HIGH NOON at HAT CREEK

73 and 83-year-oldsters tangle Seesaw battle of 30 years duration was to be decided in trout showdown by Cecil Avey as told to Gene Hornbeck

SOMEONE ONCE said that in the spring a young man's fancy turns to love, but what instinct stirs in the breast of the old? I know two oldtimers here in Crawford that have a love that burns with passion when the wings of spring brush the landscape. Trout fishermen for over 50 years, these two aged anglers look forward to spring trouting in general and brook-trout fishing in particular.

Al Lindeman, age 73, and T. A. "Torn" Beans, age 80, have a combined total of over 100 years of trout fishing behind them. Their compassion for the sport, as Tom puts it, hasn't dimmed in the least over the years. It's just that the sands of time have slowed them up a bit, and they don't fish the long hours that they once did.

Fishing between these two has been on a competitive basis for over 30 years; each fish caught by one offers a standing challenge to the other.

"At my age," as Al reports, "I can look forward to another contest. What other sport offers so much over so many years?"

Tom and Al are not only fishing partners. Although retired, they were in the drug business together for 28 years.

"After working and fishing with a partner as long as this," Tom says, "you get to know him pretty well. Al, however, can tell you he has creeled a 3   whopper with such conviction that you almost believe him until you open his creel."

HIGH NOON continued

These two cronies need very little urging to go fishing. Just the other day I was talking to Tom in a Crawford coffee shop. It was the kind of a day that makes a fisherman think about the big ones he missed last year. The fact that there was still snow covering the landscape didn't dim Tom's enthusiasm for fishing, especially when I mentioned that I had seen a lot of nice brookies up on West Hat creek.

"I'll call Al," he said as he headed for home to tog out in fishing gear. An hour and a half later the three of us were deep in the heart of the Pine Ridge 10 miles northeast of Crawford on West Hat Creek. The two old gents had already set down the rules for this latest contest: Fish like the devil till high noon, then stop and take count. The one with the most trout would be the winner.

The little spring-fed creek tumbles down from the pine-shrouded canyons, picking up water from springs along the way until it reaches a size that will support the flashy little brookies. It then meanders through the valley covered by a canopy of elm, box elder, willow, and cottonwood trees.

The stream was low and clear; the banks covered with an early spring snow. Tom and Al rigged their rods with three feet of leader and small split shot, then baited up with lively angle worms, which, by the way, they dig in late summer and keep on hand for their winter and early spring fishing.

The two old-timers walked ahead of me to the bank of the stream and shook hands before the contest, more perhaps for the benefit of the camera, but with a glint of excitement dancing in their eyes.

As in any contest there is a beginning, and both of my fishing partners took my word for the fact that a hole just a short way upstream held a nice bunch of trout. Tom was the first to creep up on the hole, knowing that if he showed himself the trout would spook. Al followed suit, perhaps, I thought, to see just how his older partner was going to approach the brookies.

There is something special about the brook trout, especially here in Nebraska. His range is very limited and the brook trout is far less tolerant of warm or turbid water than the brown or rainbow. Two streams in the state have shown production on this 4 OUTDOOR NEBRASKA   Beau Brummel, West Hat and East Monroe creeks. Both are in the Pine Ridge.

Although these two creeks are small when compared to such streams as the White and Niobrara, they offer ideal habitat for the brook trout—cold, clear water, protection in their undercut banks, shade, and occasional logs and stumps. Both creeks have the clean gravel riffles which are so necessary for fall spawning.

What leads men like Tom and Al to fish for these little scrappers can be summed up by Al:

"The brookie is in a class by himself, perhaps because of his preference for the clear streams that all trouters favor, and the fact that he is a rarity here. The brookie is the elite of the fish world."

Tom was the first to get a strike, but he was too eager. He tried to set the hook too soon and only managed to get the fish about a foot out of the water before the trout splashed back into the hole, sending the other fish fleeing for cover.

"If you are going to scare all the fish in the hole by letting them get away like that, old friend," Al grinned, "I'm going to strike out on my own. That way I can spook them myself."

"Very well stated, Sonny," came Tom's reply. "The way you cast you'll send all the fish for cover.

