BEAGLE-HOUND SYMPHONY

by Pete Czura Music lovers couldn't ask for anything prettier than hounds singing a rabbit's swan song

ROLLING ACROSS the flats and gentle valleys came the joyous chops and bawls of beagle k hounds in hot pursuit of tantalizing rabbit scent. Turning an ear toward the ear-splitting chants, I murmured, "Listen to that heavenly music."

When the three veteran beagles, followed by six eager young hounds, hit the plum thicket at the end of the long draw, I had a hunch rabbits would soon come churning out.

Minutes later rabbits boiled out in every direction. "Here they come!" I shouted to Bob Jensen.

His .410 barked out a load of No. 6's in response. The first shot dusted the rear of one cotton, but the second bowled one over. The rest were out of range before he could get a third shot off.

Rather than risk hitting one of the men or a hound, because of where I was situated, I held fire.

"Not bad," chortled Jensen, hefting a well-fed bunny. Jensen, a Bennett businessman who spends much of his time afield, had generously offered to take us to bunny hot spots near his home.

Many hunters stash away their guns when waterfowl and upland-game-bird seasons end. But it needn't be that way, for rabbit hunting, especially when accompanied to the tune of melodious chants of hot-running beagles, can be just as rewarding.

To those beagle enthusiasts, the tonguing of eager hounds makes goose pimples spring up on the hide. Perhaps the call of the chase fans the embers of primitive instincts long-dormant. More likely, it's just a matter of having an ear attuned to hounds.

Our party on that windy, sunny January afternoon consisted of Charles Neidt, president of the FEBRUARY, 1961 3   Great Plains Beagle Club; Bill Moore, George Pinckney, Clair Kohl, and Bill Beyer, all of Lincoln. Others were Ross Thomason, a chunky, bull-throated farmer from Plattsmouth, and slender Dale Wohlfarth, a banker from Murray. All are avid beagle-hunting fans.

BEAGLE-HOUND SYMPHONY continued

The weather was perfect for the men, but murder for the dogs. It was too dry and much too windy for them to locate the line—the scent laid down by a moving rabbit. The wind whipped away all vestiges of scent. The hounds had their work cut out, but in true beagle fashion came through brilliantly with some fine runs.

Our outfit contained every imaginable kind of fire power. Bill Moore was toting a .357 Magnum handgun which just a few days earlier had nailed a running coyote at 80 yards. Wohlfarth had a scope-mounted rifle. Jensen and I carried scatterguns.

Anything from a bean blower, bow and arrows, rifle, handgun, and slingshot to shotguns may be used on rabbits in Nebraska. You can stalk them or you can wait them out. Few animals provide as many interesting challenges.

Despite the year-long season, most of the cottontail hunting is done in January, February, and March. Gourmets of rabbit cookery say the meat is best in midwinter, and with the back legs the choice portions. The Game Commission has no figures on the number of rabbits taken in the state, but other than near the metropolitan areas, they are unharvested. Generally speaking, cottontails are distributed over the state, with good populations in most areas in normal years.

Beagles and bassets are the breeds used mostly for rabbits, yet almost any dog from a coon hound to an airedale will take after bunny scent. Beagles are even used on foxes, the hunters contending that the little hound's slow pace means less chance of chasing the fox into the next county as sometimes happens when the fleet-footed foxhounds are used.

The first run our beagles made on our rabbit whing ding produced nothing. Thomason's hounds, Joe and Kate, scampered along searching likely rabbit cover at a merry clip. Their tails waved like proud banners in the wind, and were sometimes all we could see of the dogs as they worked heavy cover. Occasionally they would hit a line, and their high-pitched music made our scalps prickle.

Standing on a knoll and watching the hounds work, Charley Neidt told us. "Hounding offers an infinite variety of action. If you live close to town, you can bet there'll be cottontails nearby. And don't think you can't get excited about a rabbit chase when you own a hound that does the driving."

Dale Wohlfarth chimed in with this information. "Many of us use beagles to run fox or coyotes near Murray, south of Plattsmouth. This may surprise some, but hounds are used to hunt almost any kind of predator. Some animals, like foxes, are hunted primarily for the music of the chase."

At that moment Thomason's hounds let out a high-pitched cry.

"They've hit a hot one," yelled Bill Beyer. All of us took off in high gear to see what would develop. Following the pack, Thomason filled us in on some of the particulars.

"Hound hunting," Thomason puffed out as we beat our way through heavy brush, "has no equal. Ahead of beagles, a rabbit can put up a full half 4 OUTDOOR NEBRASKA   hour of thrills and, if you wish, he can live to repeat the performance on another day. The kill is secondary to the chase."

The entire pack disappeared into a brushy gully nearby. Minutes later, Bill Moore's Prince let out a happy song as he worked the bottom.

From the top I watched him race along, his tiny feet churning through the snow. Tracing the zigzag line laid by the crafty rabbit, Prince's singing told everyone that rabbits were near. Then he rushed headlong into a thick brush pile like a pile driver. Ignoring the jagged ends of the tangled tree branches, he wormed his way down deep. Busting out at the bottom, he swung around, and rammed his way through a small opening at the side. But he had again lost his prey. The beagle took off searching for another line, making ever larger circles.

Heading north toward the end of the ravine, Prince joined Joe and Kate. Out in the flats, all three hit a line and raced toward a fence row. Following close behind came the panting Thomason, egging them on with choice remarks like, "Talk to them, boys."

About 50 yards from where I was observing the action develop, a couple of bunnies scampered out of the safety of the fence row and tried to make a run past me. I smoked one with my 16-gauge, but missed the second with two other quick shots.

We needed a rest after this action. With the smoking lamp lit, we discussed the finer points of hounding.

"It's doubtful that a beagle could catch a full-grown rabbit," Clair Kohl said. (I could see some chaps grabbing pencil and paper to argue the point.) "The rabbit, being smaller, faster and more elusive, has things pretty much his own way until the man with the gun steps into the picture. But sometimes, this doesn't make much difference either.

"When flushed from their forms," Kohl continued, "most rabbits will circle back eventually to the point where they were jumped. And for a good reason. The rabbit is essentially a homebody, usually spending most of his life in a small area if food is available. He knows this region like you know the palm of your hand. And when chased, he tends to remain in his home grounds rather than run off to a strange area that may lack brush piles and dens that he needs for safety."

Wrapped up in this talk, we forgot about the hounds which had wandered off after more rabbits. Just as Neidt opened his mouth to add another comment, we spotted the dogs starting up another rabbit. The chase was on again.

This one began as a sight chase and brought out the best voice of the hounds. But the heavy brush slowed them until they were nose trailing. I watched the rabbit run up the hill and follow a fence row north. He wasn't running hard, just loping along listening for the coming hounds. Suddenly he stopped in his tracks, slowly sat up on his hind feet, and looked back toward the sound of the dogs. Apparently satisfied with the way the chase was going, he wheeled around and hopped back along his trail about 50 feet and bounced into the brush. As the hounds barreled into view, I wondered what they would do.

They charged right down the trail to where the cottontail had stopped, and then the hounds began to mill about wondering why the scent had suddenly disappeared. They soon hit the spot where the bunny had bounced into the brush, but by then it was too late, for the cottontail had made good his escape.

It was time to call it a day. The sun was a dazzling red in the west. The tired but eager beagles were rounded up and put in cars. Before going our separate ways, we promised we would "get together real soon." This was a promise that wouldn't be hard keeping.

A couple rabbits may seem like a lean bag for an afternoon of hunting. But to us, the day was filled with a world of thrills. The boundless enthusiasm of the hounds, the melodious chant when they hit a hot rabbit scent, and the warm companionship shared with other sportsmen made the outing complete. It was a day for music lovers, and one I'll always remember.

THE END FEBRUARY, 1961 5

SHIRT SLEEVES on the ICE

by Jim Tische

SPORTSMEN find lots of excuses to get out and enjoy Nebraska's midwinter fare. Bobcats, coyotes, and rabbits offer plenty of active sport. But for those who prefer a more easy-going pace, ice fishing on the state's many lakes, ponds, and reservoirs can't be beat.

Some people look upon the ice fisherman as slightly unbalanced. He can't catch enough fish in the summer, so he returns to torture himself in the winter. Fact is, fishing in the frigid months has some advantages, including mobility. You can keep moving from one spot to another until you get action, then set up shop.

