OUTDOOR Nebraska

ICE FLY MAGIC

THAT ICE fly was the homeliest, runtiest creation imaginable, and to me seemed about as capable of attracting a bluegill as Igor would Bardot. Its wings were a few sparse crow-wing hackles; its shank a mass of lead gray wire wrapped around a No. 10 hook.

But Sand Hillers held great stock in the fly. "An irresistible temptress," Jack Morgan said, "and the best bluegill getter ever jigged through the ice of Medicine Lake."

Being more at home picking at a typewriter, I wasn't about to question the Valentine conservation officer—at least out loud.

I was in cow country to learn first-hand of the prowess of the ice fly. Grouse fed around the hay stacks as we approached Medicine Lake, some 65 asphalt and cow-trail miles southwest of Valentine. An occasional cow bellered across the sandy puffs of hills, and we were to see deer before we left.

In short order, and burdened down with what seemed to be tons of clothing, I was treated to my first try at ice fishing. The chilly 15° weather, though, made it a cold beginning. And the fish gave me a cold reception.

Jack hollered over a few "Stick to it kid, you'll get a strike soon" encouragements, and I tried to smile confidently. Even if a fish did take the "thing" I doubted whether I could land it. By now my limbs ached with cold. But they thawed fast seconds later when I felt the solid bite of a bluegill. In spite of MARCH, 1960 3   its frantic tugging, the fish was mine. Deep and round as a saucer, and almost a pound in weight it was the largest I would catch all day. The Sand Hills ice fly had proven quite a come-on after all.

Our gear that day was a miscellany of fly rods, ice spud, thermos of coffee, packed lunch, clothes, and of course the fly. My introduction to the spud was almost painful. I was jabbing the big five-foot rod against the ice when Jack came to my rescue. He grabbed it from my hands, afraid I would cut toes instead of ice.

"Old-timers say to find white ice or snow, then chop the hole," Jack panted as he drove the chisel in the eight-inch ice. He kept a rope loop on the handle around his wrist while chopping. 'Tarts of this lake you could start a salvage operation for spuds that got away."

I scooped out the loose ice with a kitchen strainer, wrestled the child's chair to sitting position, and settled down with my line and fly. The hole in the ice was roughly 12 inches in diameter. My pole was a sensitive glass fly-rod tip, my line about four feet of four-pound-test monofilament.

"Jig the rod twice every 30 seconds or so," Jack called from a nearby hole. "Just a little, about an inch at the tip. Then wait."

I strained to picture the action of the fly. Every time the rod moved, the fly danced up one side and then the other of the inch-wide loop at the end of the line. It's lead-wire ribbing was just about all the weight needed.

Jack kept the monofilament line taut against the rod when storing it.

"It tends to kink in cold air if coiled on a reel," he said.

Being monofilament, it would soak up less water and give better action than some more porous tackle. And any heavier line would have been too stiff to allow the enticing action we wanted on the eye end.

All else we needed was the strainer or rubber mittens. The ice scummed over the open water quickly if the hole proved slow.

Heavy gloves and mittens can dull a rod's sensitivity, I found. They were off my hands most of the time, and I still have the chapped evidence. Hunker down out of the cold and watch the line. If it moves to one side, you might have a hungry fish. Beads of ice must be kept off the line, for they add weight and foul the jigging action.

Too few Nebraskans try ice fishing, and those that do are often called a bit batty. But after visiting with Jack and his family the evening before, I found that ice fishermen, shed of their parkas, flight pants, and Army-surplus boots, help with the dishes, watch TV, and check the kids' report cards like other normal citizens.

But when ice is thick enough, the day clear and not too windy, ice anglers spring into action. On goes everything in the closet. Once a lunch is packed, they're off for a day on the lake. On location, and 4 OUTDOOR NEBRASKA   hunched over a small open circle of brown water, they're as oblivious to zero weather as summer anglers are to parching sun.

Ice fishing's a lonely business. Deep in your parka, the hood blinds you to all but scenery immediately in front of you. Hands quickly turn blue and coffee rapidly cools in the frigid weather, roughened up by the winds dusting off the ice. But with adequate clothing I was more comfortable than I expected.

We moved around a lot in the morning, seeking schools of bluegill and crappie. Although Medicine Lake is primarily bluegill water, we creeled two 12-inch black bass. They bothered and worried the fly doubtfully before taking the hook. Jack and I connected with bluegill when we moved over shallow water, dissipating all doubts I had about the fly.

Late one season, according to Valentine legend, a lonely fisherman sat on the honeycombed ice of a Sand Hills lake. Only a few crappie had taken his bait. But he noted a constant flicker of tiny black insects in the water. They flitted up from the moss at the bottom of the lake, circled around in the water of the hole, and then darted to the surface and took to flight.

Musing over this later, the angler designed a crude replica of the fly and returned to the lake. Bluegill, bass, crappie, and perch took the hook hungrily. The fly worked in most Sand Hills lakes where there was sunken moss to support its tiny natural counterpart.

Valentiners first recognized the ice fly some three years ago. Most preferred to tie glistening peacock herls as wings, but some used feathers from the back-yard rooster. Jack's favorite is a crow-wing tie.

"More sturdy," he says, with paternal pride.

By noon four other parties were scattered over the ice. One fellow trudging along on his ice creepers was pulling his boy's sled loaded with gear. Few Medicine Lake fishermen bother with shelters.

I hunched over my most profitable hole for what seemed hours while Jack trotted from place to place, spraying ice crystals each time he jammed the ice chisel down. After one crappie or bluegill stiffened on the ice, he resumed his search for another school.

Come quitting time, about 4 p.m., we tallied our catch. We had 15, mostly bluegill, with bass, crappie, and yellow perch. They would serve out four meals. Jack and I, of course, could have taken lots more, had they been biting. There's no limit on bluegill. It and the generous limit on other species provide all the fishing you could want.

The ranks of the Sand Hill ice-fly faithful had grown by one. I could see why it was fast becoming a legend in these parts. It might not seem effective at first glance, but I'm convinced that it's the most tantalizing come-on a Sand Hills fish has ever taken a swipe at.

TODAY'S CONSERVATION OFFICER

SHERIFF OF the forest, game keeper, ranger, warden, or conservation officer-dig back through the pages of history and you'll find a man delegated to enforce game laws. Today's conservation officer, however, is far removed from his Dark Age's predecessor. For, unlike the forest sheriff who delighted in stringing up the man who had killed the king's royal stag, a Nebraska officer strives to help everyone enjoy all that the outdoors has to offer.

The excitement of the chase and the thrill of the strike have been ours since colonial days—a unique part of our American heritage which decrees that wildlife belongs to and can be utilized by all of the people. Long ago laws were enacted to fulfill this proposition, and through the years men have worked to make them effective.

Enforcement of game laws is a vital part of game management. Without it, game and fish numbers, as well as the sport, would quickly dwindle. Today's conservation officer knows, however, that game laws alone cannot assure wildlife abundance. Early colonists, for example, couldn't understand why once-plentiful game was fast declining, even though they had enacted severe bag restrictions. Years later others were to show that a thorough knowledge of wildlife and its habitat, backed by sound laws that were enforced, could fulfill the people's hopes of sports afield. In most instances this combination has produced more harvestable wildlife than existed when colonists first arrived.