"I'm not saying the splash of your delivery is bad," Tom continued, as Al walked off in mock indignity, "but Cecil was standing downstream in the next hole, and the wake from the splash came up over his boots."

This exchange of digs along with the keen competition has contributed to the longevity of the two.

Fifteen minutes passed as we played leap frog on the good fishing spots. I was just circling around Al as he concentrated on a small log jam when he whooped, "This brookie isn't the biggest but he's the first, boys."

I looked around and saw him holding up a nice eight-inch trout. You don't measure a brookie by his size; a foot-long brook trout is a prized fish. The state record is 4 pounds, 8 ounces taken at Lake McConaughy. Brookies will grow fast in such impoundments, but those in streams such as Hat. Creek will seldom exceed a pound. Some minutes later Al scored again under the same log jam when a twin to the one he had creeled flashed out from his hiding place and snatched the baited hook.

Tom was still looking for his first fish when he came by me a little later. I was crouched behind some trees looking into a big pool literally alive with brookies. I motioned him to join me. He stole a peak and eased his bait into the clear water just ahead of a foot-long brookie that lay finning near the tail of the pool.

"Come on, take it," he whispered hopefully as we watched the trout eye the bait. This one was too slow, for as he finned slowly toward the hook an eight-incher came zipping from under the bank and snatched the prize off the bottom, then turned and sped back to cover.

Tom gave him a split second to make sure he had the hook, then yanked the trout unceremoniously from the water and dropped him on the bank.

"Thought the big one would take it," Tom said as he creeled the fish. "Those small ones haven't learned any caution and always seem to hit before the larger fish."

Brook-trout fishing in these small streams is more a contest of being able (continued on page 21)

APRIL, 1961 5

MOVING DAY for MERRIAM'S

Gobblers test nerves of trapper but finally decoy into range, hastening day we sound opening gun

DUSK MOVED through the small valley, swiftly as a whole stand of ponderosa was suddenly blotted out, slowly as a rock out-cropping remained stubbornly alight, before its face finally blurred and faded.

Night in the valley intensified the ghostly twilight shimmering on the flat beyond. The veil of snow lifted at times to give a glimpse of squat hay bales and a group of cottonwoods beside the creek, then swirled down and snuffed them out again.

A car was parked on a vantage point overlooking the valley and flat, and the Game Commission technician huddled inside considered his lukewarm coffee and numbed fingers dourly. A small strange box sat in the snow in the lee of the, car.

Many days now the biologist had waited in the car at this spot, at dawn and dusk, waiting for the turkeys to appear. They had tantalized him sometimes, picking their way down out of the pines once, and striding up from the creek bed. Once they had nearly drawn him out of the car and to the strange box, but some warier bird in the flock had sent them out of reach of the cannon-net trap and the box remained untouched.

A gust of wind revealed the limbs of the cottonwoods along the creek, and two dark shapes moved into the trees, their feathers tossed by the wind.

"That does it. They're not even near the bait."

He swung his glasses up the valley toward the pre-baited area, but snowflakes danced derisively before his face. The unexpected snow storm had driven the turkeys into the cottonwoods and they had not utilized their customary feeding areas where the corn had been temptingly scattered for the past week.

As the biologist dismantled the firing box, a Jeep whined out of the storm and the two men in it hailed him.

"Flock of turkeys just inside the cattle yard down there, and heading toward your feed."

The Jeep spun away, and the biologist hurriedly reassembled the box. Barely had he finished 6 OUTDOOR NEBRASKA   when a slender neck of a young torn turkey rose over the grass in the feeding area. Two more came, then three, sending the snow flying as they scratched for the corn.

by Harvey Suetsugu Associate Biologist SPECIAL 400 MM TELEPHOTO PICS by Bob Waldrop

Crossing his fingers for luck, the biologist pushed the plunger of the firing box. The three projectiles of the cannon-net trap shot out neatly and dropped over the six toms, who were already off the ground in an instinctive reaction.

The whoop of joy brought the two landowners, Ed Ostermeyer and Art Zarek, running, and with their help the birds were untangled from the net, tagged with leg bands, and boxed securely.

