OUTDOOR Nebraska

DEEP-FREEZE BROWNS

THE SUB-ZERO bite of the cold wind drove me off the hill, down into the valley of South Verdigre. The blue ribbon of water of the northeastern Nebraska stream cut a contrasting path through the snow-choked valley, its spring waters steaming in the frigid air. Somewhere in the midst of its mist-shrouded waters, I hoped, lurked a big brown aching for action.

This was my first wintertime try for Verdigre browns. In fact, it was the first time in six years that I felt the stream warranted another try. Once driving over to the creek from my farm near Plain-view was an enjoyable venture. The creek produced plenty of browns. I'd caught more than my share during the last 30 years, gaining a thorough knowl­edge of every bend in the creek and the ways of its wily trout. Then the stream, its watershed, and fish began to deteriorate.

Grassy cover in the uplands became sparse, due to overgrazing, opening the land to erosion. As the waters shallowed and siltation continued, Ver-digre's summer temperature became too hot for trout . Insects, nymphs, and other natural trout feed declined as the sand covered the rock and gravel riffles. The finishing touches to the dying stream oc­curred six years back when a flash flood dumped tons of sand in the stream bed. I had seen the stream die. Now, over the past four years, I'd seen it reborn.

Getting to the Verdigre was a job in itself. The day before a blizzard had dumped a foot of snow over the entire area, almost obliterating the gravel road to the stream. About three quarters of a mile out, I had to abandon the car, and walk the rest of the way in. Hip boots, though cumbersome, were perfect for plying the three-foot drifts piled up in the valleys. Ridges were usually windswept, making walking easier. I didn't linger to rest, however, since the wind was so cold. It took over a half-hour to reach the stream. Once at the creek I squatted down FEBRUARY, 1960 3   in a bare spot, my lungs begging for a rest after the tough trek in.

The stream changed a lot since the preflood days. Many of the old holes are gone, but in their place, new ones have formed. Here and there gravel covers the stream bottom. Picking a newly created hole, I dropped my line into the swirling eddies.

An hour passed quickly as I explored the stream, trying one spot, then another, but still my creel was empty. Action finally came when I changed to a small flatfish and I worked it deep under a log. I saw the flash of glittering sides as a trout zipped out from the protection of the bank. He swished past the lure, turned, and raced back into his lair. The lure was tantalizing but not good enough.

More determined than ever, I tried an old trick. After locating fish with a lure, I often change back to bait. I put a worm on the hook and let it drift back into the hole. Nothing happened. I began tight­ening the line when I felt a slight bump. Slacking off, I gave the fish time to inhale the bait. Seconds ticked off, and once again I took up the slack. A sharp rap told me he was still there, and I set the hook.

The sting of the barb sent the pug deep under the bank. For a moment I thought the line was fouled, but then the brown broke and dashed to the tail of the hole. Through gin-clear water I watched as he hung in the current, fighting the hook.

It isn't often that you have an opportunity to watch a trout working to get rid of the hook. Seconds dragged into minutes as the brown fought, rolled, and tugged, rubbing his jaw along the bottom trying to dislodge the hook. The current and the constant pressure finally took its toll, and he gave ground, coming back upstream into the pool and then eased up from under the log to my numbed hand. The 15-inch brown was as fat as a cornfed steer, and it gave me a special feeling of satisfaction to know that once again big trout roamed the Verdigre.

The brown creeled, I began fishing downstream, working each hole and deep run with care. Winter-trout fishing isn't much different than the summer version, except that the fish are a little lethargic, requiring slow, careful angling. About the only change in tackle is the use of monofilament line instead of fly line. The latter picks up more water and will freeze up the guides quicker than the thin nonporous monofilament. Spinning tackle works well, for the larger guides minimize icing.

Bait sometimes becomes a problem to the winter-trout fisherman, but it needn't be. Nymphs of many varieties generally abound in the stream bottom the year around. A piece of fine mesh screen attached to two handles is the best method to catch these aquatics. While one man holds the screen against OUTDOOR NEBRASKA 4   the current, another kicks through gravel riffles, weed beds, or mud bars. Use the screen in the current directly below the disturbed area, and the roused nymphs will float against it.

The larger nymphs such as the dragonfly, damsel and hellgrammite are the most common, and are large enough to hook and fish with. One of the more abundant but least known nymphs is the burrowing May fly. Fishermen call it the "mousee" or "wiggler". The May fly had become almost extinct in the Verdigre since it depends on fertile mud bars. Stream improvement has cleaned some of the sand from the creek, and the nymph is once again found in the silt deposits of the quiet waters. To collect May flys, the fisherman must use the screen as a scoop. Once a heavy load of silt is brought to the surface, the mud is worked through the screen in flowing water until only the trapped nymphs remain.

Almost half an hour passed before I creeled my second trout. The near-zero temperatures had evi­dently put the trout off feed. I tried a couple of dragonfly nymphs, switched to minnows, and then back again to worms before I finally coaxed No. 2 out of a deep hole.

The trout, though slow, fought with plenty of staying power. He was a twin to my first catch. Obviously the prolonged cold spell had dropped the water temperatures enough to make the trout sluggish.

The stream became better looking as I progressed downstream. Water cress grew in profusion. Trout spooked as I sneaked along, and as they did, I made a mental note on each hangout so I could try for them on my next trip. The cold weather had put an edge on my appetite, and after three hours on the stream, I called it quits.

Fishing in the Verdigre should continue to improve as more of the stream is developed. The Game Commission now owns two areas on the stream, one from Grove Lake south for one-quarter mile. The other begins one-half mile north of U.S. Highway 20 and continues for one-half section to the north.

The Game Commission prohibits grazing on both areas, which in turn helps check any further erosion as grass, shrubs, and other ground cover will again flourish. The elimination of cattle will also assist in stabilizing the stream banks. In addition, the stream bed, previously covered with fine silt, now has gravel beds which will make possible natural trout reproduction.

The deep snow made the hike back to the car a grueling half-hour climb. It took another hour of sliding and shovelling to get back to open roads. The extra wear and tear was worth it. Those two 15-inchers in my creel put up a whale of a fight. From this first try I had been able to peg the holes where the lunker browns lay. Once the weather warmed, I would return to the Verdigre again, confident that the reborn creek would spring alive with plenty of exciting action from its fighting browns.

RETURN of the IRISHMAN

THERE WAS a time when the Irish setter could give any sporting breed a run for its money. "Big Red" was a top dog afield, outclassing even the hard-working pointers and English setters as he hunted game in a flawless manner.