Modern law enforcement is preventative rather than punitive, a far cry from the days of Sherwood Forest. Nebraska's 35 conservation officers reflect this concept. Few outdoorsmen will violate regulations when they are familiar with game regulations and the reasons behind their adoption. Education is a vital part of the officer's job, and he works enthusiastically with individuals as well as civic groups, sportsmen's clubs, schools, and youth groups. In most instances, he is the closest contact the Game Commission has with the public. As a result, he shows firsthand what the laws are and why they are enacted. The community soon develops an appreciation and understanding of wildlife resources and outdoor sports. So, too, does he show how everyone can utilize all that the outdoors has to offer by pointing out where the fish are biting or game is concentrated, as well as demonstrating good hunting, fishing, boating, and camping techniques. Instruction in water and gun safety and first aid techniques also is given.

Management of wildlife is an important phase of the Nebraska officer's work. He aids in trapping and transplanting operations, creel and bag reports, 6 OUTDOOR NEBRASKA   wildlife population counts, and fish stocking. During the winter, for example, he can be found in the field taking pheasant sex ratios. Come spring, he's out again taking bobwhite-whistle counts. In the summer you can find him checking fishermen's creels to find out the kind, number, and time taken to creel them. In the fall, he'll be in the hunting field to check out the age and condition of birds bagged or deer killed. Such work is important in gathering information necessary to setting future seasons and regulations.

Though conservation education and wildlife management are vital parts of the conservation officer's work, enforcement is not ignored. Last year, for example, a record 1,000 arrests were made, resulting in 986 convictions. This figure may be low when compared with the thousands who go afield, but shows that the non-sportsman minority must be and is controlled. Each arrest comes about from hours of constant vigil, the end result being that all hunters and fishermen are afforded an equal chance at the available wildlife.

A state conversation officer is not limited to game-law enforcement. Boating and park-use regulations, as well as federal game laws and civil laws, are his responsibility. He has a firm understanding of all of these regulations, and the reasons behind their enaction.

Seventy years ago there was a Nebraska Fish Commission. There were also laws to protect wild life. Unfortunately, there were no officers to enforce them. Antelope and deer were almost exterminated. Bird numbers were seriously depleted. Fish were dynamited. Now, there are conservation officers, en forceable laws, an abundance of game, and more people taking to the field with each new season. The modern officer, backed by laws, has played a vital part in providing sports afield.

HUNTER'S BONUS

THERE ARE days when a man would be better off to stay home. The fish won't bite, no matter what pattern is used; game won't flush, even after the most diligent hunt. There isn't a sportsman going who hasn't experienced such a session. I've had my share, but instead of going home skunked, I take up another kind of hunt—searching for relics of another age.

Every acre of the state is a potential artifact producer. No matter where you go afield, you're apt to stumble on a rare find. The Pawnee, Sioux, Oto, and Omaha Indians called what is now Nebraska home at one time or another. The Cheyennes, Arapa-hoes, Missouris and others roamed our borders. And centuries before these tribes lived in the state other, more primitive peoples lived, warred, and hunted here, scattering pieces of their culture and history as they went. Relics of a more recent vintage can also be found. The nation's great exodus to the West left its souvenirs on the land—a rusted gun, a broken china bowl, or a tarnished cavalry insignia. All in all, collecting these mementos of the past and learning their history makes getting out in the field a real adventure.

I hunt birds and rabbits around Columbus. Once the area was the stamping ground of the Pawnee. It was there five years back that I stumbled on my first finds—four war points. The discovery gave me the artifacts bug. Since then I have found fragments of knives, scrapers, awls, hammers, points (war, hunting, and spear), stone blanks (pieces of stone that had been set aside for future use; edges may be flaked, chipped, or fluted indicating some work had been begun and then abandoned), pottery (easiest of all to find; fragments may be plain, or contain curious designs), arrow-shaft polishers, trinkets, a ring, pendant, and an effigy of a turtle. Arrow points are the hardest to find. They are so small that you can overlook them. Trinkets and rough copper rings are just as tough to spot, because of their size. My two most unusual finds were a massive tooth from a mammoth elephant, and an aged human skull with a mysterious hole in it.

About a year ago I was rabbit hunting west of Columbus when I stumbled onto my biggest village find—the sites of two Indian encampments. You can always expect an abundance of relics at these spots. One village was about a mile long and a quarter of a 8 OUTDOOR NEBRASKA   mile wide; the other was smaller. I search for slight rises on the ground near rivers or streams to spot these old sites.

Don't let anyone tell you artifact hunting is tame. For instance, that skull find placed me in a devilish situation.It happened this way:

I was hunting relics along Looking Glass Creek when I detected an object that turned out to be the skull protruding from a patch of mud and sand. Halfway across I plunged into a tricky bog, quickly sinking in the mire to my armpits. It took over an hour of desperate wriggling before I crawled out of the gumbo.

When looking for Indian villages visit with natives of a community. Many old-timers will be happy to direct you to areas where they know relics have been found. Farmers are a good source of information, for their operations turn up many fragments of a long-gone era.

All finds are loaded with history, behind each, a fascinating story. Ceremonial stone pipes, for example, were venerated as especially sacred by the Indian tribes. They were considered to be gifted with mystic powers. Pipestone quarries were sacred grounds, highly treasured by the tribes. Various stones were used for pipes. The Arapahoes, for example, used black stone while the Blackfeet used a dark-green stone.

The Indian's stone scraper was a jack-of-all-trades. Tediously chipped and flaked to the desired edge and point, it worked wonders on rawhides. Stone awls were also heavily utilized by the squaws. They served equally well sewing new moccasins, tepees, or buckskins.

As you would imagine, every implement or weapon made of stone took countless hours to prepare. Using the most crude equipment, the arrowhead maker chipped steadily at the seemingly unyielding stone. Creating sharp points was a delicate job. One strike of the heavier stone could splinter the head beyond repair. Hours of work would be wasted. The fineness of some of these primitive creations is amazing.Rare Folsom, Yuma, and Sandia points, all made thousands of years ago and treasured today above most other artifacts, were beautifully made.

The Omaha arrowheads were made of flint, and were used in big-game hunting and warfare. The point sizes differed for each use. Small, thin triangular stone points have been found at Pawnee sites. The design is very close to that of the Iriquois, and archeologists have pondered the connection between the two tribes. Pressure flaking with an elk horn is reported as an Omaha technique in most of their stonework. Others flaked away small pieces from stone implements by using a beaver tooth or a flaker made of harder stone.

I have made some great artifact finds around Columbus, and west toward Genoa. This region was an old stamping ground of the Pawnee tribe. The Sioux also were in the area, carrying on their ceaseless battles with Pawnees. The bluffs along the Loup River near Genoa are one site that needs more exploring. I am sure it would produce some interesting finds. You might want to try it. Whenever you latch onto a site that contains a lot of pottery fragments, you can bet you've found a hot relic spot.

Take it easy when searching for arrowheads. You will be less likely to overlook fragmentary pieces if you walk slowly.

Try this trick to rest your eyes. Look ahead and around you to break the monotony of constantly peering at the ground just ahead of you. This will prevent eyestrain. Once you're in the field, don't follow any set pattern in looking for relics. I wander about aimlessly, hitting all areas that look promising.