"Well, you got half the job done," grinned Art, pushing the last lid down. "Looks like you need some hens now."

Art and Ed had co-operated with the Game Commission in the initial release of the Merriam's turkeys two winters ago, and felt personal glee at the all-out success of the birds in the Pine Ridge. Both knew the turkeys were well established in this part of the Pine Ridge and that the Game Commission was trapping some of this wild stock to hasten the spread of the birds to other suitable localities in the state. By using wild-trapped birds the Game Commission could insure the retention of the inherent wild traits necessary for survival and for an acceptable game bird.

Ed watched the biologist almost tenderly pack the boxes in the car.

"You think this was hard. Wait till you go after the hens. They're just naturally more wary than the toms, what with raising their young ones and all."

As the next two days passed, the biologist learned this only too well. He (continued on page 22)

APRIL, 1961 7

SNAPPER NO SNAP

Turtles were there, somewhere, like needles in a haystack by Wayne Tiller

BEAMING from ear to ear, George hollered, "Let's go snapper hunting." We had been moping around, trying our darndest to conjure up something to do. Here it was the first week in March and we were bored. We had our fill of bunny hunting and we were now riding out the lull between the ice going out and spring's first fishing. While George's idea sounded good, I had reservations.

"But how are you going to find turtles now?"

"It's simple," George answered. "We used turtle hooks back in Illinois when I was a young shaver."

George led me to his workshop and rummaged around while I waited doubtfully. The turtle hook turned out to be a five-foot piece of quarter-inch steel rod bent at a 45° angle at one end to form a handle, with a hook bent and filed on the other end.

"You probe in the mud until you find a snapper. Then move the hook around until you feel it slide over the edge of his shell. Pull slow but steady on the hook and he'll slip right out. The hook won't pierce the skin though, because it's tough enough to take it."

The more George Schildman, waterfowl biologist for the Game Commission, elaborated on turtle hunting, the more this unusual sport caught my interest. The topic had about the same effect on Bob 8 OUTDOOR NEBRASKA   Waldrop, Game Commission photograher, so we all decided to try our luck next morning.

After wading through at least a mile of icy Camp Creek southeast of Waverly without a thing to show for our efforts, George finally made the first strike —right where I had been probing just a few minutes before.

"Hear that hollow thump when I hit its hard shell with the hook?" George asked. "That's a pretty sure way to tell if it's a snapper or a log you're hitting."

As George probed around the still questionable object hidden in the mud, Bob jockeyed for the best position on the pile of driftwood and trash half-covered with mud and ice to film our find.

"It's a snapper!" George exclaimed. "I felt him move and I think the hook has found a soft spot."

As George worked the reptile out of the foot-deep mud, I pulled logs and brush out of the way and tried to get my hook into position to help.

"No need to worry about him getting away," George reassured as he pitched the mud-covered snapper up on a stack of matted branches. "They're cold-blooded animals and go (continued on page 22)

APRIL, 1961 9

Archers' MAKE READY

  William Tell had to, but for modern bowmen, it's fun APRIL, 1961

CHADRON STATE PARK

by Mary Brashier

AN ANGLER LAYS a fly over a fast current and watches hopefully, while nearby his two small boys pick up pebbles in a pool. A mile away a wrangler pauses to let his dudes enjoy the pine-and-butte scenery. Below them ring the shouts of swimmers, and near a fireplace picnickers have collected tables for a reunion. At the office two car-loads of campers exchange greetings.

That night the inquisitive nose of a field mouse smells out a bread crust forgotten under the picnic table, a bobcat leaves his tracks in the sand beside those of the small boys, and a mule deer watches the lights of the 16 cabins go out. One light, in the office, burns far into the night, for the managing of Chadron State Park high in the northwestern corner of Nebraska becomes a round-the-clock business during vacation season.