Best bet for the novice is to go with someone who knows the ropes—someone who's up on techniques and fish behavior. Then you can blame him if things don't go right. This I took at face value when I set up a trek to Lake Minatare in western Nebraska early in January. Who, I figured, would be better to blame if I failed than Gene Hornbeck of Lincoln, department movie photographer, and Jim McCole of Gering, area conservation officer. Both are frostbit veterans on the ice. As it turned out, however, I didn't have to blame anyone for anything, for the three of us brought home bucketsful of fish when the spree was over.

"Bundle up in your galoshes, wool muffler, and thermal underwear," Jim told us by long-distance telephone when he agreed to the soiree. "There'll be a wind whipping across the ice. By the way, how long has it been since you were ice fishing?'

"I'll have to admit," I replied, "it has been some years. After talking to some of the disbelievers here, I'm half afraid I'll freeze to death."

Jim laughed, "We've had no casualties yet. The perch'll keep you busy enough to forget about the cold. In case you get chilly, we'll let you spud."

Gene and I reached Scottsbluff late the next day. It wasn't cold, but I was glad I had plenty of duds. We met Jim at Gering the next morning and we were out on Lake Minatare by 11 a.m. Twenty-five anglers were already on the hard water. It seems that once bitten by the ice-fishing bug, you can't resist. Catch a lot of fish, and you're hooked.

Now I knew why Jim had been smothering a grin all the way from town. A good many of the anglers were already down to shirt sleeves. I was padded with layers of clothes.

Equipment needs are simple. We were outfitted with an ice chisel (spud), skimmers to dip ice out of the holes, small hooks, tipups (an apparatus with a signal the bite of the fish triggers), jig sticks (short poles), and buckets to carry home our catch.

"We'll start close to shore over shallow water," Jim directed. "If the fish aren't biting, we'll move on out."

I realized each move would mean chopping out eight new holes. We had four homemade finger 6 OUTDOOR NEBRASKA   tipups, three rods, and a jigging stick. We intended to back up the claim that the ice fishing is more productive than in summer. For one reason, the cold-weather baiter can use as high as 15 hooks, with no more than five on a line. In the summer, on lakes, ponds, and reservoirs, the limit is two lines with two hooks on each line.

Hot or cold, die-hard anglers simply change tactics and tools when temperatures put slab of glass over fishing hole

"Nothing like open-water fishing," Jim said, voicing the second reason. "We can walk out to the weed-bed or reef hot spots."

He was right. With ice on the lake, we could set out hooks in several choice locations. All we had to do was run to the tipup and land the taking fish. If the action got hot, we didn't have to worry about stringing the catch. We could toss the fish out on the ice and at the end of the day collect them, freshly frozen and in good shape.

We spudded eight holes close to shore, rigged our lines, and hooked on some lively minnows.

"This should be a tempting menu to the perch this time of year," Gene commented as he dropped a small minnow into one of the holes and watched it sink to the bottom.

"We'll have to make every minnow count," I showed my ignorance. "Jim says we have only three dozen."

"Have no fear, bold winter angler," Gene soothed. "When we catch our first perch, I'll show you one of the best baits of all—fish eyes. Of course, minnows are the surest when things are slow, but watch out when the perch go on a spree."

But for the first 30 minutes, nothing stirred.

"Time to move into deeper water," our host said. "Have to keep moving until we score, even if it means spudding the rest of the day."

I grimly shouldered the spud and headed the march to deeper water. But our second move was no better, even though we all warmed up spudding.

"This time we go to the middle of the lake," Jim ruled. "Water is 12 to 15 feet deep."

Eight more holes and I began to wish the ice was less than 12 inches thick. I shed a layer of clothing after the exertion.

Gene calmly set up a tipup after I backed away from No. 8. He said that through the years he'd found winter fishing is best about a foot off the bottom. We decided to give it a whirl.

I hooked a wiggling minnow back of the dorsal fin on a No. 8 hook and let the line, with three split shot, run to the bottom. I raised it about 10 to 12 inches and snapped on a bobber. It had no sooner hit water than it began to run in circles. But I was a little eager and tried to set the hook too soon, losing both the fish and minnow.

"They're here," I shouted. "I just had a bite but missed him."

"I'll show you how," Jim jested as he hefted an eight inch yellow-and-black (continued on page 25)

FEBRUARY, 1961 7

SIXTH SENSE

by Dr. John P. Merritt Matt had a secret no one could fathom. Was he lazy or super-sly?

SOME of Matt Gallup's neighbors thought that Matt was crazy; some thought he had a supernatural gift, a kind of sixth sense; others declared that he just didn't like farm work. But whether it was a sixth sense or laziness, or an unusual power to observe small details that others missed, there was no gainsaying the fact that Matt could track a coyote for miles, snow or no snow.

One morning in late April there was a fog so dense that it blotted out buildings and trees on the Burt County farm of Art Beaver, Matt's nearest neighbor. Art and his hired man, Ed Nelson, were finishing chores when they heard the staccato-like yelping of a coyote, coming from immediately behind the barn. Hardly had the coyote ceased when an answering call cut through the heavy fog about one-half mile to the east.

When the laughing-like howl came again from behind the barn, Ed dropped the bucket he was carrying. "I'm going after a gun."

Art stopped him. "That's only Matt Gallup on the trail of a coyote."

Cupping his hands around his mouth he yelled, "That you, Matt?"

"Yeah," came the answer, and in a few minutes a form materialized out of the fog at the front of the barn.

Matt Gallup was a tall man, with a barrel-like chest, long muscular legs and arms, and large powerful hands. He had a round, fat face—so round and fat that it looked like a face painted on a blown-up toy balloon. He wore an old squashed cap with a broken bill and a heavy soiled duck coat with its sleeves much too short for his arms. The pockets usually bulged out because of the apples and biscuits Matt packed. He seldom carried a gun, but he always had a burlap sack and a spade.

"Heard a coyote about four o'clock this morning. His barking woke me up," he greeted the two. "Going to get me one."

"How can you kill a coyote without a gun?" young Nelson asked incredulously.

His boss answered, "You have to be smarter than a coyote. Ain't that about it, Matt?"

OUTDOOR NEBRASKA proudly presents the stories of its reoders themselves in this new monthly series. Here is the opportunity so many have requested—a chance to tell their own outdoor tales. Hunting trips, the "big fish that got away", unforgettable characters, outdoor impressions—-all have a place here if they are authored by the readers. If you have a story to tell, jot it down—the story, not literary excellence, is the criterion—and send it to Editor, OUTDOOR NEBRASKA, State Capitol, Lincoln 9. Send photographs, too, if any are available.

"Yeah," Matt replied as he grinned again. "Come along after this one. It's too foggy to do any work, 8 OUTDOOR NEBRASKA   anyway. Get Mrs. Beaver to fix you a couple of sandwiches right quick and we'll get going. The sun will be out in less than an hour and we'll get us some bounty." Both the county and a livestock protective association paid bounties.

They had walked about three miles when the fog lifted. Matt stopped, dropped his spade and sack, cupped his hands, and howled. An answering yelp came from a Cottonwood grove on the other side of the small creek.

"That was a he that answered," Matt grinned to the younger man. "He thinks I'm a she. That's what all the young he's are thinking about this time of year. They get kind of lonesome," he explained with a laugh.

As they went on, Matt stopped from time to time and examined the footprints of the female coyote they were trailing. He said he knew it was a "she" because he found bits of rabbit fur mixed with coyote fur at a fence where the coyote had entered the pasture they were now in.

"She's taking that rabbit to her pups for their breakfast. If it had been a he, the rabbit would have been eaten right away," Matt said.

They had gone only about one-half mile more when they lost the trail entirely. Matt said to Ed's puzzled look, "We'll keep going southwest. That's the general direction she was going when we lost her trail."

Matt was almost running now. Ed was about winded trying to keep up. The two crossed the Wilson farm, where they again picked up the trail. It led them down across the Bennet farm, the Talbot farm, then on up into the Miller farm. They rested a few minutes, then crossed over on to the big ranch of the Boggs brothers. Here, the coyote had dropped the small rabbit it had been carrying, gone down to a small stream for a drink, then up the other side of the ditch and on into a clover field. After making a large circular detour, she recrossed the stream, came back, picked up the rabbit, and again ran off in a southwesterly direction.

Matt explained the coyote's ruse to Ed. "She's trying to throw dogs off the track that might be trailing her."

I figure we've come just about 10 miles," he added. "We'll find the den and the pups within a mile or two at most." He stopped to examine some dried-up coyote leavings.