A small stick is handy to probe concealed objects. It will save many back-breaking bends when something catches your eye. Take along a small cloth bag to carry your finds. It prevents the collection from rattling and also protects it. Once home, clean each piece with water, using an old toothbrush. You'll be surprised at the different appearance your relics will be, once washed, (continued on page 24)

BACK-DOOR FISHING

FIGHTING FISH by the pondful almost as near as the back door and just begging to be caught is a luxury that every angler dreams about but never really expects to attain. At least that's the common notion. But for thousands of rural Nebraskans, it's another story. They enjoy such fishing every time they get the fever to wet a line, thanks to the productive farm ponds on their property.

It would be impossible to come up with an exact figure as to the number of ponds in the state. Most say 15,000 would be conservative. Each year there is a real rash of new ponds added to this total as landowners, using Soil Conservation Service funds and plans or completing the project on their own, join the ranks of those who have discovered how ponds enhance their operations and, if the pond is built right, provide them with the best in outdoor fare.

Many of those ponds, unfortunately, fail miserably. Nearly everyone who builds a pond expects some angling out of the venture, but discovers too late that it may not support fishing.

The Game Commission, ever an advocate of developing farm ponds for fishing, is making an all-out. effort to aid these and future disillusioned owners. Before approving a pond for stocking with either state or federal hatchery fingerlings, department fisheries technicians show the requirements that must be met if the pond is to support fish. The availability and type of the pond's water supply is considered. Minimum size and depth is shown. Design of the impoundment is checked. Condition of the drainage area or watershed around the pond is evaluated. If these check out favorably, suitable fish will be stocked.

Depending on the pond, largemouth bass, bluegill, and channel catfish will usually be planted. Varieties such as crappie, green sunfish, and perch, though popular, are not good pond fish. Bullheads and carp are especially bad, as many a disappointed owner will attest. These fish root in the bottom, muddying the water. They and the other species mentioned cause population problems in short order.

Farm ponds replenished by rain water should be an acre or more in size to provide good fishing. Those smaller, and shallower than 10 feet, usually prove "clunkers". Spring-water ponds, on the other hand, may provide good trout fishing if the water flow is great enough even though pond size may be less than an acre.

The condition and size of a pond's watershed is all important if it is to support fish. Runoff must be adequate to maintain a rain-water pond's water level in years of below normal rainfall, and yet not so all inclusive that the dam is damaged in wetter years. Size and depth must be maintained during the winter months. If the pond becomes too shallow, and there is heavy ice or snow cover, the dissolved oxygen so vital to fish is easily depleted, inviting suffocation.

Eroding silt spells quick death for the pond. If the watershed is in poor condition, the pond will soon muddy up, stifling fish life. Many "fabulous fishing holes" have filled completely after a few 10 OUTDOOR NEBRASKA   short years as silt floods in. The best way to protect the pond and the watershed is to make sure the lands are well grassed and safe from overgrazing.

A potentially great fishing pond can disappear almost overnight because an overflow pipe or trickle tube has not been installed. The dam erodes away in short order as the flowing water wears away its face. A trickle tube is a must, as is a gently sloped and grassed spillway.

Damage is mutual when livestock have access to a pond. Cattle, for example, can make a muddy mess of once clear waters, and short-cropping sheep can eat away protective cover on the watershed. Disease can run rampant if animals move in to take over the pond since various viruses and bacteria may be transmitted in the water. Much of this can be corrected by installing a small pipe through the base of the dam to a watering tank, below. The pond and at least 100 feet of the supplying waterway should then be fenced.

Fish can be stocked, once these problems are solved. Priority in planting is given to the larger ponds and the number of improvements made. Usually 100 to 200 fingerlings of each species per surface acre of water is stocked.

Once the pond is stocked properly, the difficult job of management begins. It is a rare pond which can get by without management for very many years. Few receive such consideration. The two most common problems confronting pond owners are an overpopulation of fish and aquatic vegetation interfering with fish. Overpopulation is characterized by catching small fish hand over fist and very rarely catching lunkers. Corrective action can be taken in any of three ways. The owner can make a concentrated effort to creel them, drain his pond, or kill the fish population and start over. The latter method needs approval and supervision by the Game Commission. Usually, any pond containing bluegills, and other species not recommended for stocking should receive heavy fishing.

Aquatic vegetation can impair fishing and also promote overpopulation. Emergent plants, such as cattails, can form a collar around the pond, filling shallow areas. These should be pulled by hand when first observed. If left to spread, they will probably need spraying with a herbicide. Small areas of underwater plants can be controlled by raking or chaining the weeds, but this must be done frequently.Otherwise, spraying will be necessary.

A well-constructed and well-managed farm-fish pond is a real asset. One which is neglected will be no better than a patch of weeds. Only through wise planning and continual management will a small pond produce the kind of fishing everyone dreams about.

HARBINGERS of SPRING

THEY CAME from everywhere at once, their bugle calls splitting the clouds. Moving in stately procession the thousands of sand-hill cranes making up the aerial armada almost blotted the late afternoon sun as they winged over our heads to their roosts on the sand bars of the Platte River south of Overton.

Dick Schaffer and I crouched low, hugging old cottonwoods so we wouldn't be spotted. "Look at them pour in," Dick whispered. I nodded silently, "glassing" the spectacle of the cranes' migration north

In they swept. Some barely cleared the cottonwoods hiding us. Some dropped their spindly legs— like landing gears on a plane—while still air borne, and shot down with wings set. Once landed, they became a vast sheet of gray, almost covering the mud flats as they stood shoulder to shoulder. I'd bet they numbered in the thousands.

The busy clamor of cranes' shrill voices filled the air. Watching them, it was almost possible to see doubles for human characters among the mass. One, with a steely glint in his eye, acted like an inspecting general. He seemed to be bawling out row after row of birds for having soiled feathers as he marched up and down. Another was a night-club dandy. He danced, bowed, and pranced before a couple of admiring females. One farther back emitted like a full-chested contralto. The resonance of the bird's voice was remarkable, and a tremolo effect gave it great carrying power.

Cranes congregate along the Platte River Valley from late February to about the end of March. Most of the sand-hill crane population tarries here in the northward flight. Nebraska is smack in the middle 12 OUTDOOR NEBRASKA   of a major aerial highway, and rivers are ideal resting spots for the birds on their annual journey.

I'll never forget those two days Dick and I spent observing the crane's antics. Around midnight we recorded the unholy clamor of the cranes on their roost.

Shortly after dawn we were up to see them leave the roosts to feed in nearby grainfields. The cranes flew with both neck and legs outstretched. Their ponderous wings moved in a slow down beat with a quick upstroke. In less than an hour the mud flats, once crowded with birds, were barren. Once in the fields, they scratched for roots, grains, insects, frogs, lizards and mice.

Dick and I followed the big birds to the fields, hoping to take pictures, but found out the hard way that we couldn't get within spitting distance of them. More than once we crawled 200 yards in the hope of getting a shot but never got nearer than 100 yards. An alert sentinel would always spot us and then, after a few running strides take off, sounding a warning cry which sent the others scurrying upwards.

Later that afternoon the birds returned to the roosting area, straggling back in flocks of 20 to 200. They follow this same daily pattern, until, becoming rested and growing restless, they take short flights, and dance almost continuously when on the feeding grounds and sand bars. After the first of April the cranes mass in a tremendous concentration between Lexington and Kearney. Then as if by signal, they soar upward in great flocks to resume their northward journey. Moving steadily, they head towards the Bering Sea region, arriving there about May 15.