I'll never forget the style of one mahogany coated beauty. The sun caught him as he hit the top of the ridge searching for game. His rich red coat glistened in the sun. The feathering on his rugged legs rippled in the autumn breeze. He carried his tail like a proud banner, and when he slammed into his classic point, it stiffened in a scimtar-like curve. He was good and tough, taking hours of bramble-pounding work without a whimper.

Once, such Irish setter action was commonplace. Today, it is rarely seen. For many years the "Irish­man" was lost to sportsmen. Bench-show fanciers had turned him into a fancy show dog. His famed slam-bang characteristics were altered to a gay, mincing prance. His deep, powerful chest shrank to a fashionable thinness. Fortunately, he may not al­ways be destined to such a useless stature. Irishman lovers the country over are doing their darndest to put him on the comeback trail as a hunter. Their efforts have already shown results with more Irish setters hitting the fields each fall.

Part of his comeback can be laid at the doorsteps of the late Fred J. Lefferdink of Hickman. Contributing time, money, and unrelenting effort, he achieved international renown with his famed "Modac" bloodlines. A winning Irishman purchased from another Nebraskan, the late Otto Pohl of Fre­mont, contributed to his successful campaign. Pohl raised many champions. His Donegal's Alizon made one of the most significant Irish Setter wins in the derby event at the Ail-American Club's winter field trial. Lefferdink's efforts to restore Big Red as a hell-bent-for-leather hunting dog were truly remarkable. When he died in 1951, a terrific demand arose for his dogs. As a result, Lefferdink setters 6 OUTDOOR NEBRASKA   were scattered to the four corners of the earth. One of his dogs, in fact, is carried in today's successful field strain.

Among the current crop of Irish setter supporters in Nebraska, none are as enthusiastic as Dr. Earl H. Brown and Floyd M. Crosley of Fremont. Brown's Princess Pat, a 10-year-old veteran of many hunts, is his favorite, and Beauty, a bench champion, seems to dispute the old theory that Irish setters can't be dual-purpose dogs. Interest in the Irishman reached a high peak last fall, when Brown, Crosley, and others formed the Great Plains Irish Setter Club. Setter enthusiasts who wish to join the club should contact Brown at 1200 Fall Creek Road, Lincoln.

Good fortune smiled'on the breed in 1950 when it acquired the avid support of a new group in the eastern part of the country. These people—Ned LeGrande, Don Martin, Ralph C. "Rusty" Baynard, Carl and Joyce Schellenberger, and Archer Church —kept every puppy produced until it had a chance to prove its ability. Dogs that flunked were sold or given away as pets.

The combined efforts of this group to produce dogs with high, merry tails, intense pointing instinct, speed, range, and class resulted in some measure of success. But for three impatient men, it wasn't enough. LeGrande, Martin, and Baynard launched a solo endeavor intended to speed the renaissance of the Irish setter. To accomplish this they returned to the fountainhead for their new blood.

In English-setter foundation breeding, Irish blood was used extensively. For (continued on page 25)

DERBY-DAY BLUES

FOR AS long as anyone can remember, barefoot boys and cane fishing poles have gone together. Year after year youngsters have trudged off to the old fishing hole to try their luck. And as they add years of age and abandon poles for supple glass rods, younger lads move in to take their place.

There is something fine about kids and fishing. Sociologists and juvenile authorities have had a lot to say about such a combination. Their impressive words fall far short, however, once you see the toothy smile of pride when a boy catches his first small perch.

Nearly everyone can remember the adventures of a day's outing at the favorite fishing pond—the line that never seemed quite long enough, the worm that squirmed off the hook as fast as put on, and the fish which always nibbled but never took the glob of bait. Few fish were landed, at least by adult standards, but that didn't matter since the summer was long and warm with plenty of days to try again.

Maybe it's because 'most every fisherman likes to remember those canepole days that there has been such a rash of kids' fishing derbies of late, giving adult spectators the chance to relive past outings in a supposedly fun-packed day of angling. There is no denying that derby day is quite a spectacle. Countless lines whip the water to a froth as youthful contestants vie for prizes for the "mostest" and the biggest fish caught from the hatchery-stocked pond.

Somehow, such spectacles aren't like the outings most sportsmen like to remember. Fishing never was and never will be a contest between fishermen. If there is a contest, it is between the angler and the fish. Vying for prizes for a packed creel or a lunker seems far removed from the outings they enjoyed as youngsters.

Derby contestants can't help but feel the same way. Frantic angling, with constant disappointments, is not the easy-going sport that they enjoy on other lazy summer days. Now, no matter what size fish or how many they land on derby day, their whole attitude changes. A boy is ashamed of taking that one small perch. Because others have been awarded prizes, his outing will not be successful unless he hauls in plenty of big fish. As there is generally a time limit, he is constantly hurrying to "beat the other fellow".

A fish hatchery takes on new aspects to the boy with derby experience. The hatchery truck is his panacea to future outings. The catchable ones are 8 OUTDOOR NEBRASKA   the fish to creel, rather the wily fish reared naturally. It takes a lot of convincing to show a boy, once he has taken part in a derby, that fish spawned and reared in a pond will provide him with all the fishing he could want. There is a place for hatcheries in any fish-management program. They can furnish fishing opportunities that otherwise might not be possible, but opportunities that will last throughout the season.

Magazine cartoons to the contrary, youngsters cannot compete with adults when it comes to taking fish. Realizing this, the department encourages clubs, cities, and pond owners to set aside a number of lakes for kids only, giving them the chance to fish the year around without adult competition.

Kids' fishing derbies, no matter how fine the intentions of the sponsors may be, do not help the sport. Day long fishing clinics would do far more good for the youngsters, the sport, and the sponsors. Boys and girls then could be shown what equipment to use and how to use it. In addition, they could learn more about the fish they catch.

Such instruction could set your boy well on the way to becoming adept at the fishing game, making him ready for the contest that counts—the one between him and the fish. Then when the cane pole and the first perch give way to the glass rod and the speckled trout, he'll be a better and happier sportsman.

FLY TYING, hand loading, gear refurbishing, and the like all have their place during winter's long impasse, but none can compare with jack-rabbit hunting on a sparkling cold day. Unlike most winter-time endeavors, jack hunting gives the sports­man a chance to enjoy fun-filled hours afield, and at the same time enables him to keep his shooting eye sharp all year.

The jack's mulish ears might give the idea that he, like the jackass, isn't too fast. But appearances are deceiving, for he's a fast, frisky, elusive target that gives the best of shooters fits. Those long powerful legs are geared for speed and enable him to make tremendous leaps as he breaks away, a condition that causes hunters to tear their hair.