They followed the trail along the bank of another creek. The bank was lined with small willow trees newly leafed out.

"Here's where she stopped for a drink of snow water," he said as he pointed to a small pool formed by an almost completely melted snowdrift.

A short distance from the creek bank was a group of wild crab apple trees covered with pink and white blossoms which scented the entire area. Crows nested in the willow trees beyond.

From here, the coyote's trail continued in the customary southwesterly direction through an old meadow where there were several of last year's haystacks.

"I got an old she and six pups out of an old strawstack about a month ago," Matt said. "I spotted her up on top of the stack, keeping watch one day. She'd dug a hole in the straw about four feet off the ground. I figgered she'd be inside the stack resting about noon, so I went one day when the wind was blowing real hard, sneaked up to the stack against the wind, and stuffed my coat in the hole before she could get out. Then I started digging the straw away underneath the den. The man who owned the stacks helped me. I got hold of the coyote's hind legs and held them while he hamstrung them. Then I dragged the varment out and he shot her. The six pups were about ready to go out thieving on their own."

The meadow was dotted with a liberal supply of dandelions, and each of the old haystacks had a wreath of violets and wild strawberry blossoms around it. Ed and Matt ate their lunch as they walked along.

Between huge bites of an apple, Matt looked at a recent footprint in some sand nearby, then said to Ed, "Don't do no talking now. We're close. We don't want her to hear us, or catch wind of us, until she gets close to her den."

A pair of frolicking ground squirrels ran into their holes as the two men neared them. "Coyotes ketch and eat a lot of them little buggers," Matt whispered.

They had now followed the coyote's trail for nearly four hours and had walked almost eleven miles. When they reached (continued on page 24)

FEBRUARY, 1961 9

WINTER FEEDING

by J. Greg Smith In real emergency, first aid is personal thing between you and the few birds you can help

ACCORDING TO SOME, Old Man Winter is hungering for the chance to dish up the same brand of misery that he did last year when, for over three months, he dumped a mountain of snow on the state. All who experienced last year's siege can't help but shudder at the prospects of another such onslaught. The drawn-out storm, as everyone will remember, was especially hard on some of Nebraska's key game species. But if the storm did nothing else, it did drive home a few facts on wildlife and winter, facts that can be applied this year if Nebraska is once again laid low in snow.

Some species were in tough shape by March. Fields were blanketed with the white stuff, and quail, especially, were hard pressed to find decent cover and food. This was to be expected since the bobwhites were at an all-time high the previous fall and inhabited practically every bit of cover available, extending far out from their primary range. As a result, many coveys perished. Pheasants, on the other hand, fared reasonably well. Native to the cold climes of Siberia, Mongolia, and northern China, the gaudy birds are well adapted to take winter's worst. Unlike the quail, ringnecks get out and work for their dinner. To the untrained eye, however, pheasants appeared as bad off as quail.

It was natural and certainly commendable for countless conscientious individuals to turn to feeding as an answer to the birds' plight. Many initiated feeding programs on their own. Clubs, too, made an all-out effort to get feed to the snowbound birds. They learned, however, that limited artificial feeding, if carried out without a firm knowledge of all the factors that determine pheasant and quail survival, is all for naught. On a strictly local level, there is a right and a wrong way to feed; there is a right and a wrong time to feed. Above all, they learned that feeding on a large scale over an extended period of time is not only impractical but impossible, and has little effect on the year-around status of either species.

Consider the costs of a large-scale feeding program. During the height of the storm last year, it was estimated that some five million pheasants were wintering in the state. More than 18,000 bushels of corn would have been needed to feed them every day. The cost, in feed alone, $17,325 per day. This figure does not include distributing costs which would be fantastic. The Game Commission, using funds derived from hunting and fishing license sales, would have been bankrupt in less than a month if such an operation was carried out.

The Game Commission neither recommends nor discourages feeding by individuals. It's possible to 10 OUTDOOR NEBRASKA   prevent some quail losses if efforts are concentrated toward specific coveys. Pheasants may be aided slightly when conditions are severe. Indiscriminate feeding, however, has little effect on the following fall's population.

Suppose that Nebraska has the same type of winter that clobbered the state last year. What can you do to aid the birds? Here are some tips that might make your efforts worthwhile.

Feed only when necessary. Don't put out grain when it's already available. Both pheasants and quail are more than capable of getting all the feed they want during a normal winter. Only when the fields are blanketed with heavy snow over an extended period of time will feeding do any good. Feed through the period of stress. If you don't, you'll be causing more harm than good since the birds will have become dependent on the supplemental grain. If it is cut off too soon, they will perish.

Ear corn has proven best since it isn't easily buried. When spotting corn, first clear the snow from the area, then dump the ears in a pile. Feed should be spotted in places normally frequented by the birds. These should have adequate escape cover. Select sites near travel lanes, roosting sites, popular feeding areas, etc. Don't make the mistake of putting corn along the roadways. Though convenient, it will again cause more harm than good. The birds will become concentrated and are vulnerable to passing cars.

Don't be disappointed if your offering has no takers. The birds may have their own open feeding areas elsewhere. In the end, more corn will be wasted than utilized, but your private feeding program might bring you the satisfaction of bringing a few birds through to spring.

There are some things to remember in the battle of the birds with winter. Pheasants are capable of withstanding fairly long periods without food. One study showed that, depending upon temperature and the severity of the weather, ringnecks can survive for as long as 16 days without food before starving. Suffocation from blizzards, not starvation, takes the heavy toll of pheasants. During a blizzard, snow and ice form over the pheasant's head and nostrils, cutting off his air supply.

Quail also suffer from exposure and suffocation. Coveys are often buried under the snow since the bobwhites sit tight through the storm, depending on combined body heat to bring them through. In this situation, they are vulnerable to both heavy snow and blizzards. It should be remembered that both pheasants and quail without adequate cover may die of exposure, not starvation. This is part of the natural die-off. Annual turnover of both species is high—80 per cent for quail; 70 per cent for pheasants.

Cover is the key to winter survival. It's also the key to survival at all seasons of the year. The more cover available, the more birds available. It's as simple as that. There's another point to consider when speaking of cover. When there is a greater harvest of quail and pheasants by hunters during the open season, more cover will be available to the remaining wintering birds. Surplus cock pheasants, for example, contribute nothing to the following year's production, but they compete for food and cover with the hens that produce the population.

At this point, no one knows how tough the winter will be on pheasants and quail. If the season is normal, the birds can get along very well on their own. Sportsmen prefer this, knowing that the birds they hunt each fall are real gamesters, not pampered fowl. Quail should be in much better shape this year since their numbers are more in balance with available cover. King Ringneck, a rugged bird, is more than capable of taking plenty from Old Man Winter.

You might feel that it's necessary to put out feed if a real "norwester" hits. If such a Donnybrook occurs, keep in mind all of the factors that determine pheasant and quail survival. Follow the feeding procedures that proved effective last year. Though it will be a lot of work, you might have the satisfaction of bringing a few birds through.

THE END FEBRUARY, 1961 11

NEBRASKA'S UPLAND-GAME BIRDS

Many new and untried, some old and oft-gunned, all make state rich in game fare PHEASANT

Prior to 1905, there probably were not more than 500 pheasants in the northern Great Plains. Less than 40 years later, in a decade's time, over 82 million were harvested from the same area, of which Nebraska is a part. Private individuals made the first plants in the early 1900's. The Game Commission began in 1915 when the state sorely needed a bird adaptable to intensified farming. The pheasant is as much a product of the farm as any grain crop—he thrives in a diversified agricultural economy. With a bold red eye patch and flaunting tail, he is unmistakably king of Nebraska game birds.

BOBWHITE QUAIL

"Edge" and bobwhite are synonymous. He is an inhabitant of cover edges—where two or more types of cover, such as a cornfield and a brushy patch, come together. For this reason, interspersion of cover is as vital as quantity and quality; very clean farming cuts out brush, hedge rows, and quail. Much of a bob's cover in Nebraska is marginal, anyway; winters are too severe and the climate too dry for permanent population expansion from the southern and eastern part. Mild winters and consequent quail "blooms" are the exceptions proving the rule. The little black-and-white bob is a native American. A seed eater, the bobwhite quail utilizes farm grains and weeds.