Viewing the crane migration is an experience you'll never forget. To obtain a real close-up of the birds, conceal yourself near the water's edge whenever you spot a concentration on a sand bar. A pair of high-powered binoculars are a must. Watching from a concealed position, you'll have a front-row seat to one of nature's grandest shows.

Don't take a dog along. Although the big bird seems fragile, it doesn't know fear. It can become an ugly customer when aroused, and uses its long, rapier-like bill with efficiency in defending itself. Some dogs, in fact, have been blinded or badly injured by a crane's vicious thrusts.

Even though the sand-hill crane is one of the early birds telegraphing the coming of spring, it's not always the first. Actually, pintail ducks, Canadas and white-fronted geese, and sand-hill cranes all arrive about the same time. The pintails leave wintering grounds in early February, moving with the frost line as they push north. If not accompanying them, mallards will be right behind.

I was so intrigued with the cranes that I returned to the Platte two weeks after our first visit, but no sound of the familiar garooo-a-a-a welcomed me. Only barren mud flats greeted my eyes. The cranes were somewhere between Nebraska and the Bering Sea, spreading the word to everyone that spring was on the way.

CLEAR COURSE for BOATERS

WHETHER YOUR bailing bucket is a brand-new galvanized pail, or an old soup can, if you simply tacked a 2 V2 -horsepower engine onto the back of your old scow, or if you pamper and pet a 35-foot inboard, you, Mr. Nebraska Boater, have something to do before you slide your boat into the water this spring.

Nebraska has adopted some "rules of the road" for you to follow, rules similar to those governing the registration and operation of motor vehicles. They're designed to make your boating more safe and pleasurable.

And here, in brief form, they are:

All boats propelled by mechanical power and operating on any water within the boundaries of Nebraska (including Missouri River and Gavins Reservoir)must be registered and numbered. Application forms and informational leaflets are available at all places that handle fishing and hunting permits (this includes County Clerks).

A "Certificate of Assessment" must be secured from the County Assessor and verified by the County Treasurer, showing that the boat has been assessed and the taxes thereon paid. This Certificate must accompany the application. If the boat was not owned by the applicant at the time of assessment, he must so certify. This certification must include the name and address of the person or company from whom the boat was purchased and the date of purchase.

Boats owned by residents and operated in this state at any time must be registered in Nebraska. Nonresidents may operate here not more than 90 days if: (a) registered in another state which has a Coast Guard-approved numbering system, or if (b) registered by the Coast Guard in a state which does not have an approved system.

The requirement for Coast Guard-approved fire extinguishers does not apply to a boat that is less than 26 feet if propelled by an outboard motor. It does apply to all other motorboats.

If the boat owner is an alien he must so state on the application form. Federal laws have special provisions for alien boat owners.

Certain equipment must also meet safety requirements. Life jackets, preservers, belts, and ring buoys must be approved by the Coast Guard. Every boat, including canoes, must carry one preserver for each person aboard.

Motorboats must carry a whistle or horn or other sound-producing device. Sirens are illegal, as they are reserved for law enforcement and emergency craft.

Nighttime sailors must display lights. Vessels must carry oars and bailing buckets.

These regulations will help launch you into the water this spring. In complying with these steps you will run across other aids and pointers to keep your boating season safe and enjoyable. Former experience with Coast Guard laws will be valuable. Although a big step by the Game Commission, our 1960 boating laws are time-proven and loaded with old-time common sense.

ARBOR LODGE

ARBOR LODGE State Park has special significance for Nebraskans this year as the state celebrates the diamond jubilee of Arbor Day as an official holiday.

Birthplace of the tree-planting holiday, Arbor Lodge was the home of J. Sterling Morton, fiery young politician and witty newspaperman, who in 1855 moved his fortunes and small family to Nebraska City from Bellevue. "I will not leave Nebraska until I have achieved some great undertaking," he vowed.

And he did. Secretary of Agriculture in President Cleveland's cabinet, Morton was a senior member in Nebraska political life at 36, the first Democratic candidate for governor, and was judged the most gifted and entertaining political speaker in the state.

But J. Sterling Morton, although a passionate party worker, was also a prudent man. He knew the indiscretion and foolhardiness of wildcat banking, and the permanence and solidarity of the rich soil and its products. He knew that doubting and hesitant pioneers would put down their roots with their first orchards and shade trees and that the settlers would stay in their new homes as their shelter belts stopped the snow, their orchards bore apples, and their timber built new barns.

"Trees grow in time," he wrote on occasion of the first Arbor Day. "The poorest landowner in Nebraska has just as large a fortune, of time, secured to him as the richest. And the rain and sunshine and seasons will be his partners. Trees are the monuments I would have."

Morton's battle for trees on the prairies was more than the sentimental interest of one isolated man. On that first Arbor Day in 1872 farmers in the five-year-old state planted over one million trees. Ironically, the first governor to declare the day an annual event was Robert Furnas, Morton's arch political enemy. 16 OUTDOOR NEBRASKA   The two, bickering over the awarding of state printing and fighting tooth-and-nail for political office, could also carry on an equally serious debate over the relative merits of apple-tree varieties.

In 1885 the state of Nebraska declared Arbor Day a legal holiday. Today it is recognized in 45 other states and 11 countries.

Pledging to find either fame or fortune in the new territory of Nebraska, Morton brought his young bride west from Michigan by rail, river packet, and stagecoach to the tiny settlement of Bellevue in 1854. There the Mortons established their first home, a two-story log cabin "luxuriously outfitted with buffalo robes."

There his wife "Carrie", reared in the comfort and security of an Eastern home, could look down upon the flats and the teepees of the Omaha tribe, her nearest neighbors. And there Morton could begin his political career, attending two political meetings and making one political speech before he had been a week in the new territory.

Disappointed in the future of Bellevue after Omaha captured capitol rights to the new territory, Morton cast about for a new home. He chose Nebraska City and edited the News for $1,000 a year. Here he began his crusade for better farming methods and renewed his campaign for a seat in the territorial legislature. He was 26 when he became secretary of the territory in 1858.

The same year he started one of the outstanding orchards in southeastern Nebraska with 400 apple trees. Almost yearly he added to the orchard, or planted evergreens about his four-room shingle-roofed home. In 1871 he made the greatest addition to his growing farm—1,000 apple, 100 pear, and 100 evergreen trees.

The interest Nebraskans and others evince in Arbor Lodge and its founder is indicated by the 112,800 visitors who toured the park last year. Most prominent of the park's features is the stately 52-room mansion built around the original four-room house. Many of the furnishings on display are the ones Caroline Joy Morton dusted and polished. The house was remodeled several times, the most important being in 1871 and 1879. Upon Morton's death, the property passed to his oldest son, Joy, who again remodeled the house, adding the three-story front with the massive colonial columns. In 1922 he offered the grounds to the state for use as a park.

The hospitality of Arbor Lodge in the old days was almost legendary. Gay parties were customary when the four sons were at home. President and Mrs. Cleveland, governors, political luminaries, and the plain needy and desperate traveled the tree-arched drive to the front porch of the house, which in those days sported a bit of gingerbread around its verandas.

The Lodge still welcomes all types of visitors in the wide and hospitable sweep of its porticoes and gracious rooms, arranged as when used by the Morton family. Housed on the third floor are historic exhibits donated by individuals and groups.

