the small spots on his body began to disappear. Then he became a sleek, trim-looking fish with a silver-gray body, shading to a paler silver below. And as he got larger, Charlie noticed that fewer fish were interested in him. He had become too large for many of them to eat.

He also noticed another change. Bugs which once satisfied his hunger no longer did. He looked for bigger bugs but they were hard to find. He began to eat other fish. Charlie was grateful to someone who dumped small hatchery fish in the Elkhorn River each fall. These fingerlings provided him with good food and they weren't too hard to catch. He also developed an appetite for earthworms and frogs.

Charlie liked to travel into and along cool, swift-running water and his trim body structure, with deep-forked tail, suited him admirably for life in swift waters.

For a year Charlie managed to elude all kinds of danger and kept growing until he weighed over a pound. He looked like a slick torpedo. He could move swiftly, too, when dangers threatened.

One morning as Charlie lazed along the Elkhorn river, he saw what he thought was a tempting frog on the surface of the water. It moved slowly. Charlie could catch it easy, and he did. But to his surprise he had trouble swallowing the frog. Something was wrong here. The frog was pulling him around. He fought it stubbornly. He tried his best to spit it out. He tugged and tugged but the frog wouldn't let go. Soon he tired and allowed the frog to pull him.

The frog that was towing Charlie happened to be connected to a fishing line of a 14-year-old boy named Andy. Soon the boy had him out of the water. He squirmed but it did no good. He felt something holding him but it didn't swallow him. It was Andy's hand. Then a funny thing happened. The frog was taken out of Charlie's mouth and the boy gently placed him back in the water. He wanted Charlie to grow and give some angler a bigger thrill.

The frog, which had some cleverly concealed hooks, hadn't hurt Charlie at all. He suffered some discomfort, but fish do not feel pain as you and I do. Charlie felt no gratitude and never did learn what was wrong with that frog. He was still hungry. Soon he was chasing a school of small fish again. He caught one and ate it.

As the years passed, Charlie was blessed with good luck and grew to be a hefty six-pound channel catfish. Though he lived in the Elkhorn River, many channel catfish can be found elsewhere in Nebraska. They are most abundant in the mighty Missouri, the North Fork of the Elkhorn, and the Big and Little Blue rivers.

In six years Charlie helped to raise six families. Each spring, when the water temperature reached about 70°, he would ascend the river to spawn. Females may produce 3,000 to 8,000 eggs, laying them in such places as crevices, overhanging rock ledges, and undercut banks. Because of intensive farming along the river, a great deal of mud and siltation occurred, thus Charlie's places of spawning along the Elkhorn River were rapidly dwindling.

After the spawning took place, Charlie would chase the female away from the nest and take over the family duties until the young were hatched. He would aerate the eggs—keep silt off them by fanning his tail. Charlie would guard them for 6 to 10 days, then would suddenly depart, leaving them to fight as best they could to survive. Sometimes he would devour his own young.

If you ever catch a catfish don't make the mistake many do, when they claim they caught a blue catfish. Both species are similar but here's how you can tell the difference: A channel catfish has larger eyes and they are near the top of the head. Blues have smaller eyes and lower. Also the anal fin of the channel catfish is definitely more rounded.

Charlie had become immune to attack, because of his defensive apparatus, the strong and sharp spines in the dorsal and pectoral fins.

It was summer again. Charlie had returned from the upper stretches of the Elkhorn to his familiar haunts. And he was hungry. He tried to catch some fish but they got away. Then he saw a frog moving slowly, then pausing on top of the water. He caught this one with ease. But Charlie had made another mistake. It wasn't a live frog. It was another fake frog, with hooks.

No matter how hard Charlie tried to get rid of the "frog," he couldn't. It stayed hooked in his mouth. Then he tried to swim away, but the "frog" held him fast. So he bored deep into the water and he stubbornly refused to move. It seemed like a tug-of-war. Finally, completely fatigued, he gave up. The "frog" began to pull him. He came to the surface and felt himself being lifted out of the water by a youth of 19. And who was this youth? It was Andy, the same boy who had released Charlie five years ago.