And the vacationers are making it a bigger business than ever, for park records show them coming earlier in the season and staying later into the fall than since the park was established in 1919. Estimates are that some 176,000 visitors entered the park during the 1960 season, 137,000 the year before. Many of the visitors are repeats, from as far away as Maine and Texas. Native Nebraskans find the deep pine-covered canyons of Chadron Park something apart from the flat treeless rolls of Sand Hills, or the oak-and-elm bluffs of the Missouri River Country. The West in a big way, Chadron covers 1,500 acres, nine miles south of Chadron on U. S. 385, and offers its guests anything from an afternoon's picnic to a two-week retreat in a modern cabin.

Here's the "where" to your vacation-1,500 acres loaded with fun

One of the most popular drawing cards of Chadron Park is its group camp, which operates the summer-long for 4-H conventions, church groups, and music clinics, among others. This summer the French horns and flutes may be piping to the rumbling accompaniment of tractors and bulldozers, as the location for a new dormitory and rest room-shower building is already surveyed out and construction will begin soon. An auditorium, two 100-bed barracks, and a dining room and kitchen housed the 13 different camps held last summer.

Families find the park's 16 rental cabins have all the comforts designed to make Mom's vacation OUTDOOR NEBRASKA   a holiday, too. Beds and linens, stove, refrigerator, dishes, are all there. Each cabin is a double unit, each is secluded, each offers an arresting vista of pine-canyon country, and each is full many, many nights of the summer season.

More adventuresome families who prefer to camp will find the luxuries of water and rest rooms in their areas, too, and capital improvement plans in the near future include a shower building, more roads, tables, and fireplaces.

Twice last year the campers nearly washed down Chadron Creek. Two floods struck unexpectedly, one sweeping down on 28 families, the other on 40, which were camped on the level ground around Chadron Creek. One flood occurred just before July 4, leaving a wake of sodden debris to be cleaned up before 4,200 visitors poured into the park on the holiday.

Warning came early in the evening, and by dark Park Superintendent Jake Snodgrass had most of his campers out. The creek, which had been mostly dry, was obliterated for a time under a 10-to-12-foot-deep wave of water.

"No mountain flash flood, but something to be respected," remembers Snodgrass. "We had the campers literally stacked in front of the office, but all were good sports and in tremendous spirits."

Chadron Creek in its milder moments provides visitors to the park some pulsating trout fishing. It is stocked yearly, but Snodgrass reports some natural brook reproduction in the stream. Trout can also be taken from the shimmering lagoon, along with bass, bluegill, and crappie. Boats are available at the Superintendent's office.

The new swimming pool, due for completion in early summer, will be an engineering marvel in a Disney-like setting. Ponderosas and tall craggy buttes stand over the keystone-shaped pool and modernistic roof of the bathhouse. The bathhouse is similar to the one already in operation at Two Rivers Recreation Area near Venice, and features a plastic roof to allow penetration of germicidal ultraviolet light from the sun.

Some 52 feet wide at the shallow end, the pool tapers to 28 feet width at the deep end. An unusually wide concrete apron provides sunbathing area. The younger set will have a separately fenced wading pool.

Near the pool someday will stand a handsome lodge, if Game Commission plans for the park come true. Other improvements will be hard surfacing of the roads, and building of new cabins.

New horses are on the way, too, for riders last summer kept the few ponies available on the scenic trails constantly. Over two miles of trails have been marked for guided riding tours and hiking, and more will be added. Riding was first offered on August 9 APRIL, 1961 13   last year, and in the short time until Labor Day, a fourth of the purchase cost of the animals was paid off by the venture.

CHADRON STATE PARK continued

Busy as the park is, catering to overnight and tourist guests, daytime activities call many more visitors from far and wide on week ends. Chadron Park is by no means the back yard of Chadron town. Picnickers come from Crawford, Scottsbluff, Valentine, South Dakota, and Wyoming to relax in the 80 acres of developed picnic grounds. Somewhere in the park a reunion is held practically every Sunday, and by nightfall a fine haze hangs over the softball field.

Some of Chadron's visitors have been treated to a rare sight in Nebraska, a flock of wild Merriam's turkeys. Jake's had them on his office roof twice.

"Sounds like a pack of horses up there, but you can bet there's always an old torn on the ground watching for trouble."