Of second interest to most visitors is the handsome stable west of the house. Built in 1900 to hold 20 to 25 spirited horses and a number of well-appointed carriages, it now holds an assortment of old horse-drawn vehicles, including an Overland stagecoach driven by Buffalo Bill.

Carrying on the tradition of their father, the Morton boys designed an aboretum which is one of the most fascinating features of the park. The planting, north and east of the mansion, contains nearly 200 species and varieties of trees and woody plants ranging from native Nebraska pines to tulip trees and sweet gums. Each tree is labeled, and a graveled footpath winds through the planting.

In a small meadow of prairie are many of the wild flowers found native to southeastern Nebraska. Some distance away are two blue spruce planted by Joy and Mark Morton on the 100th anniversary of their father's birth. Nearby is an Engelmann spruce reportedly brought as a seedling in a tomato can from Pikes Peak in 1878 by Mrs. Morton. A monument, terraced gardens, and a log cabin replica complete the historical attractions of the park.

The lodge is open to visitors every afternoon from 1 to 5:30 April 15 to June 15. During the peak tourist season of June 15 to September 15 the doors are open from 10 to 12 and 1 to 5: 30. From September 15 to October 31 the house may be toured any day from 1 to 5:30. The grounds are open every day of the year during daylight hours. Picnicking facilities, water, playground equipment, fireplaces, and toilets are located in the wooded picnic grounds east of the mansion. Overnight camping is not permitted.

"A collection of inanimate marbles may, for a few years, preserve the name, and entry, and exit on this stage in life's short play. But how much more en during are the animate trees of our own planting," Morton wrote. And his monument lives on in the trees at Arbor Lodge State Park.

TIGER WITH FINS

THE ANGLER stared dumfounded at the shredded line dangling over the spot where seconds before a giant northern pike had erupted in explosive savagery. Nonchalantly completing a retrieve, the angler was stunned when the northern bombshelled out of the water to swipe lure and leader, then wheeled back into his domain.

Old Esox lucius had delivered his coup de grace. The fisherman helped when, probably in desperation, he clamped down tightly on the handle of his reel. The 15-pound-test line had parted like so much twine. But though failing to hook the lunker, the angler'd never forget the huge fish and his yawning, tooth-filled maw. I have yet to meet another freshwater fish that can compare in speed and downright viciousness when taking a lure. The pike can hit speeds of 20 miles an hour, being surpassed only by members of the trout family. Put this speed into a predaceous fish, salt it with a voracious appetite, add a lot of downright orneriness, and you have a fish worth throwing a plug at.

The northern is on the increase here. Many have been introduced to lakes and streams by the Game Commission. Our tremendous forage-fish population needs a predator like the northern. He's unsurpassed at such a chore, and thanks to his terrific appetite, helps improve game-fish angling by controlling undesirables.

A native of the Missouri River watershed, the pike is now thriving in some Sand Hill lakes and big reservoirs. The big problem prohibiting increase is lack of sufficient spawning areas. Lakes having a good inlet of flowing water with abundant weed cover in the shallows produce pike. Though reservoirs have a fair population, production seems deterred by water turbidity and lack of heavy weed beds.

Big Alkali, Watts, Cottonwood, Enders, Hack-berry, Schoolhouse, Swan, Mothers, Grove, and Smith lakes in the Sand Hills have proven top northern fishing spots. Others, if managed for pike, may have equal potential. Incidentally, some of the lakes mentioned are on private property, so ask permission.

A whopping 25%-pound giant northern was taken last year at Enders Reservoir. Maloney, Harlan, Mc-Conaughy, Gavins Point and Enders all have pike populations. Rivers such as the Elkhorn and Calamus have fair local populations.

Some fishemen are a little apprehensive about the northern. He has a reputation for preying on ducklings and practically anything else that swims. He will occasionally take small waterfowl, but this is rare. It should be pointed out that small pike are targets for numerous fish-eating birds such as the merganser, blue heron, cormorant, and pelican. The 18 OUTDOOR NEBRASKA   northern pike's ferocious looks belie his nature. His diet is legendary, and he can be caught on almost any lure. Many tales coming out of the North Woods attest to his complete disregard of the target when he makes up his mind to strike. One authenticated story has it that a fisherman was washing his hands alongside the boat when a huge northern clamped down on them, evidently, mistaking the hands for floundering prey.

Dinnertime for the northern is any time during the daylight hours. He is very seldom caught at night. Live bait of almost any kind can be used. Large minnows, frogs, and salamanders are very good. A big 12-inch sucker usually is needed when fishing a tackle buster.

Anyone who has fished the fighter with live bait and a float will tell you that the pike's strike is used to immobilize his prey. After hitting the bait he will often run with it a few yards, stop, drop it, then pick it up again, head first, and devour the dinner. Setting the hooks when the float first disappears generally is unproductive as the northern hasn't taken the bait well enough to get snagged. Wait for the second move of the fish or at least a minute or more until you feel that the hooks have been taken.

The northern's environment demands fishing tackle on the heavy side. A rod must pack enough backbone to slam the hooks home in the bony, tooth-filled mouth. Heavy monofilament or wire leaders are important as terminal gear to prevent the line from being cut. The line and leader should be strong enough to stop a big fish, and to pull him free from weed beds.

Spinning tackle in the heavy class with 12-pound-test line is recommended. A medium to heavy action bait-casting outfit and 15-pound-test line will handle the big ones. Many anglers using a fly rod find that with big bucktails and at least 10-pound-test leader material, they can handle the smaller northerns.

Artificial lures available are legion. Spoons are perhaps the most popular, with red and white, silver, and black and white favored in that order. Floating, diving plugs such as the "Pikie" and "Jointed Pikie" minnows are time-honored favorites. The flatfish type lures as Creek Chub's "Nikie" and Kautzky's "Lazy Ike" are proven pike lures. Spinner-bucktail combinations in red and white, yellow and white, and red and yellow connect for many.

Streamers and bucktails should be big with hook sizes from No. 2 to 2/0. These flys when fished slowly just below the surface are deadly. Many anglers use them on a spinning outfit by adding a small split shot for casting weight.

Top pike angling can be had in March when pike move into lake bays and inlets to spawn. Inlets deep enough to offer the fish concealment are always good bets. Big Alkali, Cottonwood, Enders, Grove, Mothers, and Smith lakes have such sites. If the water is too shallow the fisherman must search out the holes. Pike will be spooky and hard to catch if both are lacking. Fish will seek the weedy shallows such as stands of emergent aquatic plants if the lake doesn't have an inlet. Weedless spoons with a tail of pork rind and shallow running plugs will get good results.

The northern is a fish of the shallows and is very seldom taken in water more than 10 feet deep. After the spawning run they move back into the lakes and take up residence in an area that offers concealment both from enemies and prey. Pike often lie in wait on the edge of a heavy weed bed waiting for an unwary fish to swim within striking distance.

The strike is one of cool precise timing topped with sizzling speed. Having fished this fresh-water tiger many places over the years, it has been my fortune to watch his attack many times. In Michigan it is legal to spear the northern pike through the ice. The entire watery world comes to view as you sit in a light-tight shack. Here you can watch a grizzled veteran attack. Using a spoon or spearing decoy (neither has hooks) you jig the lure on a short fishing line to lure the northern to strike.