SCALED QUAIL

The pert little southerner may add another game bird to Nebraska's list if current limited stocking in the Sand Hills is successful. This area is similar to the quail's homeland—sandy soil on flat and gently rolling grassland. Home is the Southwest, up to eastern Colorado. His bluish-gray breast is scalloped with black-tipped feathers, wings and back are olive-brown, and his brown crest is tipped with white. He eats more insects than other quail. Up to 30 per cent of his diet may be animal. Future status in Nebraska? Too early to tell.

RIO GRANDE TURKEY

So new it may not arrive in Nebraska till late winter is the Rio Grande turkey. This Texan occurs in fairly open rolling plains where the timber, mainly cottonwoods, is distributed primarily along stream courses, a requirement that the Game Commission feels can be met in parts of our state. The vegetation of its Texas habitat is typically mixed grass with an interspersion of shrubs. The bird is called the "sandhill" turkey by ranchers in New Mexico where it has limited range. It is distinguished from other turkeys by the dusky-brown markings on the tail and coverts.

COTURNIX

Whether Nebraskans will hunt this migrant from the Mediterranean is anyone's guess. Released by 19 states during 1956-59, the coturnix may yet fill its purpose by supplementing game species whose range might eventually be threatened. The bird, smaller and less colorful than the bobwhite, is tailless and cinnamon-colored. A fast flier, the coturnix presents a tricky target to gunners. Unlike the bobwhite, the bird is usually flushed singly or in pairs.

12 OUTDOOR NEBRASKA   SHARP-TAILED GROUSE

The Sand Hills has long fathered the sharptail. First buffalo, then vast herds of cattle shared common ground with this prized gamester. As long as the lush, wide-as-the-sky range remains as it is, there need be little concern about the over-all status of the sharptail. Seed, leaves, and fruits of wild plants constitute most of its diet. This grouse matches its cousins in its colorful mating ritual. With wings spread stiffly and air sacs inflated, the sharp-tail pounds out a bowing, squatting dance to impress its mate. Colored a pale, mottled brown, the bird can be separated from other grouse by its sharp tail and V-marked breast.

MERRIAM'S TURKEY

Gobbles and yelps bouncing off the buttes of the Pine Ridge are proof of the Game Commission's success in introducing the Merriam's. Picked for the birds because it has the ponderosa pine timber the birds favor in their native southern Rockies range, the Pine Ridge has seen the original 28 birds increase to 300-plus in two years. Merriam's are distinguished by white tips on the tail and tail coverts. The rugged birds are well equipped to winter on agricultural crop residues, grass seeds, and ponderosa mast. Transplants are contemplated.

PRAIRIE CHICKEN

Once depended on by settlers and market hunters, the prairie chicken is holding his own in areas of suitable habitat. The chicken depends on healthy grasslands with croplands nearby such as the area fringing the Sand Hills and small pockets in southeast Nebraska. If these were altered by overgrazing or tilling, chicken numbers would be affected. Closed seasons from 1928 to 1950 did not benefit the birds as some did and still do believe. Handsomely attired in a beige and brown-barred coat, this member of the grouse family can easily be identified by its horizontal markings and square tail. Its age-old booming-ground ritual is one of nature's most impressive shows.

SAGE GROUSE

The largest member of the grouse family is a rare but welcome sight in northwestern Nebraska. Sioux County is part of the historical range, but few birds have existed there since the drouth-ridden 1930's. The three to seven-pound grayish brown male with his air sac in continuous motion, wings stiffly extended, and spiny, pincushion-like tail erect, puts on a spectacular show for the smaller hen on the booming grounds. Dependent on a sagebrush environment, the grouse will probably never reach huntable numbers in Nebraska.

HUNGARIAN PARTRIDGE

Nebraska, like almost every other state, stocked the Hungarian partridge. And like almost every other state, recorded a flat failure. A small population currently exists in Boyd and Holt counties, and sightings have been made from Cherry through Cedar counties, but the bulk of the state appears to be south of the latitude of the best "Hun" habitat, both in the United States and its native Europe. The bird is somewhat larger than the bobwhite, short-winged and short-tailed, plump, and variegated brown, chestnut, and gray. There are no really distinctive marks.

MOURNING DOVE

This streamlined flash of gray is the most popular game bird in the nation, but ironically, hasn't been hunted here since 1953. Nebraska is a major producer of these prized speedsters. The delicately-colored male and smaller mate bring off an average three hatches of two squab each. They subsequently join clouds of doves migrating south in the fall. The birds, unlike some species, have thrived through man's use of the land and are increasing though millions are taken.

FEBRUARY, 1961 13

TRAPPER WEARS SKIRTS

Running trap lines is her idea of fun. And shes richer to boot

NO, YOU WON'T be seeing things if you spot a lovely lass heading out of the woods near Wilber with a raccoon or muskrat draped over her shoulder. It will only be Diane Shimonek, one of Nebraska's few feminine trappers, enjoying a sport which provides fun, adventure, and some financial gain to those who follow the trap lines.

Up at the crack of dawn, Diane makes a fast tour of the local streams, ponds, and rivers, checking, re-setting, and placing some 30-odd traps she uses in her operation. By 8 o'clock she is back in Wilber, clerking and serving customers at her dad's hardware store.

Asked why she engaged in this aspect of outdoor activity the blue-eyed brunette grinned, "Certainly 14 OUTDOOR NEBRASKA   not to get rich. It's the fun of being out in the open. I'm sure others would enjoy the sport."

Last year, Diane was drafted into this hobby when her brother Michael, an excellent trapper himself, asked her to mind his traps while he was away from home. The fun of setting and trapping a variety of wildlife became a fever with her. She decided to go into business for herself, and now enjoys being the only lady trapper in Wilber.

Diane's trapping technique is simple and can be adopted for use by anyone. The No. 1 and IV2 steel traps she uses generally for muskrats show heavy use. Here's how she has made them pay off in pelts and sport.

"First," Diane says, "look for slides. These are actually runs used by the animals to get into and from creeks, ponds, and streams. Slides are usually found near the base of a tree, on stream or river slopes, near heavy weed cover, or nearby cornfields. Set your traps near these slides. Beaver, muskrats, mink, or raccoon all frequent these areas.

"Next," she continued, "set the trap with some kind of bait. Apples work fine for raccoons and muskrats. Once the bait is secured, and the trap set, place it under water in a natural hole along the bank. If there isn't such a depression and animal tracks indicate heavy traffic, dig one with either the heel of your boot or a shovel. Be careful, though. Stream sides can be slippery."

Diane recommends that the trap be anchored so that the animal cannot wrench it free. Use a stout peg, or stick rammed into the sand. Now tie a piece of wire from the trap chain to the peg. Never use a cord. Trapped animals can gnaw through it and escape. About a foot away from the anchor stick place another stake. This serves as the drowning stick. Trapped animals entangle themselves around it, and die before they can escape. The stick is essential. Often a muskrat or raccoon will chew off its own foot to get free.

Beaver and mink require different setups and larger traps. Diane recommends a No. 3 or 4 for beaver and up to a No. 3 for mink.

Each animal trapped by Diane is washed thoroughly before it's dried. This gives the fur a fresher, neater appearance. In the evening, after a day in the store selling and bookkeeping she skins out her day's take.

The Wilber lass' system of skinning is simple. She begins by hanging the animal upside down. A couple of slits around the tail and legs and one long slit along the stomach makes the job simple. Diane advises extra care in working around the front legs, eyes, ears, and nose in final pelt stripping. The hide is of far less value if it's torn at these critical spots.

Some people use boards to stretch and dry pelts. Although this method is fine, Diane feels that drying takes too long, and removing a dry hide from the board can be ticklish proposition. To overcome this, she makes her own stretchers with No. 9 galvanized wire, shaping them to big semi-V's. These can be removed easily when the pelt is dry. What's more, wire stretchers can be made in less than three minutes, much less than cutting and shaping a drying board.

The hide is fleshed out with a skinning knife after it has been placed on the stretcher. Diane makes sure to remove every vestige of meat. When this is finished, the hide remains on the stretcher until dry, usually a few days.

Diane offers this valuable tip:

"Check the base of the head while the hide is drying on the stretcher. If it's dry, the rest of the pelt will be dry, and safe to remove from the stretcher. Removing the pelt too soon will effect its value."

Fur buyers from Lincoln vie to get Diane's catch, since she is so meticulous in the care of her pelts. A thrifty woman, she sets aside a portion of her earnings for future trap purchases and other expenses.