An early riser has a good chance of seeing a mule deer nosing around his cabin garbage pail, or a porcupine waddling away from a young pine. Bobcats, badger, coons, and skunks are among the other animals in the area. If an imaginative visitor sees a ghost of an Indian walking in the half-light, the spirit probably rose from the Indian burial ground near the group camp. The graves and some pottery artifacts were unearthed by an excavator recently.

Although there are activities and sights to hold the visitor right within the confines of Chadron Park itself, the surrounding country is just as rich in vacation fare. Only 32 miles away is historic Fort Robinson State Park, once a military fort and an Indian reservation. Here Crazy Horse, the Strange Man of the Oglalas, was bayoneted when the chief apparently was making an escape attempt. Here Dull Knife and the pitiful remnants of a once-proud Cheyenne tribe burst out of the barracks where they had been imprisoned, to be ultimately run down by the garrison's troops. Northwest also is the Nebraska Badlands, a rockhound's paradise. Reservoirs and streams contain some of the best angling found anywhere in the state. Big-game hunting rates tops.

The visitor to Chadron Park needs time—time to fill his stringer with trout, time to explore the country from horseback, time to relax in the evening on his cabin porch. If you're planning to visit Chadron this summer, do the park justice and make it a real vacation. There will be much you won't see even then.

THE END

WHEN the SKY RAINED DUCKS

A fascinating yarn of early-day hunting by Chester Reinmuth When I shot those two redheads, two more settled in, then more and more, until my gun barrel smoked

FOR A YOUNG MAN who enjoyed hunting and fishing homestead life was boring at best. That was just my plight when my father took a spread south of the North Platte River in present-day Garden County in western Nebraska in the early 1900's. But that fall with the work near done, I decided to do something about my situation —a duck-hunting trip in the Sand Hills I'll never forget.

Having obtained a tent and made all necessary arrangements for the hunt, one morning when the prairies were covered with a white blanket of snow, I loaded my gear in the wagon, hitched the team and headed northeast. I hoped to convince Clare Gillespie who lived on up the trail with his brother to take in the adventure. It took a lot of persuading, but he finally agreed to go.

My friend Clare wanted to wait until morning to start from his place, but since he and an older brother were living together, I saw no reason why we should not proceed on our journey. Really, I suppose, I was afraid that if Clare got to studying the matter over he might change his mind.

Some old settlers had told us that there was no settlement in that district, just an occasional ranch but we weren't worried. That night we camped in a prairie schooner that had been left on a new claim. The owner was not at home but we, after the custom of the country, made ourselves at home. We hitched up early the next morning and followed the Cedar Creek trail to the North Platte River and the ford at the old Lisco Ranch. The three-quarter mile crossing was marked with willow poles stuck in the sand. You were supposed to follow the line of poles, keeping on the upstream side. We were somewhat doubtful about being able to cross without difficulty, but it was either cross or turn back and turning back wasn't in the program.

The water continually washed sand out from in front of the wheels, making the wagon jolt and bump along like one was driving over rocks and boulders. Although the river bed was pure sand, we succeeded in crossing without a mishap. There were no ducks to be seen anywhere which we thought odd. It made us a little skeptical as to the outcome of our hunting trip.

We eventually came to a very steep hill. Corn husks were spotted along the trail, leading up a steep hill, indicating a settlement of some sort.

Pulling over the next hill Clare and I found ourselves on a comparatively smooth tableland. As far as we could see to east and west, there were houses, even more numerous than in our home territory. Where, we asked one another, is that'wilderness we had been told about. After following an eastern direction along this divide for some time, we saw a youth along the road shooting prairie chickens with a .22.

Said I to Clare, "This is where I find out about what part of the world we are in." Coming up with the youth, I addressed him. "Young man, what country are we in?"

"Deuel," he replied.

"Township?" I asked.

"Don't know," was the reply.

"Range and section?" was my next question.

"Don't know," said he.

"Well, I suppose you could probably tell us about how far we are from the lakes, and what trail we should take to get to them with the least trouble."

This he was able to do. So after talking awhile longer with the lad we drove on. That evening we APRIL, 1961 15   got to the north edge of the divide at the very edge of the Sand Hills. Seeing a windmill standing out a short distance from the trail, we decided to camp nearby as we had to have water for the team as well as ourselves.