Often you never see the fish until he comes streaking in on the strike, but there are those oc casions when you'll spot his shadowy form slide into view along the bottom, just out of spearing range. Sometimes he will turn as if ignoring the teasing action of the decoy. (continued on page 24)

COYOTE CAPER

CLYDE FUHRER'S urgent call the night before to "bring Gene Hornbeck along for what looks to be a good day of following the hounds" was all that was needed to trigger my nervous system into action. Now, with the sun streaming through the early morning haze, my nerves were running in high gear as my car tore across the snow-clogged hills in hot pursuit of the hounds. From the sound of their bellowing, they were "packing" a hot trail, either a fox or coyote.

Streaking over the crest of the hill, I was faced with a fast turn to a north-south road. I wheeled around the corner, the chains chewing through the packed snow and throwing sparks from the gravel. The car fishtailed across the little-used back road, caromed sideways, then roared ahead just in time for us to see a coyote top the next hill and race for the far end of the section.

"Make a run for the section line and try to cut him off," Gene shouted. "It's going to be tough getting him out if he gets in the creek bottom."

So the mad chase down the back-country roads started all over again, with ours and eleven other farmer-packed cars in hot pursuit. We had covered many miles since Clyde put two of his trail hounds, Buck and Blackie, down in a creek bottom near Bennet. This expedition had been arranged to hunt fox, but no one bothered to tell the hounds. It was an hour before we learned the hounds were hot after coyote, developing into the wildest running free-for-all I'd ever experienced.

"Weather isn't exactly right for trailing with hounds," Clyde had told us earlier. "The dogs have trouble following a trail if it is too cold. The frost hurts the pads of their feet. If the temperature goes up, softening the snow, we will be in business."

Gene Hornbeck, staff photographer, and I were taking in this excitement-packed session at the invitation of Clyde and Bob Jensen, both of Bennet. At the last moment Bob had to bow out because of business reasons, but Clyde proved a capable guide to our first hound-coyote adventure. Coyotes are surprisingly plentiful near Bennet, and this type of chase is staged every time the weather is co-operative. For two months these Bennet town and country folks had followed the hounds as many as two and three times a week. If a creature has fur, hounds will chase it, and as sure as the sun rises, these veteran-coyote hunters will follow. One telephone 20 OUTDOOR NEBRASKA   call can start the hunt, and by the time it is under way some 20 to 30 persons will be on hand.

The land was a sparkling-white wonderland, covered with a new blanket of snow. By the time the hounds disappeared in the tree-lined bottom, my ears were tingling and my feet and hands numb with cold. It had been zero that night, limiting wildlife movement. Scent freezes out quickly in such weather, and the hounds need fresh tracks to run.

Blackie raced along the creek bottom, put his nose to the cold snow, and started yammering loud and clear. Every time he picked up a whiff of scent, his voice rolled up happily. Although this was my first time on a coyote hunt, I'd heard hounds "sing" on many a bobcat and rabbit chase. Believe me, the music of bawling, baying hounds on a hot trail can make your blood stir.

"Blackie's fast on the trail," Clyde said as he listened to the murmur floating back on the breeze. "Buck is slow and deliberate and will straighten things out if there are any 'checks'."

Because of an abundance of cover in this area, a coyote usually doesn't run far in a straight line. In wooded areas he covers the landscape in big circles, haphazard twistings, and back tracks. These are checks. When pushed out into the open, he may line out for long distances. His legs, carrying him to speeds of 30 miles per hour, are his best defense.

Our hunting party, some 20 strong, waited in the cars, hoping for a quick strike. Clyde had brought four hounds and was keeping Lad and Queenie in reserve. Buck was a black-and-tan-redbone cross while his son, Blackie, was out of a Walker. Queenie and Lad had Walker, redbone, and black-and-tan bloodlines.

You've got to stay with the car if you expect to score in this kind of country. You drive down a section road, stop, and listen. If the hounds are at the far side of the section, you roar off to catch up. And sometimes you arrive only to find that the hounds and coyote have backtracked to the other side. No one can tell a hunter where to stand.The best bet MARCH,1960 21   is to stay with the sound of the hounds and play hunches.

We could hear the hounds' eager bawling rise and fall as they lined out on a trail that left the creek. Then in the middle of the section, the coyote made a check, and the trailers were in trouble. Clyde trotted out to help the dogs unravel the trail. Only when an animal is cornered or the dogs are in trouble with a check will a hunter leave the car for the field. Some 20 to 30 minutes were taken up before the dogs were back on the line.

The trail was warmer, and the hounds began to open up. When the dogs start their hot-trail bawling every coyote within hearing distance moves, without waiting to find out if he is the hunted. It's not unusual to have three or four coyotes going in as many directions at once. No matter where the dogs are, you have to keep an eye peeled for strays. And sure enough, four coyotes went busting out of this section when the hounds moved in. They had been sitting on a hillside, enjoying the sun, when the chase caught up with them.

Gene spotted one of these strays as we sped down the road. Ripping around the next corner, we could see the plunging hounds just topping the hill after the "prairie ghost". We were successful in turning the coyote, but failed to get a shot. You've got to shoot fast in this type of terrain. Our coyote made a sharp turn, cut through a cow yard and lined out across the road into the next section. The hunters in the car following us managed to get off several quick shots before the animal disappeared in another creek bottom.

The hounds were making life miserable for another coyote on the far side of the section. Making a wild dash for freedom, he cut into the next section, but the dogs had him lined out and were pushing hard. Clyde jumped out of the car and turned the fresh dogs into the fray.Now every car in the party was cruising the area waiting for their cue to move from the sound of the bawling hounds. Their voices raised in a wild melee when they trapped the coyote.

Clyde grabbed his gun, racing into the fur-flying fray It wasn't long before he was waving his arms and shouting, indicating the hounds had the coyote. Gene and I and the rest made a dash for the hill. Clyde was standing on a farm-pond dam. But there wasn't a coyote in sight.

"That old devil played out right in the middle of the ice and was sitting quietly," Clyde volunteered. "Then Blackie charged into him, sliding him into the hole where the overflow culvert comes through the ice."

The overflow pipe, controlling the water level of the pond, dropped about eight feet straight down and then made a 90 degree turn, running out the face of the dam at ground level. For the time being, the coyote was safe and sound within the pipe, and we were stymied. Finally we decided to lower Buck and Blackie into the pipe, hoping they could flush him.

A barking, growling roar thundered out of the pipe. We had a real rhubarb going, in fact, so good that it was difficult to keep the hunters away. The cornered animal wouldn't budge as long as he could see them. Once given a chance, the coyote exploded from the lower end, the dogs in hot pursuit. The dogs quickly closed in, pulling the coyote down. He fought gamely and then made another bid for freedom. It was then that Art Walberg of Eagle connected with a quick shot, ending the chase.

It was now 12:30 p.m., and the hunt had taken 2 1/2 hours. With one successful run completed, the caravan journeyed to the spot where one of the other coyotes had crossed the road. This was the old scoundrel who had befuddled the dogs chase after chase. Today was no exception. They pursued him 3 1/2 hours without success.

I admire a coyote's spunk and trickery. In spite of some shortcomings, he is a clever hunter, and a real asset in controlling rodents. I respect his ability to adapt to many different conditions and his way of outwitting the pursuers when hunted. The sly fellow we missed today, and many of his clan, would provide sport for years to come.