Andy was happy. He picked Charlie up and took him home. Andy became famous as this was the biggest fish caught in years. Newspapermen took pictures of Andy and Charlie. Later, Andy cleaned the fish and the family had a delicious dinner.

Many of you can experience what happened to Andy. When you land an under-sized channel catfish, why not release him and give him a chance to grow up to lunker size? Not so, though with the more prolific fish like bluegills and other panfish. They are so plentiful that any you catch, regardless of size, should help improve fishing conditions.

Perhaps, if you release an undersized catfish, you'll be as lucky as Andy and catch him later when he's really big. Try it, won't you?

THE END MARCH, 1959 23

SPEAK UP

Send your questions to "Speak Up," OUTDOOR NEBRASKA, Slate Capitol, Lincoln 9, Nebraska Wants Trapshooting Info

"I am interested in trapshooting and would appreciate some information. What is the address of the Amateur trapshooters' association? Do we have a state association? Are there any skeet ranges in southeastern Nebraska and are they open to the public?"— Richard T. Norris, Avoca.

Write to Maynard B. Henry, Sec, Amateur Trapshooters Association, 629 S. Hill St., Los Angeles, Calif., and to Gordon Still, Nebraska State Sportsmen's Association, Elm Creek, for information about the associations. To my knowledge there are two skeet ranges in southeastern Nebraska that are open to the public: Lincoln Gun Club, on North 48th Street, one mile north of U. S. Highway No. 6, and Robert's Gun Club, Omaha. B. A. Zahm, 2901 Cummings Street, Omaha, is owner of the latter mentioned club.— Editor.

Origin in 1879

"What year was the fish and game commission in your state established?" T. R. Powers, Exeter, N. H.

The Nebraska Game Commission dates back to 1879, when the State Legislature directed the Governor to appoint three citizens to a Board of Fish Commissioners. The board was to have entire charge and supervision of the public waters pertaining to the collection, propagation, cultivation, distribution, and protection of fish in the state.—Editor.

Old Enough

"I would like to know if it is legal for me to trap mink, badger, raccoon, and jack rabbits as I am only 11 years of age?"— Mike Beelaert, Orchard.

Yes, you may trap during the open seasons providing you, too, have a trapping permit. In Nebraska, all individuals desiring to trap must have a trapping permit, regardless of age.—Editor.

How About Falcons?

"It is against the law to use a falcon in hunting in this state?" Richard L. Browers, Kearney.

The answer is a definite "yes." For one thing, Nebraska law prohibits the possession of a falcon. Secondly, it is impossible to train a falcon for selective hunting, so it is probable that a falcon would capture both protected and nonprotected species.—Editor.

TRAIL OF THE BIG CAT

(Continued from Page 13)

I crawled up the bank, puffing and out of breath. "A 400-mile trip, nine miles of walking, and a cat in the hole. How sad can things get?"

The cat had holed in a tunnel under a large rock. There was an opening at both ends and the dogs were blocking both entrances.

"What do you think?" I asked Cecil, "Is he in there for good or can we smoke him out?"

"We can smoke him out," the conservation officer replied, "or we can get some barbed wire and poke him out."

Cats are nervous and this one wasn't enjoying the noise of humans and barking dogs.

Gene, seeing something move in the back of the tunnel, asked, "Is one of the dogs in the tunnel?"

He'd barely finished his question when the cat bounded out the top of the tunnel, breaking between the four of us and the jeep. What Gene had seen was the cat backing up. for his dash for freedom. The cat was up and over the top of the bank in a wink.

"Give me the rifle," Gene shouted. I tossed him the .22 and he got off several long shots at the bounding animal. Only thing he scored, though, were near misses.

Jiggs and Young Red, singing with joy, lost little time in taking of in hot pursuit. For the opening 100 yards, it was the cat's race, but then the dogs started to close in. Cats are short winded and after going over a small hill several hundred yards away, the dogs were fast gaining ground."