Nebraska is the home of two species of jack rabbits—the black-tailed and white-tailed hares. The ranges of the two overlap in certain sections, but the blacktail predominates. The whitetail is more abundant across northern Nebraska, the northeast­ern corner, and in some sections of the Sand Hills. Whitetails are big and may attain a scale-sagging 9 pounds when full-grown. Blacktails average four pounds.

The entire state is a veritable jack factory, but don't think for one moment that every spot is a garden of Eden. In some sections you'll have to really cover ground to find them. In other places they seem as thick as fleas. Nebraska's rain-water basin in Phelps, Kearney, Adams, Clay, Fillmore, and York counties is such a place. One hunter re­ported seeing over 50 in less than one hour.

When do you hunt jacks? Where do you look for them, and what gun is best for bagging them? Jacks keep on the move constantly, and day or night, you'll find them on the prowl for food.Right now har­vested corn and milo fields are good spots to hit. Hay flats out in the west are ideal, too. Movement, of course, depends on the weather.

When hunting, look first for the kind of plants they utilize, then look for jacks. Preferred foods are the various cereal crops, alfalfa, and barley, but they will also feed on most grasses and weeds. And as long as grass and herbs are available, they will remain in the same area, rarely venturing too far away.

Their actions are almost comical when alarmed. Dispersing like the wind, they scatter in all directions. They streak forward in a series of long, bounding leaps interspaced with an occasional jump 10 OUTDOOR NEBRASKA   higher and longer than the average. They can attain a 35-mile-per-hour clip.

Unlike the cottontail which zigzags to safety, the jack blasts off in a straight line. Sometimes he will sprint 50 yards or so, turn, stop almost in his tracks, and look back to see what bothered him. This is the one moment when the hunter can get an easy shot.

The gun to use is strictly a matter of choice. Anything from a shotgun (the easiest way), handguns (for tricky sport shooting), rifles, and bows and arrows to sling shots can be used in Nebraska. Most hunters prefer the shotgun. Gauge is immate­rial since it doesn't take a big shell to floor a jack. Experienced gunners prefer 26-inch barrels since they are perfect for fast-swinging shots.

What kind of loads to use? Experts consider Nos. 7 1/2 or 8 trap loads ideal. If No. 2's or even 6's were used with a full-choke gun you could end up with hamburger.

Need to be convinced that Nos. 7 1/2 to 8 trap loads are best? Maybe this will help. The ideal range for an improved-cylinder bore, considering a killing pattern from 30 to 42 inches in diameter, is 19 to 30 yards. Since most jacks are shot under 30 yards, why use a full-choke with a killing pattern designed for 40 to 50 yards? Small shot in an open-bore gun will give lots of shot in a spreading pattern at short range without tearing up the game.

Hunt jacks the same way you hunt cottontails. Many gunners make the mistake of moving too fast. Even in the choicest spots such hunters pass over hiding game without knowing it. Try the pressure system. Hunt slowly and stop frequently. This will send old "long ears" scampering out of cover, and bring you more shooting opportunities.

There have been unconfirmed reports of a tularemia scourge in Nebraska. This is not true. According to Dr. E. A. Rogers, director of the State Board of Health, only four cases of tularemia were reported in 1959. This is a fantastically low ratio when you consider the millions of rabbits killed by hunters here. Your chances of contacting the disease are about as slim as having a Bengal tiger spring up before your gun. Those that are skeptical, however, can use rubber gloves when dressing out their game.

Tenderized in a pressure cooker, one jack rabbit will provide a tasty meal for a family of five. You can't beat such a bargain meal, especially when you figure that a shell only costs 10 cents.

Figures for the total rabbit kill in the United States are not available, but authorities estimate that it runs into millions. Hunters in other states consider jack hunting a tremendous sport. Nebraskans, though, blessed with a diversity of game, are not even coming close to harvesting their share of the crop, even though jacks may be hunted the year-round without any limitations.

Those who have hunted these speedsters agree that jacks are hard to beat whether it be in poker or in the field.

COUNTERFEIT QUACKERS

DUCK DECOYS are for hunters, not ducks. If you've seen a waterfowler shopping for blocks, you know what I mean. Once a fancy dozen catches his eye he can see nothing else. The more brilliant the color, the more natural the glass eye, the more intricate the carving, the more desperate the gunner. Cost is no concern. He'll willingly dole out money budgeted for other items to get the set.

The ducks, on the other hand, don't really give a quack for such fancy appearances. A rough-hewn grouping of logs with the poorest excuses for heads almost seems good enough to draw them in.

I had a friend who had carved a really fancy set of decoys. When asked why he went to such efforts when the ducks weren't too particular, he retorted, "Who gives a darn what the ducks think? I'm the one who has to look at them."

Making decoys can be fun. It's a good way to last through the winter until fishing opens up, and since most everyone is a sucker for expensive decoys, it helps save money. You don't have to be a master wood carver. The amount of detail work is up to the energy and talents of the individual. The only requi­sites of good decoys are that they are lightweight, durable, float evenly, have a dull finish, and can fool the ducks.

There are several ways that you can make a decoy. Outdoorsmen who are handy with an axe will find shaping the body from a cedar or Cyprus log easiest. Since I have a power jig saw, I prefer cutting shaped rounded sections from 1 x 10-inch pine boards. Once glued together, they are fairly easy to rasp to the desired roundness.

Some choose balsam wood to make their decoys. Though light and easy to carve, I do not believe that it is durable enough to take rough wear. Pine decoys OUTDOOR NEBRASKA   can take a lot of abuse. And with the center sections hollowed, they are light enough to tote around.

Special mention should be made of head construction. I glue three pieces of wood together to attain the desired thickness. The base of the center section is a board thickness deeper than the outside pieces. Once the head is carved, the center is slipped in a pre-cut slot in the second-to-the-top body section. Method of head attachment varies, with some preferring to use dowels in order that the head may be detached while carrying, or turned to varying positions when the decoy is set in the water. The slot method allows you to alter head positions, but once the slot angle is selected, the position becomes permanent.

You can call the job finished after the body is rasped to the desired roundness, or get out the carving knives and add wing-detail lines. A commercial decoy serves well as a model. The real thing would be much better, but ducks, unfortunately, are not prone to long poses. After carving, use a waterproof wood filler in all holes and joint cracks, then sand the head and body to a smooth finish.