OUTDOOR ELSEWHERE

MINNESOTA ... Six ruffled grouse will peep and squeak in a different key soon, withtheaidoftheMinnesota GameandFish miles. With two partment. The six have been equipped with one-ounce radio transmitters which give forth a sputniklike peep continuously for a month, receivable over a range of several receiving sets in towers, a telephone between them, and a system of triangulations, the exact location of each radio-carrying bird will be known at all times. Similar sonic equipment works under water and has been used in tracking salmon.

CALIFORNIA . . . Lumbermen in California uncovered a hoard of acorns neatly stashed away in the heart of a redwood tree they were processing through a mill. The nuts were perfectly preserved in spite of the fact that the squirrel which placed the nuts there lived before the time of Columbus, as indicated by the age of the tree.

UTAH ... A paralyzed hunter realized an ambition making him the envy of many able-bodied gunners—he got his buck. Herb Smart, Jr. is a quad-raplegic, unable to use his hands and feet. Since he loved to hunt, his father rigged a special gun mount on a wheel chair. Taken to a likely area and placed on a stand, Smart waited out a three-point buck, and dropped him with one shot, using a special arm trigger.

OKLAHOMA . . . The hardest working hands around the farm when it comes to pecan harvest time is a nest of pack rats. At least that's the word from Jess Daniels, Oklahoma state representative. Recently, he poked into a rat nest in a hollow tree in his 220-acre pecan orchard and found 50 pounds of the pecans. He removed the nuts, returned two weeks later, and found another 50 pounds. Daniels emptied the storage place 10 or 11 times during the harvest season, and being practical, leaned a chunk of bark against the tree to make the entrance to the rats' storage bin a little handier for them.

OHIO . . . Wildlife Supervisor Ben Anderson spotted a number of feeding pheasants while on patrol opening day of ringneck hunting. While checking the licenses of a party of hunters, a short distance away, he "tipped" them to the cocks. Waiting, he saw the gunners flush and wing one bird. The cock headed for Anderson, who managed to grab it in mid-air. Giving the bird to the hunter, Anderson admitted his services usually were not so detailed.

PENNSYLVANIA ... A Pennsylvania trapper caught a glint of gold in the mouth of a muskrat he picked up this winter. Wondering what dentist had outfitted the critter with gold fillings, the trapper dug out a brass .22 bullet casing which had lodged over the 'rat's tooth to form an unusual cap. Possession of the shining tooth probably rated that muskrat a high place in 'rat society.

OKLAHOMA . . . When the Oklahoma Public Service Company put fishing spinners on their transmission poles, they weren't aiming for far-ranging flying fish. Their aim — to frighten woodpeckers. And apparently the test proved successful. The flash, motion, and humming noise of the spinners dangling in the wind kept the winged drillers away. Up to 1,500 poles are replaced by the company each year, and 12 per cent of them are victims of nest-building woodpeckers.The birds,having wrecked one pole, will drill a new hole in exactly the same place on the replacement.

COLORADO . . . "More fun than hooking a 10-pound rainbow," was the verdict of four Greeley, Colorado "dog-german" who have become adept at landing prairie dogs with casting rods. Capitalizing on gopher snaring practiced as youngsters, the group toted rods, reels, and landing nets to a thriving prairie dog town, prepared to lasso the critters with a soft rope loop. The first prairie dog roped dug into his hole before the unexperienced angler could grab him, shot up out of a neighboring hole, tangled the line on sagebrush, and added the final touch by biting the heavy fish line in two as he went underground the second time. With experience, the doggermen caged enough to transport to an abandoned prairie dog town, in the hopes the critters would prove a tourist attraction.

SOUTH DAKOTA . . . Nebraskans in South Dakota provide the plot for this story, passed on by State Game Warden Melvin Brunken. The party of Nebraska anglers were fishing for bullheads in a small borrow pit on the north side of the interstate dam just below Lake Traverse. It was a windy day, and a 10-year-old boy had his cap blown onto the water. The boy's father snapped a large wobbling spoon onto his line and tried to retrieve the cap.

He missed the cap on three successive tries, but caught three northerns, ranging from two to six pounds. The excited father spread the word, and standing room around the borrow pit was soon gone. The forgotten cap was never recovered.

TIGER WITH FINS

Then slowly, as if he were tracking it by radar, the pike turns again, lining up on the target.

I have never been able to tell when the strike begins because one second the fish is lying almost motionless and the next he is slashing at the lure. Spearing a streaking target like this is almost impossible so you resign yourself to wait in hopes he will stop his attack momentarily to give you a chance to slam the spear home.

The northern pike has many names—"snake", jackfish, and pickerel are some of the most common. His appearance causes some to shun him as a food fish but it shouldn't. The northern's flesh is firm, white, and delicious when properly prepared. Only the small pike present a problem because of many bones interlaced in the flesh. The bones in the larger fish are big enough so that they can easily be removed.

Don't try to scale the northern. Remove the flesh from the skin either by filleting or skinning. Fillets should be cut into serving-size portions rolled in egg and flour. They can't be beat when fried to a golden brown.

The ice will be off the lakes in a few short weeks, triggering the northerns into action. This should be your cue to move into high gear. It will take a lot of fish to top the bombshell action you'll enjoy when you latch onto this fighter.

HUNTER'S BONUS

If you're like most beginners you'll probably come home loaded down with too many stones that you thought were relics. Don't be too concerned about this. It's far better to lug too much home, and dispose of worthless objects there, than risk the chance of leaving something of value behind. Incidentally, if you make what looks to be a remarkable discovery contact officials at the University of Nebraska Museum. Your find might open the door to an even greater discovery.

There are several books that will help you identify your finds. I've read "Indian Artifacts" by Virgil V. Russell, and "Indian Relics and Their Values" by Allen Brown. Well illustrated, both have proven good reference sources. In addition, I'm a regular reader of the artifacts column in "Hobbies" magazine. A couple of good outings with an experienced artifact hunter will also do a lot of good.

There are still plenty of relics of bygone days in the state, many right in front of your eyes. Next time you go afield, take a closer look. You are apt to stumble onto a real discovery.

SPEAK UP

"I received my first OUTDOOR NEBRASKA and am really enthusiastic about the valuable information it contains. I am particularly interested in the gun articles. I have been toying with purchasing a .30/30 Marlin but note it isn't listed as an accepted rifle for deer hunting. However, I assume it is essentially the same as the Winchester and therefore is acceptable. I also note that you list the fourth cartridge from the left in the picture on page 16 of your June magazine as a .30/06 Winchester. It looks like a .30/30 to me. I have a .300 Lee E. British which I would like to restock. Can stock kits be purchased for this gun? I would like to do it myself. And one more question—what is the difference in a .30/30 and a .35 carbine, and which would be better for deer hunting?"—H. A. Slewarl, Hastings.

In answer, in order—the .30/30 W.C.F. is all the same cartridge, regardless of the rifle in which it is fired. The proper term is .30/30 Winchester Center Fire. There is no cartridge known as the .30/30 Marlin. Today Marlin, Winchester, and Savage all make rifles chambered for the .30/30 W.C.F. cartridge. As for the caption, you're entirely right. Stocks can be purchased for the .303 S.M.L.E. from E. C. Bishop and Son, Inc., Warsaw, Mo. Herters, Inc., of Waseca, Minn., also may now be making these two-piece stocks. The booklet, "How to Fit and Finish Gunstocks" by G. L. Herter, is available from this company and should help you.