Occasionally Diane finds a live animal in a trap. She finishes it off with a .22 handgun. Once she forgot the gun. One of her traps contained what appeared to be a dead raccoon. Poking it with a stick, the "dead" raccoon suddenly came to life and nearly bit her in the foot. She hasn't forgotten her handgun since.

Diane doesn't devote all of her time to taking fur bearers by trapping. Occasionally she and Martin Placek of Wilber prowl around abandoned farm houses in pursuit of raccoons. A good way to spot a coon hide-out is to note (continued on page 23)

FEBRUARY, 1961 15

CACHE IN FURS

by Jack Walstrom District Game Supervisor Men once died for the pelt of a beaver. But now, like other fur bearers, it gets the cold shoulder

EVER SINCE the first mountain man pushed off from the Missouri to reap the wilderness of its fortune in furs, Nebraska has played a key roll in the fur trade. Today, the state offers a variety of long and short-haired fur bearers as well as liberal seasons, tempting young and old alike to follow the trap lines.

Countless Nebraskans have done just this, and in the last five years have earned $1,406,000 from this important wildlife resource. This doesn't imply that any individual trapper has made a killing, but all earned their share and fully enjoyed this age-old sport.

The most popular fur bearer in terms of numbers taken is the muskrat. This member of the rodent family is probably found in every county, where his house-building activities on lakes and marshes point out his presence. Muskrats are easily trapped, and because of their abundant numbers, are taken by more trappers than any of the other fur bearers. During the 1951-52 trapping season, 367,000 were taken in Nebraska and returned $426,000.

The Sand Hills lakes have produced the greatest number of muskrats, but many others are trapped along rivers and streams throughout Nebraska where they live in burrows in the banks.

Perhaps the most popular trap in use by those taking muskrats and mink is the No. l1^ long-springed steel trap. The stop-loss attachment is preferred by many because of its ability to drown rats quickly with less struggling.

From a monetary standpoint, the state's most valuable fur bearer is the silky-haired mink. A member of the Mustelidae family, which also includes the skunk, badger, and weasels, the mink is eagerly sought because of the relatively high price paid for his pelt. Nebraska trappers took 8,450 mink worth $114,400 during the 1959-60 season. In Nebraska mink furnish 48 per cent of the trapping dollar.

The mink is one of the most cunning of the fur bearers. He is found along streams, rivers, lakes, and marshes throughout the state. A delicacy in his diet is the muskrat. A healthy muskrat, however, will put up a good fight for its life, giving the mink a run for his money.

To attract attention to your trap area use freshly-killed bait or a commercial scent or lure. A shallow, narrow stream is often a good bet, and if a hole or "cubby" is present along the edge, a trap set in the water beneath the hole and a piece of fresh bait —a chicken head is fine—pushed inside the hole will often work wonders.

The beaver is credited with being the chief reason behind the nation's rapid westward expansion. Beaver was the magic word to traders and trappers who, during the quest for its hide, explored each 16 OUTDOOR NEBRASKA   nook and cranny of the Frontier, seeking the fortunes which could be made, and lost, overnight.

The largest rodent in the United States, the beaver could pass for a big brother of the much smaller muskrat except for its broad scaly tail and webbed hind feet. Beaver weighing up to 100 pounds have been reported. More generally, the weight will range between 40 and 60 pounds, depending on age.

The beaver is semiaquatic and, like the muskrat, is conspicuous by the signs which indicate his presence. A preferred food is the bark from willow or cottonwood trees supplemented by various aquatic plants. Often beaver build dams across streams, then construct lodges or houses similar to muskrat houses within the deep-water area created by the dam. This insures an ice-free exit during the winter periods.

Some beaver prefer to live in bank dens along streams, rivers, or lakes and some, in fact, many, do not build dams at all since adequate open water is already available.

For the past three years, beaver have been placed on the same basis as muskrats and mink as far as trapping seasons are concerned. Attesting to the fact that beaver are thriving under present seasons is the fact that each year requests are made to conservation officers to help in controlling populations.

Trappers should not use any trap smaller than a No. 3; a No. 4 is desirable. When setting the trap, make sure that provisions are made to drown the animal quickly. Many trappers attach the trap chain to a wire with a catch that permits the beaver to swim along the wire to deeper water but prevents the chain from sliding back toward the shallow water. Traps can be placed along a break in the dam, which has been made to release water, catching the beaver as he tries to repair the damage.

During the 1959-60 trapping season 7,975 beaver worth $58,900 were harvested. An average-size pelt FEBRUARY, 1961 17   brought $7.39. Pelts are graded according to size and condition. The sizes are obtained by adding the measurement from the tip of the nose to the tail to that across the pelt at right angles to the first measurement. Pelt sizes range from 65 inches or more down to less than 40 inches.

CACHE IN FURS continued

Raccoons can be trapped without a license provided the fur is not sold. A license is required to sell the fur of any fur bearer. During the 1959-60 season, 12,900 raccoons were taken and a good percentage of those by hunters with coon dogs. Hunting with dogs has become a popular sport here. The raccoon is found near water areas, particularly in wooded areas near streams and rivers.

Other long-haired fur bearers are in little demand, and consequently their combined numbers make up less than 6.5 per cent of the total of all fur bearers taken. This does not include coyote and fox which are sold for bounties in about 77 counties.

The coyote is common throughout Nebraska and many are taken by hunters with dogs and through use of the airplane. Although the red fox is the most common species of fox found in the eastern third of Nebraska, the gray fox has been taken in the northeastern part of the state. Here again, hunting with dogs and aircraft probably account for the greater proportion of the total harvest.

Skunks and badgers are found throughout the state, and steel trapping with baits and scents is still a popular method of taking these animals for their furs.

Although the number of trappers in Nebraska has steadily declined during the past 10 years, many still enjoy the crisp, cold days and the hopeful anticipation of what the next trap on the line will hold. Last year, approximately 2,300 trappers earned an average of $108 each in addition to the healthful enjoyment of another of our great NEBRASKAland sports. Why not give it a try?

THE END OUTDOOR NEBRASKA

Outdoor Elsewhere

Odds Weren't Good

PENNSYLVANIA . . . The simplest way to avoid trouble with rattlesnakes is to leave them alone; according to Game Protector Edward Cox. A young trapper he met thinks this is good advice. Asked about his trapping success, the boy replied that he had caught three red foxes and killed five rattlesnakes while checking his traps. He didn't like the success-danger ratio, so was moving his operations to another locality.

Idea May Land Him in Jug

MINNESOTA . . . The ducks, tipsy on whisky-soaked corn, slipped and skidded on the ice, and fell easy prey to the hunting dog. That, game wardens say, was the way a number of tardy migrating mallards were snared from the ice of Lake Calhoun, a Minneapolis lake. Corn soaked in whisky was tossed onto the ice where the ducks were gathering. When they became too drunk to realize their predicament, a dog was sent to retrieve them. Game wardens found six more ducks sobering up on the violator's back porch, and 36 more, "stoned," in his home freezer.

New Duties

PENNSYLVANIA ... It developed into more than a Pine Grove farm woman expected when her children brought in some pheasant eggs salvaged from a destroyed nest. With a thousand and one duties to do she placed the eggs in a small sandwich bag, put them on top of the hot-water furnace, and forgot them. Several days later two chicks peeped for attention. Now feeding and diapering the babies have been added to the chores.

Listen to the Bartender

ONTARIO ... In the Hornepayne area, a moose hunter was having an ale in the local pub. Casually, he asked the bartender where he could get a moose. He was advised to go to a "moose crossing" sign and wait. He did, and sure enough, along came a fine bull moose which he promptly shot. The next day he was back at the pub thanking the astonished bartender.

Lean Hunting

PENNSYLVANIA ... On a warm day in the October bow-and-arrow deer season Game Protector John Miller approached a tired-looking archer coming out of the woods in a mountainous area. Miller asked, "What luck today?" The weary bow hunter replied, "I don't wonder the Indians were skinny, if this is the way they had to get their meat."

Which Animal?

SWEDEN . . . While multiple use of land and water is advocated, multiple use of animals is not always advisable, according to a Swedish news item. A fisherman was fined 25 kroner for flogging his wife with a live eel. The fine came under the "prevention of cruelty to animals" law.

Cyanide Booby Trap

MISSOURI . . . Death shook hands with a Missouri coon hunter recently, and only the fact that the hunter was wearing gloves saved him. He had, unknowingly, tripped a cyanide gun set to destroy a coyote. The pellet struck his gloved hand, but fortunately didn't break and release the deadly fumes. The man responsible for setting the gun was found and fined $300 and given a 90-day term in jail.