Once the decoy is sanded, apply plenty of boiling-hot linseed oil with a brush or oil-soaked rags. This waterproofs the wood. Some prefer to wait until the decoy has been oiled and even painted before they test its floatability in the water. Actually, tests can be made any time after the body has been shaped. Lead weights attached to the bottom of the decoy will assure stability in the water.

Use either pictures or a commercial decoy as easy-to-follow guides when painting your creation. Some stores feature special decoy paints. These make the job of attaining the correct coloration of the various species an easy matter. Actually, any good oil-base flat paint will work well. Just be sure that you use flat paint. Enamels immediately peg the decoy as a fake to high-flying ducks.

As in all do-it-yourself projects, quality comes with practice. By the time duck season rolls around next fall, you should be expert at the job. Then you can test your creations on the real thing. If the ducks take to them, you'll know you've done a good job.

PRONGHORN ROUNDUP

THE STEADY buzz of a single-engine plane droned through the cold January sky. Dipping perilously close to the prairie, it pushed a herd of speedy antelope ever closer to the Game Commis­sion traps.

As soon as the last pronghorn had entered the traps on the Dout ranch south of Harrison, excited men quickly slammed shut all escape routes. The 97 antelope trapped that afternoon marked the completion of the largest single successful trapping operation in the history of the state.

Trapping the antelope is one problem. Loading them into trucks is another. The usual way is to wrestle and bulldog them into submission. This time a new twist was tried. Wrangled by Clarence Dout, and ear-tagged by the Game Commission personnel, the antelope were quickly and smoothly loaded, without injuries, into waiting trucks. Once 25 were inside a truck, they began the long drive to a release site in suitable Sand Hill habitat.

How well can the Sand Hills support the newly transferred antelope? Mel Steen, director of the Game Commission, replied, "A conservative popula­tion will average two to three antelope per square mile. On this basis, the 20,000 square miles of Nebraska's newest pronghorn range can easily carry 50,000 antelope. A reasonable antelope population is actually an asset to the ranchers. The animals feed primarily on the weeds and woody plants which invade the rancher's pastures, while cattle feed on the grasses. Originally, buffalo and antelope maintained this natural balance, but cattle and antelope can also do it."

The time required to restore antelope in the Sand Hills depends upon the number of animals released. Therefore, trapping and transplanting will continue even though success is already assured. It is good to say that the fleet and colorful antelope is well on its way back throughout the great Sand Hill country of Nebraska.

FURS for FUN and MONEY

THE 14-YEAR-OLD walked eagerly along the bramble-choked bank of the frozen stream. He often stopped to examine, the traps that he'd set out or to study the countless small footprints in the snow. At one set he lifted out the drowned body of a yearling muskrat. At the empty sets he wondered whether he'd placed the traps in the right spot. The age-old art of trapping was a new experience for this youngster, one which was paying him more benefits than the healthful glow in his cheeks.

With typical boyish ambitions, the lad counted every soaked muskrat pelt and the occasional beaver and mink skins as just so many dollars and cents. But he was receiving much more in intangible values. Trapping takes him into the wild where he is ringside to nature's winter show—the flashing gold and silver of sunlight on ice-covered fields, the squeaky crunch of snow underfoot, and the stillness that is knowrn only in the winter months.

Trapping offers no rags-to-riches venture but does offer the ambitious boy pocket money and plenty of fun and adventure. Low fur prices make trapping a perfect hobby or part-time job for youngsters and adults alike. Its biggest attraction in Nebraska is the large variety of fur-bearing animals, including fox, mink, muskrat, badger, beaver, bobcat, civet, coyote, opossum, raccoon, skunk, and weasel.

Though fur bearers are abundant, a neophyte trapper has to know more than how to set a trap if he expects to bring home his share of pelts. A good knowledge of the habits of the animals is necessary. There are plenty of books that will provide this in­formation. Field observations are also good. Then, 16 OUTDOOR NEBRASKA   too, there's the trapper's guide, available free upon written request to the Game Commission, State Capitol, Lincoln 9.

One of the best ways to learn the ways and creatures of the outdoors is through tracks. With a knowledge of tracks, a record can be read in the riverbank or snow-covered field. Trapping and tracking can open a whole new aspect of the outdoor world in just a short time.

How does the successful trapper run a set of trap lines? First, he explores his area for tracks, trails, and feeding sites. He can never know too much about conditions on his trapping grounds, so he begins early, perhaps several weeks before the season opens. Then he decides on the number of traps to use and which fur bearers to take. If the trapper has done a creditable job of prospecting, he can make sets with assurance. Good trapping stems from thorough preparation.

There are three major rules in trapping: (1) learn the trapping regulations and adhere to them; (2) ask permission before trapping on private land; (3) and do not waste game through slovenly trapping practices. Care in trapping and preparation of pelts is all-important.

Next to skill, a selection of an outfit is most important. Beginners seldom give sufficient thought to choosing equipment. Simple but quality tools insure a reasonable return on money invested. Most hardware stores handle these items. Many pieces such as fur stretchers can be homemade.

The number of traps needed will depend on the size of the trap line. If there is a good "fur pocket", the trapper will make many sets. Prices range from $1 or less for a No. 1 trap to approximately $2.50 for a No. 4. Traps recommended for different animals are: No. 0—weasel; No. 1—muskrat, weasel, mink, skunk, and opossum; No. 1 1/2—mink, opossum, raccoon, skunk, and fox; No. 2—fox and raccoon; No. 3— fox and otter; and No. 4—coyote and beaver.

Fur stretchers can be homemade, using soft pine, poplar, or other soft wood. Good drying boards can be made from quarter-inch box wood and should be constructed to fit the pelt, so the skin is taut but not overstretched. Stretchers should be shaped to the general form of the skin to be stretched, tapered slightly, and thinned out toward the edges, leaving the middle the original thickness.

Nebraska's current trapping season on muskrat, mink, and beaver began November 15, and runs through March 15. The season is open year 'round on other species. All those desiring to trap must have a trapping permit, regardless of age. A resident license costs $2.50.

As you would suspect, the beautifully coated mink is the big money-maker. Last year 7,120 were trapped in Nebraska, and the average price per pelt was $12.08. The annual state fur-harvest inventory shows that trappers took an estimated 112,261 fur bearers. Muskrat topped (continued on page 24)

MEMPHIS LAKE

REMEMBER THAT old saying, "Good things come in small packages?" Well, inch for inch, the Memphis Lake recreation area, located on State Highway 63 between Lincoln and Omaha provides as much outdoor fun as most of the larger recreation sites. Fishing, hunting, camping, picnick­ing, and plain loafing are all there for the taking, and many have taken full advantage through the years.