"They're treed him," Ivol called, as the dogs started to sing a different tune.

We raced over the hill and there was a beautiful sight, almost too good to be true. The cat was perched about 12 feet off the ground in an old dead cottonwood, glaring down at the dogs. As far as we were concerned, he picked the best tree in Sioux County, particularly for picturetaking purposes. It was out there all by itself, offering unobstructed views.

Excited to the hilt, Maggie tried to race right up the tree. The trunk had a big slope to it, and on several occasions Maggie almost made it out on the limb with the bobcat.

Gene was busy snapping pictures while the rest of us, with guns ready, admired the big tom. He was bushed and made no attempt to escape. He completely ignored us, concentrating instead on the howling dogs at the base of the tree.

Ivol was given the honor of shooting the cat, since it was his dogs who were responsible for our success.

"Better hold the dogs so they won't jump in and chew the cat up," Ivol said.

Cecil held Jiggs and Maggie while Ivol made a rope collar to hold Young Red. Toothless Old Red was allowed to run free, and this was to create some last-minute excitement. Gene and I were going to record the action with the cameras.

Ivol tried for a heart shot and scored. The bobcat sprang three feet into the air and tumbled to the ground. But even with a good hit, the old cat had plenty of fight left. Old Red jumped in, the cat rolled over with its back to a small bank and started ripping with his back legs. Dog, cat, and dirt filled the air. The cat slashed the dog on the leg and ear. Cecil and Ivol turned loose the other dogs to aid the gallant old fighter.

The ailing cat gained its feet, made a dash and jumped for the base of the tree. But it was his final effort as he hit the tree head first and tumbled to the ground, dead.

We pulled the dogs off, loaded the cat in the jeep, and took off for Harrison. The cat weighed in at 30 pounds which is a good-sized animal, and ample reward for the three days afield.

THE END 24 OUTDOOR NEBRASKA

OUTDOOR ELSEWHERE

Desert Moose

NEVADA ... A moose in this state? A swamp-dwelling lowland beast shot in Elko County, which is just about the opposite type of terrain? Nevada Fish and Game men were skeptical of the report that an Indian on the Owyhee Reservations had killed a moose but decided to check it just to satisfy themselves that it couldn't be true. They found it was true. A young bull moose, apparently wandering from its accustomed haunts far to the north, had been bagged in the northern part of the Independence Range and the kill was perfectly legal, since no one who drew up Nevada's fish and game laws had foreseen the possibility of moose in the desert and there was no regulation against hunting moose.

Try Spuds For Bait

TEXAS . . . Approximately eight tons of fish were taken from Buffalo Lake recently in what is probably the Panhandle's largest seining project to rid the lake of shad and carp. A snag arose when 40 volunteers operating the 1,200-foot seine discovered that the lake floor contained debris, including old automobile bodies, barbed-wire fences, and other items, making it difficult to sweep the fish to shore. They tried baiting the holes, first with ordinary baits, then with cantaloupe, watermelon, grapes, and other fruits. The fish were only slightly interested. Then someone suggested potatoes. The results were amazing: 90 per cent came from the areas baited with potatoes.

Lots of Rabbit

PENNSYLVANIA ... A farmer was mowing hay near Mickleville, Venango County, last summer when his boys caught an apparently crippled rabbit, Game Protector Donald Schake reports. He says, "Imagine the boys' surprise when they learned the cottontail wasn't dragging an injured hind leg, that it had five fully-developed legs—two forward and three aft. Some hunters in this vicinity are considering giving up rabbit hunting. They reason that it's hard enough to hit a bunny traveling on four legs, so their chances wouldn't be at all good against the five-legged variety."