The cyanide capsules are placed inside a mortar-like gun, which is put into the ground. The slightest touch by any animal will set off the gun, usually causing almost instant death.

Motorists Better Killers

NORTH DAKOTA . . . Motorists kill more deer in North Dakota than do bow hunters, report latest figures. During the past four years motorists have killed 1,002 deer on state highways. During these same years (each of which had lengthy bow seasons) bow hunters bagged only 981 deer.

Badger Bothers Rabbit

SOUTH DAKOTA ... A National Guardsman checking a storage shed at the Rapid City Municipal Airport found a plane with a badly damaged wing. Pieces of aluminum had been torn from the wing's surface and internal braces. Deep tooth and claw marks, coupled with hair and blood, puzzled the soldier. Two district game managers, called in, determined the culprit to be a badger from hair samples. When moving the wing, a badly scared but unharmed rabbit was found within. Damage to the wing was estimated at $400—and the badger missed his meal.

This Target Moves

WISCONSIN ... It finally happened on a Waukesha archery range. A local bowman, languidly practicing with field arrows on the club range, saw something that made him reach into his quiver for a broadhead. He had spotted a deer—no cardboard target, but a real live animal, which he shot and killed on the spot.

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TABLE GAME

by Mary Brashier If it walks, swims, flies, or digs, you can dish it up. Heres a sampling

ALMOST EVERY WILD animal in Nebraska has been dished up on a plate in some manner. If it walks, swims, digs, or flies, somewhere there's a recipe for smothering, frying, baking, or broiling it. Here's a sampling of those recipes—some for the lowly but surprisingly tasty raccoon and opossum, some for the ubiquitous cottontail, and some for the venison the successful 1960 big-game hunter's still eating.

RACCOON

A Lincoln police officer, Harry Peterson, has made quite a reputation for his barbecued coon. Missouri's Cy Littlebee roasts his, and another Missourian makes a salad out of leftover coon meat.

Outside of Peterson's secret barbecue sauce, and Littlebee's sage, turnip, and apple dressing, a basic reason for their success with coon cookery is close adherence to the following: complete removal of the scent glands and as much fat as possible, soaking in salt or soda water, and cooking till really done. The scent glands are those along either side of the backbone in the small of the back, and under each front leg.

Peterson, who patents his barbecue sauce, gives this recipe for fixing tasty coon. Parboil the animal in soda water for about five minutes, then remove and put in a brine for at least 24 hours. The brine consists of water, vinegar, Worcestershire sauce, several small chopped garlic buttons, celery, and onions. The brine takes out some of the wild taste while tenderizing the meat.

He then builds up a pure hickory fire, hangs the coon over it, and lets it smoke for 5 or 6 hours. The meat is then transferred to a roaster in a 300°F oven, and the barbecue sauce added. The meat is basted and turned every 25 minutes until done.

Cy Littlebee is a figment of the imagination of Werner Nagel, Missouri Conservation Commission. Nevertheless, Cy has compiled a book of favorite Show-Me State game recipes. In it he gives his own suggestions for roasting coon.

Place the coon in salt water (1 tablespoon per quart water) and bring to a simmer. Wipe, inside 20 OUTDOOR NEBRASKA   and out, and set on a rack in a roasting pan. Pour in a cup of water and quarter in an onion.

The dressing is made by crumpling up a loaf of stale bread, adding finely diced onion, a pinch of sage, about 6 peppercorns, 2 apples, a cut-up turnip, a handful of raisins, and salt to taste. Simmer 2 tablespoons vinegar, 4 tablespoons of ham or bacon drippings or butter, a bay leaf, 3 or 4 chili peppers, and a tablespoon of chopped parsley in a quart of water. When blended, this is added to the dressing until it's sticky moist. The coon's stuffed and roasted at about 350 °F for 3 or 4 hours or until it falls apart. Last step is the uncovering and browning. The extra liquid is used for basting at this stage.

Coon can be fried. Soak pieces in milk for 40 minutes. Remove, roll in flour, season well with salt and pepper, and fry in deep fat. Gravy can be made from the milk.

This coon sandwich would fit any lunch basket: Mix together I 1/2 cups of leftover diced coon, 1 cup diced celery, 2 tablespoons chopped parsley, 2 tablespoons chopped green pepper, 1/3 cup mayonnaise, 1/2 teaspoon salt, and 1/2 teaspoon pepper. Serve in lettuce cups or sandwiches.

OPOSSUM

Possum and potatoes go together like corn bread and molasses. Most chefs leave the skin on, dipping the animal in hot water and then scraping or pulling off the hair. Or they singe the hairs and then wash the carcass thoroughly.

The excess fat is removed, and the possum soaked for at least 3 hours in cold salt water. It's then washed and parboiled until quite tender, then seasoned with salt and pepper and dredged in flour. To it in the roaster are added 8 or 10 sweet potatoes which have been boiled and peeled. Cover the meat with strips of salt pork or bacon slices. Enough water is added to cover the bottom of the pan, more may have to be added later on. The possum is roasted in a moderate oven until brown and tender, then thickened pan gravy made from the leavings.

Here, too, a stuffing may be added if desired. Brown 1 large, finely chopped onion in 1 tablespoon of butter, add chopped possum liver and heart and cook till tender. Add 2 cups of browned bread crumbs, a chopped bay leaf, and a small chopped red pepper, a finely chopped hard-boiled egg, a generous dash of Worcestershire sauce, salt and pepper, and moisten with 3 or 4 tablespoons of water. Stuff the critter and sew up.

RABBIT

Make hasenpfeffer and serve it in the traditional style with dumplings. Lay the rabbit in a jar and cover with equal parts of vinegar and water, and 1/2 cup sugar. Add 1 slice of onion, salt and pepper, 3 bay leaves, and 1 teaspoon of pickling spice. Let this stand in a cold place for 2 days. Then dry the meat and brown it thoroughly in hot butter, turning often. Gradually add the pickling sauce, and let simmer for 1/2 hour or till tender. Make gravy if desired.

University of Nebraska home economists like to smother rabbits with cream. All it requires is to flour and season the pieces and brown in fat. Scatter onion and minced parsley over the pieces, add 1 cup milk or light cream, and simmer over low heat or in a 325° F oven for I 1/2 hours or till tender.

WANTED: Your favorite game and fish recipes. The time has come for YOU to tell US how to fix game and fish. Send along one or all of your tested favorite game recipes—for walleye, pheasants, deer, coon, or any other wild game or animal in the state. Tell us, as precisely as you can, how you fix it. Mention what side dishes you serve. Toss in a greens or mushroom or wild fruit concoction you like. And don't forget to include your name and town. We'll sort and sift recipes and comments, marinate, and come up with a mouthwatering collection of favorite Nebraska game recipes which you'll automatically receive as a contributor to the booklet.

A mushroom gravy adds variety to a baked rabbit: Dip the rabbit pieces in milk, then in seasoned flour. Fry until browned. If using fresh mushrooms, remove rabbit from skillet, and saute the mushrooms 2 or 3 minutes, and remove. Re-add the rabbit, add equal parts of mushroom soup and milk, and onion. Cover and bake in 350 °F oven for about 1 1/2 hours. Add the mushrooms during the last half hour. Hot water may have to be added if the gravy thickens too much.

DEER

For the deer hunter's family who feels a change in deer chops or steaks is long overdue—deer stew: Cut up about 3 pounds of lean meat, add 6 diced potatoes, 2 cut-up carrots, 1 large onion, 2 strips bacon, 2 tablespoons flour, cover with water, and cook about 1 1/2 hours, letting simmer over medium flame. When done, add a can of peas and serve with corn bread.

These, coupled with your standard fish and game recipes, should start you on the way to more varied and exciting game cookery. If you have a favorite recipe you would like others to know about, why not send it along to be included in the upcoming booklet on top Nebraska game recipes.

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BLUE RIVER WAYSIDE AREA

REMEMBER THAT old saying, "Good things come in small packages"? This appropriately applies to the state-owned Blue River Wayside Area, for inch for inch, it is crammed with outdoor facilities specifically designed for family fun.

Situated eight miles south and west of Milford on U.S. 6, Blue River is one of the most popular spots locally in southeastern Nebraska. Heaviest use occurs in late spring, summer, and fall when tourist travel supplements local usage. A recent survey revealed 2,140 cars daily travel U.S. 6 in that area, reflecting the potential the Blue River Wayside Area enjoys. Lots of signs, set at vantage points along the highway, alert tourists and recreationists to its location.