Anglers, for instance, from the metropolitan areas find Memphis ideally located for after-work fishing. In less than 30 minutes they can be wetting their lines for bluegills, crappie, perch, bullheads, northerns, or bass. Incidentally, Memphis is one of the lakes that is continually stocked with catchable-sized bullheads by the Game Commission.

The area's two picnic grounds are picturesquely situated in a wooded wonderland. Chinese elms, which suffered great losses from the Armistice Day frost in 1951, have come back beautifully, and provide scenic beauty along with lots of welcome relief from summer's blazing sun. Other trees found there 18 OUTDOOR NEBRASKA   are stately sycamores, robust honey locust, plus a dash of pines and cedars. A few American elms vie with the others to lend charm and beauty to the area.

The Memphis picnic grounds are immaculately groomed. The larger one on the north side is the most popular among the visitors that flock to this recreation mecca. A lush blanket of bluegrass blankets the entire site. The smaller area, on the east side, is near the concession stand which rents boats, sells bait, coffee, pop, and sandwiches. Both areas contain rustic picnic tables, fireplaces, cut wood, fresh water, and toilets.

Memphis Lake hasn't always been such an attractive spot. Back in 1950 it was fading slowly into a morass of mud and muck. That signalled action by the Game Commission, and an immediate renovation program went into gear. First, fish were removed and the lake drained. When the lake bottom dried sufficiently, bulldozers and other earth moving equipment began to deepen the lake. As the excavation continued, the entire area received a face­lifting. A boating dock was installed, old bumpy roads were leveled, graded, and graveled, and new picnic facilities installed. In time the lake regained its status as one of the best fishing and recreation spots in eastern Nebraska. The area's popularity is reflected in last year's visitation—an estimated 101,000 persons.

Today, well-kept graveled roads encircle the entire lake. The deepest part of the lake is along the earth-filled dike which parallels a little-used railroad. It's here that bank anglers congregate for the best fishing. The bridge at the upper end of the lake also furnishes some exciting catches.

Jerry Johnson, a 15-year-old of Ashland, took the lake's fishing honors last July when he landed a 16-pound northern pike. Jerry and his brothers, Earl and Bobby, teamed up to add eight more catfish to their haul in what turned out to be a day they'll long remember.

The camping boom is reflected at Memphis. Increasing numbers are enjoying the pleasures of roughing it there. Tan and green tents spring up in profusion each summer, as more and more people discover how practical such a low-cost vacation can be.

Memphis Lake abounds with hunting opportunities, too. A few years ago the Commission purchased a swamp above the county road with Pittman-Robertson funds. The water level of the swamp was raised, and a series of deep channels was created to lure ducks into the open waters. The dirt from the channels was piled into slight mounds between the channels where weeds and grasses were allowed to grow. Now these are ideal hiding places for water-fowlers. This cover is not only used by hunters but also by pheasants, which abound in the region.

Make sure you visit the playground which provides so much outdoor relaxation and pleasure. And as at other state-owned and managed recreation grounds admission is free. THE END

SAGA of the SANDHILLS

THE COVERED wagon lurched drunkenly over a prairie dog mound and groaned to a labored stop. The tired horses drooped in their collars, and the milk cow tied to the tail gate eased painfully to the ground. Behind them the russet-colored grasses shook off their passage and stood tall again.

The man and woman on the wagon seat squinted at the sun-washed landscape. They had chosen this valley to stake their 640-acre claim. The time was 1904, the place the Sand Hills of Nebraska. The settlers: two of thousands of "Kinkaiders" who poured into the country at the promise of a free sec­tion of land.

What was this "paradise'' of the Kinkaiders? Some 20,000 square miles of billowing sand dunes with a thin skin of prairie grasses in north-central Nebraska, the area was an enigma to many. A potential dust bowl which never materialized even in the dark '30's when surrounding areas in Nebraska and South Dakota were blowing away, the Sand Hills dried up but mostly stayed put.

Before the Kinkaiders, before the first cattlemen, before even the Pawnee and Sioux redskins, the Sand Hills themselves were restless and violent, a parched sea of wandering waves of sand dunes shaped by the prevailing northwesterly winds. The excellent infiltration of precipitation characteristic of the region today and subsequent lack of runoff are products of the sandy nature of the soil.

The choppy hills carry a thin and somewhat ragged fuzz of bunch grasses, the bluestems predominating. No plant is peculiar to this region, but many eastern and western types meet here. Yucca, the soapweed of the Indians, spreads out its bayonet leaves, prairie roses supply food for many small animals, and plum brush puts on its tasty fruits in the moister spots. By the year the grass cover grows thicker, the blowouts less numerous, and trees march up the stream courses.

Enormous herds of buffalo grew fat on the lush vegetation. Deer, antelope, and prairie chickens increased to fabulous numbers. Elk called its stream beds home. To this ideal habitat later came the first of the Spanish cattle, possibly a "loner" who had escaped from Coronado's herd farther south, or a curious immigrant from a band of wild Texas long-horns. Gaunt and heavy with her calf, she forded the Platte and disappeared into the Sand Hills north of Ogallala.

In the search of the bison came the Indian. In prehistoric time the Comanche left their houses by the Dismal River. When the white man appeared the Pawnee and Sioux were quarreling for possession of the Sand Hills hunting grounds. No tribe inhabited the area permanently, but summer hunting parties came from as far as South Dakota and Wyoming. Treaties in 1851 and 1868 guaranteed Sioux ownership. The government later purchased 11,000 square miles of this land for $25,000. The rest was ceded later when the Indians were placed on the Rosebud reservation in South Dakota. Although given the right to hunt the Sand Hills, the Sioux re­sented the white man's extermination of the buffalo and harassed ranchers and settlers.

One of the first white men into the Sand Hills, Lt. G. K. Warren, a topographer-engineer, led a FEBRUARY, 1960 21   survey expedition through in 1855. The sight he found "exceedingly solitary, silent, and desolate" and "depressing to one's spirits". Others called the hills a "sandy labyrinth". In the fall of 1878 when the Cheyennes under Dull Knife and Little Wolf vanished into the Sand Hills, no one pursued them, fearing that white soldiers would not be able to find water.

But time was running out. The next year rancher Frank North, only halfway into what he believed was arid country, found wild cattle, progeny of the Spanish cows and his own strays, grazing in the belly-deep grasses, fatter and sleeker than his own stock. The same winter, cowboys searching for blizzard-drifted strays, returned from the Sand Hills with an extra 1,000 unbranded head.