Plenty of Nuts on This Car

ONTARIO ... A business woman of King tells about car trouble. The auto was working perfectly when she turned « off the motor the evening before. The car was parked in the garage, which in turn was under a spreading English walnut tree. Starting the car three days later it came to life with a roar and despite all the lady's efforts, she couldn't move the accelerator from the down position. Fortunately, the gears were set at "Park." If they had been shifted to "Drive," she might have made like Superman. Failing to release the pedal, she lifted the hood and discovered no motor. A covering of fine, fluffy material filled the space where the motor should have been. This was discovered to be the shredded silence padding which is placed on the underside of the hood. Digging through this smoothlylaid covering, she found walnuts. Two bushels were removed before the car would idle. A family of squirrels had been busy harvesting the walnut crop and decided this hiding place was an ideal storage bin. The squirrels have since changed their dining room.

Strange "Fish"

SOUTH DAKOTA . . . Duke Lamster of Pierre, a sauger fisherman'working the Oahe tailwaters, had quite a thrill recently—for a while, at least. Something took his line and moved off like the grandpappy of all Missouri River fish. The angler fought this unknown denizen for five minutes before it finally surfaced. Another five minutes of rather hectic pulling and hauling was needed before the line finally parted and the beaver went hurriedly about his business.

Promiscuous Fishing

IOWA . . . The danger of fish loss due to freeze-outs or low oxygen count has prompted the opening of several areasareas to Promiscuous fishing. Iowa law provides that the State Conservation Commission may open any area to promiscuous fishing after investigation discloses "imminent danger of loss of fish from natural or artificial cause." The law enables the public to utilize the fish resources that would otherwise be lost or wasted. During the promiscuous fishing season, fish may be taken by any means except by the use of dynamite, poison, electrical shocking devices, or any stupefying substance. Fish so taken, though, may not be sold.

Quick Turnover

WEST VIRGINIA . . . Recovery of ear-tagged cottontails in this state by hunters and records of rabbits taken in live traps indicated that of every 100 juvenile rabbits alive during the summer, 52 were dead by the first fall; 60 (8 additional) were dead by the second fall; 92 (32 additional) were dead by the third fall, and nearly all were dead by the fourth year. The average longevity for cottontails in the wild was computed at 1.1 years.

Salmon Loss

OREGON . . . Last year's fall run of chinook and steelhead up the Snake River met with near disaster below Oxbow Dam. In an attempt to repair a wash-out under the temporary fish ladder, the Idaho Power Company was forced to shut off the river flow on two occasions, and hundreds of fish perished in the dry stream bed. The Oregon Fish Commission reports that about 3,400 salmon were lost out of an expected run of 21,000. Only frantic efforts by conservation and power agency personnel kept the loss from reaching a feared 10,500. Approximately 12,000 chinook were saved by trapping and dipnetting.

MARCH, 1959 25

Notes on Nebraska Fauna

SAND-HILL CRANE

by Pete Czura Associate Editor Moving high in the sky, the sand-hill cranes fly in military unison. Massing each spring in the North Platte valley, they offer Nebraskans an awe-inspiring spectacle

ONE of the most spectacular sights in Nebraska wildlife ocurs each spring when the gangling lesser sand-hill cranes, Grus canadensis canadensis, pour into the Platte Valley by the thousands from their southern wintering grounds. Occasionally a few can be found wandering into the Sand Hills region, with some drifting into the Panhandle areas.

The first of the sand-hill cranes to be described from North America was the "brown and ash-colored crane" of Hudson Bay, Canada. This crane, which visits Nebraska in such large numbers, was later called the "little crane". Another common name given the lesser is the "little brown crane". More recently, leading crane authorities have adopted the name of lesser sand-hill crane because "little brown crane" was misleading.

Average weight of an adult lesser crane is nine pounds, and average height, three feet.

The feathers of the lesser are naturally brown only in the downy and juvenile plumages. Adult birds, in fresh plumage, are definitely gray. The brown coloration, sometimes observed in adults, is a stain from soil and water, acquired through the bird's habit of dressing his feathers with a muddy bill.

The lesser crane, smaller than the greater sand-hill crane, nests in the far north and has not been threatened with the extinction, as have the greater, the Florida, and the Cuban sand-hill cranes. The latter three have been driven out of most of their natural ranges by the advance of man.