Pleasant rustic area near Milford offers respite for weary. Fishing tossed in as bonus

On a typical day or evening, from 10 to 20 campers will utilize this garden spot, nestled in the crook of the west fork of the Big Blue River. A check of the campers' parked cars will show primarily out-of-state license plates, indicating that nonresidents know a good thing when they see it. Guests from virtually every state can be found here at one time or another.

Youngsters, like adults, need relaxation and fun, too. With this in mind, the Nebraska Game Commission has gone all out in providing a wide array of gaily-colored playground equipment to keep the kids occupied and busy while Mom and Pop prepare an outdoor meal or set up camp, or try their luck at fishing.

Part of the area remains in a primitive state, adding natural beauty to the area. Remnants of early Commission habitat plantings harbor pheasants and cottontails. Here box elders, elm, cottonwoods, and cedars provide a welcome, shady sanctuary. Pfitzer junipers add their share of charm, as do wild grapes and cherries.

For the angler the Blue River area offers a peaceful retreat from the turmoil of a busy world. Out here, the river produces channel catfish, carp, bullheads, and occasional crappie and bass. Shaded streamside locations are made to order for the still-fisherman.

Picnicking facilities make the area attractive for day use, or evening gatherings, of families from neighboring towns. Fireplaces and picnic tables dot 22 OUTDOOR NEBRASKA   the grounds. Rest rooms are conveniently located, as is fresh drinking water.

In 1930, the Game Commission took over the recreational development of the 14-acre Blue River area. From then until 1960, it was classed as a recreation area. It has since been reclassified as a wayside area.

Blue River is one of six wayside areas scattered over the state. If present plans materialize, and sufficient funds are forthcoming, 45 similar areas will grace the Nebraska landscape within 10 years.

One of the highest tributes any traveler can pay to an area is a compliment about its neatness. This happens often to the Blue River Area. The Commission has extended itself in maintaining an air of inviting freshness to the area. During the heavy use season, for example, the area is cleaned daily.

The Blue River Wayside Area plays an important role in still another way. It contributes to traffic safety by providing an opportunity for weary travelers to pause here for a few hours, or stay overnight, and sends them back on the highway refreshed.

Nature's rustic wonders, punctuated by the soft music of the babbling river and the background music of wind rippling through sun-dappled leaves, make this area a fitting retreat for tourist and recreationist alike.

THE END

TRAPPER WEARS SKIRTS

(contiyiued jrom page 15)

whether the roof of one of these old homes has a gaping hole. If it does, a raccoon may be inside.

A few weeks ago, Martin and Diane took on such a home. With dusk falling, their puny one-mantle lantern did little to light the inside of the ancient house. In the attic they found two raccoons hiding in the corner. One shot knocked the first out of commission. But the other was a stubborn, hardfighting cuss who required six shots.

"For a minute," Diane admits, "I was frightened, and thought the wounded raccoon would attack us."

A shrewd business woman, Diane traps on many local farm ponds and collects a bounty from several local landowners for each muskrat taken.

Diane has a standing offer of $1 for every muskrat she traps on the farms of Ed Cizek, Lloyd Webb, and Frederick Slepicka, all in the Wilber area.

Diane's best haul occurred not long ago when her well placed traps yielded four muskrats in one day. This season she has over 22, plus a few raccoons.

One of her most recent trapping experiences involved being mired in a mud hole with some almost disastrous results.

"It wasn't funny at the time," Diane remarked soberly. "I had been so wrapped up in setting a trap that I overlooked the danger of the sucking mud. Before I realized it, I was in up to my knees. Yelling for help was futile, so I began to fight my way out. Inch by inch, working first one foot, then the other, I struggled against the stubborn mud. The thought that no one might be around to help spurred me on. Finally after 15 to 20 minutes of hectic tugging and twisting and a few silent prayers, I pulled free. You can bet I'm more careful where I step now."

Like most women, Diane possesses a secret yen. Most girls aspire to marriage and kids. But not this lass. Hold onto your hats, men. She has a craving to be a conservation officer. If her wish comes true, she would be the first woman warden in Nebraska.

In ancient mythology, Diane was Artemis, goddess of hunt, lover of woods and the wild chase over the mountain. Diane Shimonek may not be a goddess of hunt, but she'll do as the modern version of the ancient myth.

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SIXTH SENSE

(continued from page 9)

the top of a steep hill, Matt surveyed the landscape carefully. On another hilltop one-half mile away, the coyote stopped, looked back, and just as carefully studied the hilltop and the two men on it; then she quickly disappeared.

When the two hunters reached the spot where the coyote had been, they saw her some distance away and going toward the northwest, having suddenly changed her course.

Matt no longer whispered as he spoke to Ed.

"She's trying to fool us. If we keep going southwest we'll soon be close to her."

They were in a large pasture on the John L. Peterson farm, about three miles due west of town

'They're pretty cute about hiding their nest. It may be anywhere, but you can bet it'll be where she can see good in every direction from it," Matt replied.

They went to the highest point in the pasture, and it was Matt who first spotted a small mound of dirt. As they neared the den, they saw that gnats and flies were flying over and around the hole in the ground. Matt was jubilant.

"Them flies is a sure sign there are pups."

Nearby in the grass were remnants of coyote foraging—small patches of ground-squirrel skins, grasshopper and cricket legs, bird feathers, and bones.

Matt threw his coat and sack on the ground, took off his cap, and started digging. As he neared the end of the den, he stopped and put on his gloves. "They got sharp teeth even if they are only two weeks old," he said rather apologetically.

Reaching in the den he pulled out a squirming, snapping young coyote. "It's a she. That's a good sign. I hope they're all she's," he said excitedly. When he had finished grabbing coyotes and chucking them into the burlap sack he sat back on the ground to rest. "Five she's and four he's. That's the biggest litter I've taken this year."

In high spirits the two men soon struck out for town. Matt carried the twitching sack of coyote pups on his back, Ed the spade, and Matt's duck coat. They arrived at the county courthouse just an hour before closing time.

In the county clerk's office Ed babbled to the clerk excitedly how Matt had tracked the old coyote 11 miles and filled him in on all the particulars. The county clerk looked admiringly after Matt as he walked away with his spade and empty sack. Like Matt's neighbors, he had his ideas on the man's success in tracking down and bringing in the coyotes —Matt was part coyote himself.

THE END Our first contributor is a 78-year-old retired Omaha physician. He became well acquainted with the locale of his story during the years from 1905 to 1923, when he practiced in Tekamah. A busy doctor's spare time was spent fishing. The names in the story are not those of the parties concerned, Dr. Merritt reports.

SHIPSHAPE SHOTGUN

Hold it! Dont stash away gun without easy once-over 24 OUTDOOR NEBRASKA  

SPEAK UP

Send your questions to "Speak Up, OUTDOOR NEBRASKA, State Capitol, Lincoln 9, Nebraska No. 4's Better?

"I would like to take exception to your recommendations regarding shot sizes for pheasants. I have been hunting in western Nebraska for the past 6 years and Colorado the past 15, and feel that I can speak with some authority. During this time I have used various gauge shotguns and tried various loads in different shot sizes. From this experience, I cannot agree with your recommendations of Nos. 6 and iy2 shot. If you want hamburger, shoot a pheasant, say, at 30 yards with a 12-gauge bored-modified using 1\2 shot. Wait until the bird is 10 yards farther out, and you lose over half your hits in runaway cripples.

"On the other hand, by using No. 4 shot, a bird hit at 30 yards with a 12-gauge bored-modified will be a clean kill. Clean kills up to 50 yards are possible. All that is necessary to avoid tearing the bird is to wait a moment for those that flush nearby.

"Incidentally, I use a double-barrel, 12-gauge chambered for 3-inch Magnum shells. My favorite load is a 23i-inch shell with 39 grains of powder and \\2 ounces of No. 4 shot in the modified barrel. In the full-choked barrel, I use a 3-inch shell having 47 grains of powder and 1% ounces of No. 4 shot."—D. Hazelton, Arvada.

One of the fine things about hunting is that it offers plenty of room for differences in opinion. I know several hunters who use No. iy2 low-brass trap loads for all their hunting, and they come home with birds in fine condition. On the other hand, I know several who will agree with you.