By the 1880's small cattlemen filtered into the Sand Hills. Game was plentiful, antelope and grouse were common fare. Soon farmers moved in, confi­dent that "rainfall followed the plow". The early years were prosperous, and "free homes for the millions" outlined in railroad advertising pamphlets brought carloads of homesteaders.

As the face of the Sand Hills changed, so did its native inhabitants. Deer, growing scarcer since 1880, were rarely spotted along the Calamus and Loup Rivers. The shy and curious antelope, bewildered by barbed fences, retreated westward. Clouds of ducks still darkened the fresh-water lakes, but the trumpeter swan abandoned her nesting sites in favor of more isolated country.

In the '90's expansion came to an abrupt halt. Inadequate rainfall and hot winds parched the frail corn seedlings early in the summer. Farms were deserted, banks failed, and stock was turned out to die. A mass exodus of these disillusioned settlers left the hardier pioneers agitating for larger homestead claims.

For a while the coyotes and red-tailed hawks had the Sand Hills nearly to themselves again, as the blowouts opened by cultivation slowly succumbed to the tenacious grasses. But in 1904 the Kinkaid Act, allowing 640 acres for homesteads in areas thought to be less productive, became law, and the area was to see its last rush of settlers. Buckboards fanned into the hills on opening day of the land rush; freighters deposited furniture, plows, and sacks of seed on the ground and moved away, leaving the homesteaders to face the hardships of a hastily erected soddy or tar-paper shack, or if winter were imminent, a dugout snug against a hill.

In the unrelenting rush to find cow-chip fuel or straw for the hay burners and to gather crops for animals and humans, many never saw the wind ruffle the feathery plumes of the bluestems, or the shadow of a cloud running over a hill. The land had to be plowed, the firebreak around the home kept smooth and ready, and game and an occasional rustled steer killed for food. Many failed under the heavy burden and sold out to the larger cattle owners. The deserted home of the pair with the milk cow bore a warning message to passers-by: "God Almighty placed this soil right side up. Don't turn it over."

With the Kinkaider gone, and those remaining wiser, cattle again became the chief industry of the Sand Hills. Windmills rooted in the valleys, cattle pens clustered around railroad spurs, and later the ranch airplane swooped over the hills hazing whitefaces. The deer returned, grouse fed in the hay flats, and pronghorns, transplanted back, dropped their kids among the bunch grasses. The "Great Desert" of the early explorers, the "paradise" of the Kinkaiders, now serves its fullest use—as a year-round pasture for fine cattle and as a home for a varied and unique wildlife.

Outdoor Elsewhere

MICHIGAN . . . Ever open a box and find eyes staring at you? Dead eyes, all neatly packed in rows, numbered and tagged? Michigan Conservation Department biologists are exploring a new research wrinkle—the collection of eyes from deer taken during the open season. The orbs are examined to determine age of the animals. The process, based on the growth rate of eye lenses, may be more accurate for aging older animals than the tooth-wear method now in general use.

NEW HAMPSHIRE ... A cold, drizzling rain was falling as Leo Couturier drove up Kimball Hill in Whitefield. All at once, he saw two deer standing beside the road ahead of him. He stopped the truck, grabbed his gun from the seat, and carefully pushed open the door—that is, he tried to open the door. He pushed, he shoved, he pounded and banged, but the door wouldn't budge. He tried the other door, the windows. No luck. All this time the deer stood watching, and Couturier got hotter and hotter under the collar—but not hot enough to melt the ice that covered the truck and held him captive. Finally the deer ambled off. He drove home and sat in the yard blowing the horn until his wife came to his rescue with a tea kettle of hot water.

SOUTH DAKOTA . . . One local deer bow hunter nearly came home with a red collar for his efforts. The bowman crept to within 40 yards of a large white-tailed doe and fired, narrowly missing. The doe looked up, then con­tinued to feed. The hunter laboriously crept to within 25 yards and fired again. The second arrow missed but alerted the doe, which quickly spied the hunter. Without hesitation, she ran up to the astonished archer and nuzzled the man. Only then did he notice a red collar around her neck. Disgusted at shooting at someone's pet, the hunter escaped the affectionate deer and called it quits.

ONTARIO . . . Two United States hunters, after moose some 25 miles southwest of Chapleau, spotted two animals. They shot one and set out to get the second. A local resident, hear­ing the shots, rushed to the area and located the downed moose. He immediately fired two shots in the air, and prepared to claim the moose as his own. On hearing the shots, the Americans rushed back, to be confronted with, "What do you think of the moose I just shot?" An argument ensued, and in short temper the American told the local hunter to look in the moose's mouth. Sure enough, there between the teeth was the American's moose license, and the embattled marksman claimed his prize.

SOUTH DAKOTA ... A rancher along the Missouri River had a choice goose gunning location secretly tucked away in his mind. Came hunting day, he made meticulous preparations, located the flock after painstaking searching and stalking and went through an elaborate ritual of working into miss-proof shooting position while the geese were absent feeding. Some time later, the flock returned and glided in for a landing, passing over the hunter, just 50 feet up. His plans were perfect—at the precise moment he sprang up, swung on a heavy gander, and fired. His hammer clicked on an empty chamber. The goose didn't fall, but the hunter followed through with a verbal blast that set the goose's ears to burning.

TEXAS . . . Two wardens who had received calls of illegal night hunting were watching a car creeping down the road with no headlights on. A shot sounded in the woods nearby. But in the auto were only two women, without guns. Certain they were associated with the poachers, the wardens got in the back seat of the car and instructed them to drive back along the road. Soon after, two hunters sprang from the bushes, flung open the back door with a shout to "Get going, fast!", and hopped right in the wardens' laps. The officers rounded up the evidence—two dead deer and the guns—and filed suit.

NEW HAMPSHIRE ... A cock pheasant who calls a New Hampshire air­port home recently adopted a man-made bird, a red-and-cream airplane. Every time the plane starts up the cock hurries from cover and takes a regular position beneath its left wing. As the plane taxis down the runway, the anxious cock paces along until the craft is airborne. Coming in, the plane is again met by the motherly rooster, who escorts it to the parking ramp.

MISSOURI ... His whiskers gray with age, a 19-year-old flathead catfish was reported taken by a commercial fisherman in Missouri. It weighed 68 1/2 pounds, and was 4 1/2 feet long. But the top unofficial record is still a 165-pound whopper taken from the Missouri River in 1900.