Comparative ballistics between the .30/30 Winchester cartridge and the .35 Remington are as follows:

Within the effective range of these two calibers (about 150 yards) the choice for deer hunting in Nebraska is about a tossup. The .35 Remington has the edge for brush-bucking. Both are short-range medium-power calibers.—Editor

"Must a person have a hunting license to hunt coyotes? And can you shoot off the road at coyotes or varments with a rifle? And do you need a license to shoot coyotes, fox, or jack rabbits with a shotgun?"—Walt Oswald, Aurora.

You do not need a hunting license to hunt coyotes or other non-game animals in this state. And there are no prohibitions against shooting non-game animals from a public road.—Editor.

"Could you, or one of your readers, give me the recipe for blood bait for catfishing? I have heard it can be made by mixing poultry blood with glue of some kind."—James Spearman, Omaha.

Keith Donoho, our fisheries supervisor at Alliance, offers this recipe: Gather one gallon of fresh undiluted chicken blood. This will coagulate in layers of V2 to y4 inch on top. Lift the layers as they form. Then alternate the blood with a mixture of the following—a double handful of table salt (about one pound), 1/2 pound brown sugar,and two table spoons of alum(or leave out for a slightly softer blood). The concoction is ready to use in two to three hours.

If used soon after making, pour excess liquid extracted by the salt and sugar into the water. This helps attract the fish. Cut the blood into strips and go to fishing. If you want firmer blood, dry it on racks, turning frequently.

A treble hook is almost a must, as the blood will be taken in one quick strike by the catfish and the hook must be set upon the first take. If used right after making, the blood may not be as hard as some commercial baits. You should experiment with drying periods to obtain the consistency you find best.—Editor.

"I enjoyed your December Speak Up very much. I would like to have you clarify the facts of the 'myth' that if a landowner posts his land with 'no hunting' signs that he himself is not allowed on his own land either."—Frank Tesar, Omaha.

His "no hunting" signs are just directed at the general public. He, or any of his friends with his permission, may hunt on the posted property. Of course, you must ask any landowner for permission to hunt, signs or not.—Editor.

Notes on Nebraska Fauna

WILSONS SNIPE

DARTING IN the sky like a feathered meteor, his wings humming, the Wilson's snipe (Capella delicata) presents a spectacular sight to both hunter and bird watcher. He masquerades under a number of aliases which include jacksnipe, common snipe, American snipe, bog snipe, and gutter snipe.

During the days of the bird's early great abundance, surprisingly large numbers were killed annually in the United States. Louisiana market hunter, James J. Pringle, for example, bagged 69,087 during a 20-year period (1867-1887). His record kill for one day was 366. Fortunately such days of slaughter are over, and the snipe has profited under protection, becoming fairly common.

Successful shooting is for the nimrod who has a special skill to handle the unexpected.The snipe springs suddenly from cover and darts away in a zigzag, uneven course just above the grass. Very few Nebraska hunters seek the feathered jet,and less than 5,000 are killed each season. This is unfortunate since the snipe, weighing approximately four ounces, is deliciously flavored.

This swift creature,10-12 inches in length, has a strongly striped brownhead and back, white under parts, short orange tail, and an extremely long, slender bill.The plumage blends perfectly with the surrounding rushes and grasses. His protective coloration and habit of freezing until the last possible moment make him difficult to see on the ground. One of the most versatile of the shore birds, he can swim, dive, or wade equally well.

The migration of the snipe is a mystery. He's here today, gone tomorrow. Showing a decided liking for the dusk hours, he migrates by night and visits the same spots year after year. Although a common migrant through Nebraska, very few of his 26 OUTDOOR NEBRASKA   kind stay to nest. Some have been known to breed in Garden County, but the majority generally continue northward as the weather warms, nesting in Canada and Alaska. The spring flight usually hits Nebraska as soon as the frost is out of the ground in early April, while the fall migration comes in October. Wintering grounds stretch from the southern United States to Brazil. An infrequent winter visitor in Nebraska, the snipe usually leaves with the first heavy frost or when the marshes and lakes freeze over.

The bird has a variety of vocal notes, each associated with different seasons and conditions. Far from silent on the ground, a big flight of Wilson's snipe will sound off in a high, shrill key. One moment the racket is almost ear splitting, and the next, a person can hear a feather drop. When flushed suddenly, he utters an explosive scaipe, and rises in a curious, twisting flight, soon settling down, however, to a swift, straight flight. At times the snipe flies low over the grass, uttering a guttural chuck-chuck-chuck as it flashes by before dropping out of sight.

The snipe's best-known sound is his flight song. His aerial performance has aroused great interest as to the exact origin of sound. When the bird dives the tail is spread to the fullest extent, and it seems well established the sound is caused by air rushing past the rigid, outer tail feathers and outer quills of the wings.

Walter John Breckenridge, who has made a study of the Wilson's snipe, states:

"Like the woodcock and many other shore birds, Wilson's snipe has a so-called flight song, which may be heard mornings and evenings, on moonlight nights, on still, cloudy days, or even in full glare of sunlight. The bird, rising to considerable height (150 feet or more) above the meadow which is its home, circles round and round on rapidly vibrating wings in an ever widening orbit. At short intervals it darts suddenly and obliquely downward, producing at the same time a peculiar, hollow, whirring note which has been described as 'bleating' or 'drumming'. The note is low-pitched and rather fugitive in character and is one of the most eerie and weird sounds in nature, coming, as it does from high in the heavens and seemingly from nowhere in particular. It takes careful searching to find the tiny drifting object, and no little effort is required to keep it in view and to realize that it is really the source of the sound."

The speedster's courting antics are most entertaining. The nuptial song is the melodious, winnowing whistle as the male flashes and circles in the sky. At times he will fly low, emitting a vocal yelping or cackling.

Wet meadows and marshes or adjoining lowlands serve as nesting sites. Like the majority of shore birds, snipe nest on the ground. Bits of grass and leaves whirled into a circle make up the simple nest. While building, the male struts like a miniature turkey with his head thrown back, wings trailing, and tail spread.

The eggs usually number four, but seldom does a pair succeed in raising more than two birds a season. The eggs are very large, considering the size of the bird. Each is pear-shaped, whitish or gray, with heavy blotches of brown or black on the larger end. When hatched, the young are clothed in protectively-colored down and are precocial. The young, though not tended by their parents, find limitless insect food near the nest. One never sees a female snipe shoving juicy worms down the young snipes' throats.

The snipe frequently leaves concealment of the grass meadows in the fall. Then it may be seen on mud flats or wading along the lake shores, industriously searching the bottom for food. The long bill, flexible and very sensitive, is used in probing in shallow water and mud. The snipe preys upon insect forms and must be reckoned as a useful bird. Food includes earthworms, cutworms, leeches, grasshoppers, locusts, beetles, mosquitoes, and other insects and their larvae, and some seeds of marsh plants.

No longer overgunned, and gaining in numbers, the ever-fascinating snipe will furnish hours of enjoyment for both hunter and watcher. Explore a marsh or wet meadow this spring or fall and watch the feathered jet perform.

FISHING KNOTES