Most old-timers remember how huge flocks of sand-hill cranes used to descend in waves from the overhead skies. Looking at them, you'd never believe the day would come when their population was so reduced in numbers that a caged specimen of a greater sand-hill would attract hundreds of curious visitors.

Arriving in February, they remain here to about the end of March, when they leave the sanctuary of our Platte valley and migrate northward for spring nesting. Traveling more than 3,500 miles, they arrive in the Bering Sea region about May 15. Their breeding range extends from northeastern Siberia to Alaska; Arctic Canada to the region of the Baffin Island (home of the blue goose), and south to the northern extremities of the western Canadian Provinces.

In late fall, winter and early spring the lesser crane is very gregarious. However, when mating season rolls around, they separate into seclusive pairs.

OUTDOOR NEBRASKA 26  

In the cold barren lands of the northern hemisphere, they build nests out of grass, reeds, and other available material found in near-by wet lands. When the nest is finished, they create a shallow depression in it for eggs. During the mating season a group of six, eight, or ten cranes may gather on a hill and put on a regular hoe down. Their antics consist of fancy jumping into the air, and landing on rock-stiff legs. Sometimes they dance in utter silence, other times with utmost din.

The lesser usually lays two eggs; both at different dates. According to Herbert Brandt, author of Alaska Bird Trails, "lesser sand-hill crane eggs are incubated as soon as laid, and accordingly one egg hatches at least a day earlier than the second. The eggs of the lesser are usually the darkest of all sand-hill crane eggs and much smaller than those of the greater and Florida cranes."

As soon as the eggs are laid, both male and female cranes begin to participate in the hatching duties, changing places frequently. Incubation varies from 30 to 45 days.

Perhaps the lesser sand-hill cranes have a better chance of survival than any other North American crane, for the remoteness of their nesting areas in Arctic America protect them from human trespass, and the many wildlife refuges in the U. S. protect them on migration and during winter.

There are only a few predators to affect the nesting of the lesser cranes or their eggs and young. In the area of continuous daylight, where they nest, they can adequately defend themselves and their nests as they roost in water that is deep enough to prevent marauders from reaching them.

Among birds, the jaeger presents the greatest danger, for he searches relentlessly and continuously for eggs. Hawks, eagles, and owls are not common on the breeding grounds to be a serious danger, but Frank W. Robl, in a letter to Lawrence H. Walkinshaw, reported that eagles often attack cranes in Nebraska.

Eggs are pipped in 13 to 48 hours before hatching. After circling the egg with its white egg tooth, the young crane breaks out, a wet, weak form of tawny colored down. At first, the young crane is too weak to hold himself erect, but within 24 hours he can stand on wobbly feet. If a human approaches, the adults trumpet in loud, strident tones, and the young cranes leave their nest to hide in nearby vegetation.

Soon after hatching, the young are led by both adults to the nearest meadow or dry field. Here the young are able to hide at the first indication of danger. When their parents give the alarm, they are adept at hiding, lying flat to the ground with head and neck extended. Sometimes, the adults will lure an intruder from their young by running away with drooping wings. The first feeble flight efforts begin at about two months of age.

Juvenile lesser sand-hill cranes are usually browncolored, and as they age into adults their color becomes a natural pale mouse-gray color. The call of the downy young is a "low peeping" whistle with a gurgle.

The crane family remains a close family unit during the grouping of the fall migration flocks and while on the wintering grounds. This tie is broken the next spring when the adults begin nesting activities again.

The sand-hill cranes fly with both neck and legs outstretched in a straight line. They move their ponderous wings in a slow down beat but with an accelerated upstroke, and have been clocked at speeds of 25 to 35 m.p.h.

In flight the cranes soar in massed flock movements, wheeling in military unison, and reach great heights. Airline pilots have reported seeing cranes at altitudes of over a mile. It is at these heights that their mysterious call of garooo-a-a-a can be heard farther than the honk of the Canada goose. Sometimes, as the birds spiral out of sight, earthbound folk searching the sky wonder where the magical sound came from.