SOUTH DAKOTA . . . Several West River ranchers fortunate enough to ob­tain turkey permits in a limited permit zone decided to try their luck in an area unfamiliar to them. After hunting draws and cedar clumps for a couple of hours, the group came upon a large flock of turkeys and succeeded in bag­ging one apiece. Shortly after, the group was hailed down by an irate rancher who charged them $4 each for shooting his tame turkeys. He took the birds, too.

SPEAK UP

"I certainly enjoyed my stay at Chadron State Park last summer. We hired a cabin for two nights, and enjoyed every moment of it. Your state is certainly doing a great job at providing fine recreation areas for tourists and others. Your cabins are well-furnished and well kept, and the attendants were all very courteous and helpful. Congratulations again for your fine vacation accommoda­tions."—Catherine I. Hendricks, Slate Representative, Portland, Maine.

"I'm told I can't keep an H&R handy gun pistol with a barrel length of 16 inches. Can I?"—Otto Fogus, Arcadia.

You can keep your gun, but under the National Firearms Act of June 26, 1934, you must register it with the federal government. This act requires that a shotgun having a barrel of less than 18 inches in length must be registered with the U. S. Treasury Department, its purpose being to keep strictly gangster weapons out of the hands of the criminal element of society by the imposition of a prohibitive transfer tax. For details write to the supervisor in charge, Alcohol and Tobacco Tax, 1805 Dodge Street, Omaha.—Editor.

"I read in your December Speak Up the explanation of how a squirrel uses his tail. Although you say he doesn't use it deliberately for protection, at least the squirrels in our back yard have cerainly adopted the habit. My wife and I feed them, and on rainy days, they always keep their heads and backs covered with their tails while they are sitting down eating. I think every sportsman living in Nebraska should take OUTDOOR NEBRASKA. It's a great magazine."—Jack Nosal, Omaha.

"This summer I killed a rattlesnake which measured 52 1/2s inches, with 2 1/6 inches of that being rattles. Witnesses were Lawrence Anderson, Gene Ostergard, and Virgil Cole, all of Gothenburg. Is this a record?"—Harry Ostergard, Gothenburg.

If it's a prairie rattler, yes. A prairie rattler taken in May was the old record at 4312 inches. We have no notice of anything longer than your catch.—Editor.

"I enjoyed your excellent article on dressing deer in the field which appeared in your November issue. I would like to add some ­thing about musk glands. They should not be removed until after the carcass is eviscerated and all cutting done. To cut the musk glands first would only scent up one's hands and knife and then foul up the rest of the carcass with the contaminated knife. Unless you have soap and water handy, leave the glands till last.

"If you must remove them, that is. I only remove the glands and scrotum when other hunters are watching, so they think my dressing job is expert and that this is not my first attempt at the project. In Canada where we homesteaded for seven years we never removed the glands. The real trappers and Indians never do. If we had visitors, however, we would take them off, rather than explain to them that it does absolutely no good to remove the glands after the animal is dead. The glands do not secrete then, and no further odor or undesirable fluid can enter the body after death.

"I'm sure I know what I'm talking about. I worked on disease eradication in wild animals for three years, have been a U. S. meat inspector since 1940, and have talked to veterinarians on this matter."—Frank Tesar, Omaha.

"My neighbor rarely talks to me any more when he comes to visit. He reads my copy of OUTDOOR NEBRASKA instead. I enjoyed your cleaning and preparation methods for geese and squirrels very much, and would like to add a point to those well-illustrated articles that I have found handy. To avoid passing the taint from spoiled sections of meat to still wholesome parts, prepare some melted paraffin and brush a six-inch strip of fur and skin and let it set. Then when you insert the knife there you will have less chance of spreading spoilage."—Emma Shreffler, Miller, S. D.

"While hunting we have run across some signs reading 'Game Management Area, see farmer for hunting'. What is the purpose of these signs?"—Bob Snyder, Omaha.

These signs designate the property of landowners who are cooperating with our game cover restoration program. On lands which are so posted, the landowner has control of the hunting as does any landowner. The words "see farmer for hunting" are to remind you that you should ask permission before hunting just as you should on any other private property.—Editor.

"Is 'shidpoke' a wrong spelling? The bird in question is large, and its habitat is marshes and ponds. Its flight is bouncy, like a crow's. It's never seen in flocks, and I've never flushed more than three at a time."—E. E. Kuehl, Omaha.

We think you're talking about an American bittern from your description of the bird. His scientific name is Bolaurus lentiginosis (Montague), and his common names are thunder pumper, or poke, stake driver, butterbump, or bog bull. "Shitepoke" is a name more often given to various herons, especially the green heron.—Editor.

"While driving near Rockford, I saw an albino hawk which appeared to have a golden color to its tail when in filght. The bird was about the size of a gray hawk. Thought you might be interested in this strange-colored bird. Also please tell me if hawks migrate."— H. L. Rossell, Beatrice.

The strange-colored hawk might have been the white phase of the red-tailed hawk or Krider's red-tail, a paler form inhabiting the Great Plains. Some hawks such as broad-winged and Swainson's migrate. Year around residents are the sparrow, red-tailed, Swain­son's and rough-legged.—Editor.

Furs for Fun and Money

the list with a take of 83,294, and an average pelt price of 52 cents. Beaver was priced at $5.22, and the harvest was 6,705. The average trapper received $88.39 for his season's efforts.

Muskrats, the bread-and-butter animals for trappers, are plentiful and easy to catch. The young trapper should remember, however, that their feet are tender and brittle. If not drowned within seconds after being caught, a muskrat can twist a leg off and escape. Stop-loss traps have been designed to prevent such escapes . When the trap springs, a guard device moves high up on the body of the animal, holding it in such a way that it can neither twist or gnaw free.

Many trappers lose money through improper handling of pelts. The annual loss nationwide runs into hundreds of thousands of dollars. The beginner can reduce this if he runs his traps daily, uses 24 OUTDOOR NEBRASKA   proper-size traps, dries the fur before placing on a stretcher or drying board, and, if the catch is sold "on the hoof", takes the unskinned animals to the buyer daily.

The young trapper assumes only one risk, and that is social. If a skunk turns up in his trap, he's apt to be shifted to a distant corner seat at school. This danger, though, does not outweigh the many fine values that he receives in running his trap lines while ringsid to nature's winter show.

Return of the Irishman

instance, Purcell Llewellin not only got his stock from lines liberally sprinkled with setters, but frequently crossed Irish setters with English setters whenever he felt it would improve his stock. A further check of the records revealed that Irish crosses were superior to straight Llewellin breeding, and these in turn were responsible for some of our great English setter winners such as Mississippi Zev, the 1946 National Bird Dog Champion.