The inexperienced hunter, with a fast reaction time, will shoot up his birds with most any size shot. I wouldn't want to tackle a bird on the platter that was shot at 30 yards with the load that you favor. I wonder if your double barrel is shooting the pattern you think it's bored for, with the loads that you're using. First, you are loading the 23/4 inch shell with iy2 ounces of shot. This is l4-ounce over the maximum load and changes the velocity and pattern density.

Regarding the 3-inch shell loaded with l3/4 ounces of shot, you have a real cloud buster, as it is maximum for the Magnum hull. Few gunners are really capable of judging lead out where this load is at its best, the 50 to 65 yard range, when fired from a full-choked barrel.

In short, no two hunters shoot exactly alike. Nor is their reaction time and judgment alike, so it depends on the individual hunter, his gun, and his load.—Editor.

Pictorial License

"Regarding your cover photo on the November OUTDOOR NEBRASKA, it's a pretty picture, but a poor example to set for deer hunters. He's a good target for the man with a gun as well as the man with a camera. With a fur cap on, yet."—J. Harris, Omaha.

SHIRT SLEEVES ON ICE

(continued from page 7)

beauty through the hole and hoisted his prize up for our inspection.

"That's a fine host," Gene chided. "Catching the first fish and taking all the glory." As Gene spoke, Jim gleefully brought his second to the surface.

"It's all in knowing how," Jim bragged. "These are smart fish, and you have to know the secrets of the trade."

"Things look good," Gene said. "I'm going back and pick up my camera equipment."

He had gone about 20 yards when his bobber began dancing a jig. I ran over and pulled a shiny perch to the ice. A glance back at my bobber told me there was action at the home stand. Seconds later and a few skidding steps across the ice, I landed my second perch.

But that was the end of my luck for awhile. Jim could barely get his line back in before up would come a plump perch. He had recorded 15 fish while Gene and I split eight between us.

The perch weren't big but they were in good shape. The largest were 10 inches with the average hitting about eight. Gene also caught a pair of small walleyes and these came as no surprise.

Gene, Jim, and I continued to punch new holes and rig lines. Late in the afternoon we abandoned the tipups which had been ineffective all through the day.

"Perch are nibblers and don't strike hard," Gene said, rolling in the line of one. "The fish are nibbling on the tails of the minnows just enough to trip the rigs. When the tipups go down, the bait floats to the bottom and the perch ignore it."

"Don't worry, Jim," McCole soothed. "The fish start biting about 4 p.m. When they go on a feeding spree, it's every man for himself."

Lake Minatare perch are not clock watchers and they went on a feeding lark at 3:30. I was the first to warm up. The action was fast and furious, and I made hay, kidding my less-fortunate fishing friends.

Gene was next to hit a hot lick, and then the tide turned to Jim. The three of us were busy for the next hour, and then, just as quickly as it started, the spree was over.

We took a quick tally and found we had over 80.

"There's enough here to suit me," Gene said. "We aren't going to have sunlight more than 15 minutes, and I don't want to spend half the night cleaning fish."

We gathered equipment, fish, spud, and slid back to the car.

The non-ice fisherman may say that the sport leaves him cold. Not so the man who has been out on a day like ours. Enjoy the sport, then take the fish caught from cold, clear water, clean them, and pop them in a frying pan. You'll have a real wintertime feast.

THE END

Notes on the Nebraska Fauna

SCREECH OWL

by Pete Czura Not a screecher as his name implies, this tiny owl can change color. He devours insects galore, playing a big role in maintaining the balance of nature

HE TINY screech owl with his conspicuous ear tufts is the only common small western owl so adorned. And decked out in camouflage-gray, this owl (Otus asio) is difficult to spot in his natural environment, which, in Nebraska is most of the state.

Being nocturnal prowlers, screech owls spend the day well concealed, usually in abandoned bird houses, barn eaves, along fence rows, and in tree hollows. Sometimes they perch in stolid silence at the entrance of their hideaway, where they can be seen. The slightest disturbance, though, sends them out of sight.

Like all other owls, screech owls have roosting preferences. Low hollows are preferred to high ones. Hollows with small to medium-size openings, three to five inches, are most often used. Old apple orchards, because of the many fine hollows and bountiful meadow mice, are favorites, too.

In the winter they occasionally seek shelter in vacant buildings, even some that are occupied. One screech owl considered the vestibule of a large meeting hall on a university campus a safe retreat, roosting complacently on the overhead electric-light fixture while students passed by.

Possessing a wing span of 22 inches, this handsome owl measures a scant 10 inches in length. Ear tufts are a large and telling factor in recognizing this bird, but these do not appear until the owl has matured. Toes are scantily feathered toward their tips.

From a naturalist's point of view, the most remarkable peculiarity of this owl is his "dichromatism", meaning his tendency to develop two distinct plumage phases—red and gray. There is no satisfactory explanation for this curious phenomenon. The 26 OUTDOOR NEBRASKA   gray is seen most in Nebraska, but the red is more striking. It is rarely seen in this state.

Regarding this strange coloration, a captive gray screech owl was fed liver exclusively, and his plumage changed to red. No further experiments of the kind have been conducted, so color changes cannot be attributed to diet alone.

William Dutcher, a recognized owl authority, says, "A bird of one color may be mated with a bird of another color, and all their young may be of one color, gray or red. Others may be alike in color, and the young of mixed colors; hence these are often referred to as the mottled owl."

"Another interesting peculiarity of the bird," according to George Gladden, who has made an intense study of screech owls, "is that apparently the male and female mate for life. This is one of the few instances of monogamy in the bird world. At best, most male and female associations are on a temporary basis. A pair of screech owls may, however, continue their relationship until broken by death. Another characteristic of most wild birds, clean nests, is not generally observed by these owls, whose habitations are often exceedingly filthy."

This owl is widely distributed over eastern North America from Minnesota, Ontario, and New Brunswick in Canada, south to northeastern sections of Texas and Georgia. Its breeding areas include the uplands of Tennessee, Alabama, eastern Oklahoma, and northern Arkansas.

The screech owl and his name are not in harmony. Anyone hearing his mournful and plaintive wail will agree that it hasn't the slightest resemblance to a screech. Any name denoting apprehension or lamentation would be more appropriate. It has a tremulous hoo-hoo-hoo in descending scale. The eerie cry, neither a scream or hoot, is a familiar night sound. This soft, low, love song, is heard during the mating and nesting season, March to June.

Like other raptorial birds, these owls capture their prey with their feet. If a victim is not too large, it is swallowed whole, with the hair and bones being disgorged later in the form of pellets. Examination of the pellets prove that this owl should be classified among man's most beneficial birds.

The screech owl's gaze is cold and unflinching. His eyes are directed forward so that both must look in the same direction. To look sideways he must turn his head completely. The eyes are surrounded by radiating systems of feathers, called facial disks, which are in turn bounded by a line or rim of small, stiff, recurved feathers.

A few sticks, dabs of grass, leaves, and feathers are used in construction of the nest. Sometimes a pair of screech owls will nest in a box if it is situated in a suitable roosting area. About four or five eggs are laid, all white, nearly round, somewhat roughened, and varying considerably in size. Incubation occurs in 21 to 25 days.

When the young first leave the nest, they frequently sit close together in a tight, huddled row, presenting an amusing appearance. In this manner they await their parents with food. If danger threatens the young, especially in the evening, the old birds fly about over the intruder's head, uttering a soft hoo-hoo-hoo and uncanny, mysterious sounds that resemble the hissing of cats and snarling of dogs.

Both old and young, when sitting on a tree limb present a squat, rounded appearance. However, when disturbed, they quickly do an about-face, stretching their bodies, compressing their feathers, and with nearly closed eyes, assuming the appearance of a broken branch stub, or part of the tree trunk upon which they may be leaning.

With the exception of the burrowing owl, the screech owl feeds more extensively on insects than any other owl. He is also a diligent mouser, and feeds more or less on frogs, lizards, crayfish, toads, and fish. Among the insects eaten are grasshoppers, beetles, cutworms, and crickets. Meadow and white-footed mice are the mammals most often devoured, while chipmunks, flying squirrels, wood rats, and moles, are taken on rare occasions.

The screech owl is a powerful factor in maintaining the balance of nature, but, from the standpoint of increasing insectivorous birds, is equally a menace. They kill and eat both their own kind and other species.

If for some reason the screech owl seems to clash with man's interests, it is best to weigh this against the known good the birds do. And unlike the great-horned owl, the screech owl is protected by law and may not be taken in any manner. So, give him his ground.

THE END FEBRUARY, 1961 27