Cranes are omnivorous, living chiefly on grain and rootlets during the winter. During the summer their diet consists of rootlets, tender herbage, grain, insects, grubs, spiders, and occasionally mice and small birds. They seldom feed on fish but sometimes do eat crawfish, frogs, lizards, and snakes. They drink like chickens, dipping their bill into the water almost to the nostrils, quickly raising their head and swallowing.

The lessers usually roost on low, damp land or in shallow water, leaving at daybreak, or shortly after, for higher land to feed. The few marshes and the abundance of sand bars on the North and South Platte Rivers in Nebraska make this an ideal resting spot on their annual journeys.

Both lesser and greater sand-hill cranes migrate through Nebraska. However, most of those seen in our state are the lesser. The majority of lessers winter in southwest U.S. and northern Mexico.

Walter J. Breckenridge, a prominent waterfowl authority, once described the Nebraska crane flight this way: "At one time an estimated 20,000 lesser sand-hill cranes were standing shoulder to shoulder in a flock half a mile long on a sand bar near Lexington."

Concerning this flight, Breckenridge later estimated between 30 to 40 thousand cranes were near Lexington during the few days he spent in the area.

As the spring migrations begin, there is a tremendous massing of cranes along the entire Platte Valley. In a recent count of waterfowl in the North Platte Valley, the U. S. Fish and Wildlife reported observing over 200 thousand cranes.

The areas you may want to visit this spring to view this awe-inspiring spectacle of the gangling, yet stately birds include Lake McConaughy, river south of North Platte, and Platte River sand bars at Lexington, with the greatest accumulation between Kearney and Lexington.

Once you see these magnificant birds in flight, the ethereal beauty of these long fuselaged birds is never forgotten. The preservation and restoration of our wet lands is one of the major issues facing conservationists of this generation. Only an alert and informed public can insure that the sand-hill crane will always be part of our wildlife scenery.

THE END 27 MARCH, 1959

MATCH THEM UP

THE accompanying illuslralions are of eighl species of fish found in Nebraska. All questions below give a clue lo the idenlily of each. As a reward, the first five persons lo send in the correcl answers will receive a year's subscriplion lo OUTDOOR NEBRASKA. Mail answers lo OUTDOOR NEBRASKA, Stale Capilol, Lincoln 9. Correcl answers will appear in April's issue.

1. This denizen of the deep reaches a maximum length of four to five feet. Three foot specimens are quite common.

2. We'll even help you by telling you this one is a catfish. But which one has the fewest anal rays?

3. This one is acknowledged as the champion striker of the widest variety of lures.

4. In the spring and summer the lips of this catfish become considerably enlarged. It is often mistaken for a channel catfish.

5. Yellow perch make up a substantial part of this one's diet.

6. Here's one that will send you to the dictionary: Which one is the Aplodinotus grunniens?

7. The nimroders who fish for this one are usually considered "purists."

8. You'll have to read another story in this issue to find how this one was tricked twice by a fake frog.

9. Generally, the female of this species likes to be accompanied by a band of smallersized males.

10. The entire body of this fish is covered with rhombic scales, and the length of his beak is 15 to 20 times its least width.

11. Here's one that should make vou smile. Which one is sometimes called "mud cat",?

12. This one should be a cinch. One of this fish's most popular nicknames is "spotted cat."

13. This baby is always ready for a knockdown, drag-out battle with the angler that hooks him. Many call him "old linesides."

14. Fishing for this species requires certain finesse. To fool him you should use special stalking methods.

15. The upper jaw of this fish protrudes slightly beyond the lower one and its head is prominently convex.

16. Some fishermen call this one "sheeps head." Others call it a "silver bass," which is incorrect.

Postmaster: If undeliverable FOR ANY REASON, notify sender, stating reason, on FORM 3547. postage for which is guaranteed. FORWARDING POSTAGE GUARANTEED OUTDOOR NEBRASKA STATE HOUSE Lincoln, Nebraska