Equipped with this knowledge, the men launched a campaign in 1951 classed as the turning point of the Irish setter's career. That summer a red female was whelped by Willow Winds Smada, sired by Illsley Chip (son of the famed Mississippi Zev). One of the litter of five males and four females was named Willow Winds Joan. The young pup was picked as the most promising of the lot, and the three men's hopes of improving the Irish clan rested on her shoulders. The next year she was bred to a purebred Irish setter, Willow Winds Mike. The match pro­duced four females. Out of these, Willow Winds Betty was bred to the red-coated Willow Winds Rusty. From this mating emerged Willow Winds Rita, a slashing, "choke-bored nose" hunter. Mated to Ike Jack Kendrick, a fearless Irish setter champion, Rita whelped a litter on April 1, 1954, a red-letter day for the Irish setter clan. This litter, a third generation of the first cross, was now eligible for registration as purebred Irish setters.

How well did LeGrande, Baynard, and Martin succeed? Results speak for themselves. Irishmen like Rusty's Jinx, Willow Winds Hobo, Mr. O'Leary, and Cooper's Hollyberry Scarlet have become legends in gun-dog history.

Now there is little scorn or ridicule when an Irish setter is dropped in competition against pointers and English setters in an open stake. Rather, respect and admiration greet one of these handsome dogs in the field.

An Irish setter is becoming a more familiar sight in Nebraska. His smooth, flowing gait and superb style on point are changing the minds of a lot of sportsmen. No longer is he a sawdust-ring showpiece but instead a fine hunting companion capable of great-going in the field.

Compact and durable is the combination saw-knife recently put on the market by Southwest Cutlery. Designed by an old-time western guide, the outfit consists of an eight-inch saw blade with cast aluminum collapsible handle and a five-inch leather-handle knife. The heavy leather sheath is stitched and riveted to take rough treatment in the field.

Among the many jobs the manufacturers say can be done by the combination are cleaning and splitting big game and repairing tent poles and emergency stretchers. Over-all length is 10 inches, price is $15.95.

One filling which will last four persons three to four weeks of camping is the claim behind the Sievert 925 camping stove, Swedish made and distributed in this country by Rexo-Therm, Inc.

The windshield design is based on wind-tunnel tests. While most camping stoves with unprotected flames must be shielded against the wind by locating the entire unit behind a case, rucksack, or boulder, the Sievert design eliminates drafts. Water can be boiled with a small flame on days so windy that most camping stoves could not be lighted, claim the builders.

The stove can be converted to a portable lantern or table lamp with the addition of the unit pictured at right. In center is the stove in traveling condition, just 13 inches high. The stove holds 4 3/8 pounds propane.

MANY NEBRASKA anglers feel the only service the gizzard shad can give them is to serve as food for gamier fish. Dorosoma cepedianum, as the fish is known scientifically, grows too fast to remain palatable size for other fish very long. Still others value the shad as bait for catfish and an aid in taking white bass.

The gizzard shad is a member of the herring family, and is its only representative in Nebraska. Another common name, skipjack, is incorrect, as this applies to another species. While the gizzard shad skims along the water like the skipjack when feeding, its common name is de­rived from its strong and muscular stomach resembling the gizzard of a bird.

The long and filamentous last ray of the dorsal fin easily identifies the gizzard shad. Being some­what in the way, the ray is sometimes broken off in mature fish; or it may not be developed on the very young. The fish's bluntly rounded snout projects beyond a small and toothless mouth. Farther back the body is deep and compressed, with the belly saw-like, the result of strong, spiny, and thickened scales. Another characteristic is the widely forked tail fin with the lower lobe longer than the upper. The anal fin has a broad base and contains 31 rays.

A bright silver streak in the water, the shad has a blue tint over the back and a white belly. A large dark spot appears behind the head high up on the side of the body. Pronounced on young fish, it fades with age and may be absent on large adults.

The gizzard shad's range is generally in the eastern half of the United States. In Nebraska the species reaches its greatest abundance in southwestern reservoirs. It is also found in other impoundments, lakes, oxbows, sloughs; or large streams where the 26 OUTDOOR NEBRASKA   slope of the bottom is not too steep. Requiring minute organisms for food, the shad cannot survive in too-turbid waters where sunlight cannot nourish small plants.

Specially modified gill rakers which strain minute plants and animals from the water are the shad's means of obtaining plankton, its chief food. Plank­ton are single-celled plants and animals and larvae of larger animals that float or swim feebly, but which are mostly carried about by wave action and current. A few aquatic insects also are eaten.

Shad spawn during May and June in open shoal water. The prolific parents make no nest, but scatter the eggs over the bottom. Counts show that an in­dividual may produce 200,000 to 500,000 eggs in a season. Depending on water temperature, these eggs hatch from 36 hours to four or five days later. Fry grow rapidly, usually reaching a length of four to five inches during the first year. Specimens up to 18 inches in length have been taken during netting operations, but few shad reach this size.

While classed as a forage fish, the shad is far from perfect in this capacity. He tends to become over­abundant and grows rapidly to a size too big for most predator species. In sand pits shad may com­pletely take over the lake.

Several southeastern states are presently researching the feasibility of killing gizzard shad with rotenone. Their studies show that drastic but not complete kill occurs. As a result, the remaining shad stage a rapid comeback the following year.

Some anglers find a limited use for chunks of shad as catfish baits. Others fill a bucket or large jar with fresh shad and allow them to set until an oily liquid forms on the surface. A small sponge attached to the hook and dipped in this liquid reportedly gives extraordinary success.

Another indirect use of shad for bait involves the gull-shad-white bass relationship. During the summer months the white bass feed heavily on schools of shad, driving them to the surface where they are easily spotted by hungry gulls. The fisherman who follows the gulls can almost be sure of good white-bass angling.

Present thinking on the worth of shad in the over-all fishery picture in Nebraska involves points both pro and con. Granted the fish is extremely pro­lific and produces much food for game fish. However, in the absence of sufficient predatory pressure it overpopulates rapidly. Adults too large to be con­trolled by natural enemies constitute a large breeding population. The young, too, grow so rapidly that they cannot be utilized by most game fish for food after their first year of life. Shad utilize large quantities of plankton and form a close link in the food chain between basic plant life and game fish. But their grubbing habits are also responsible for high turbidity, which is detrimental to sight-feeding game fish.

Whatever his position in the Nebraska fisheries program, the gizzard shad is a Nebraska fauna worthy of note.

PRONGHORN ROUNDUP