WHEN THE SKY RAINED DUCKS continued

By the time we got our tent up and camp arranged for the night it was nearly dark. Clare made a fire for the evening meal in the open door of the tent. He used slivers of fence post and what few scraps of wood we had been able to find along the road. Wood was very scarce on the prairies so we had been on the lookout for every scrap. We did not wish to have to use the prairie fuel, "grassalene" or "cow chips".

While I was feeding and tending the team, Clare called, "to come and get it". Coming to the tent I found Clare rubbing* his eyes and sneezing. The tent had filled with smoke, and he had to stay inside until he was literally smoked out. We ate out in the cold wind, then fooled around outside for an hour or two until the smoke cleared so we could retire. The coyotes were singing their nightly serenade when we at last dozed off.

Sunrise the following morning found us on the last lap of our journey. The team was wallowing over sand dunes, then down in little valleys. There were homesteaders' cabins in nearly all the valleys. Later most of these people left the Sand Hills since they could not make a go of it. About noon we came over the crest of a hill and below lay a big ranch near a good-sized lake. Hay fields spread up and down the valley.

Mr. Richardson, owner of the spread, said we could hunt on the lake but recommended another a few miles up the valley.

Clare and I decided to stay at Richardson's lake until we had fed our team and ourselves. There were ducks, ducks, and more ducks way out in the center far out of gun shot.

We then hastened to prepare our delayed meal so we could go on up the valley to the lake Richardson had told us of. It would be useless to hunt where we were. Midafternoon saw us on the way up the valley headed for Horse Lake. This lake was located in a small valley. There was a confusion of flags and water reeds all around its border.

There was in fact scarcely any open water visible from lake shore. And blackbirds, there were literally thousands of them. A homesteader had his buildings within a few rods of lake shore at the edge of the valley. And he told us that the blackbirds had literally eaten every scrap of his garden stuff. He also showed us a good place to pitch camp in a blowout back of his buildings. This was fair-sized blowout with a comparatively level bottom 16 OUTDOOR NEBRASKA   making a fine camping ground where we were protected from the wind.

Mr. Homesteader also offered us the use of two boats on the lake. I admitted that I had never used a boat but Clare said he had handled one a little.

He told us the water was shallow, not over seven feet at any place and not much of that and that we could take a pole a piece and pole the boats over the entire lake without much trouble. In due time we got our camp arranged, and as we had several hours of daylight, decided we would try our luck on the feathered denizens of the lake.

The homesteader took us down to the boats and Clare loaded his gun and ammunition in one. Grabbing a pole he stepped in the stern and standing up, poled out into the lake. He had scarcely a good start when up jumped a couple of redheads. Clare started to raise his boat pole into the boat, grabbing for the gun with the other hand. He threw himself off balance and very near went headfirst into the lake, but after considerable dodging around he finally managed to get the crazy boat quieted enough so he could sit down in it without falling out.

Mr. Homesteader and I nearly laughed ourselves black in the face. Needless to say, Clare never got even a shot at those redheads.

Ducks proved to be rather numerous on the lake and Clare and I were getting some boat shooting, but neither of us were able to connect with our birds. I decided that I would put the hard dirt under my feet and see if I couldn't sneak on a duck.

I succeeded in killing one teal, which made me feel better, as I had shot probably 15 rounds of ammunition without even knocking a feather while shooting out of the boat, and several times I had very nearly twisted myself in two, trying to turn around in the boat to shoot at ducks that would fly behind me. Some of them flew so close that I could almost feel the wind off their wings.

Clare had worse luck than I. Our kill that first day was two redheads and one teal. While we were preparing our evening meal the homesteader came over to camp. After supper we three had quite a campfire chat.

Next morning before sunrise saw us out on the lake, poling our boats around through flags and dodging muskrat houses of which there were hundreds in the shallower water around near shore line. To see 5 or 10 muskrats at one time was no unusual sight. It had turned rather cool through the night and there was rim ice extending out several feet from some of the rat houses in the more quiet waters.

By 10 o'clock that morning the ducks were comparatively all scared away so Clare and I decided to go to camp and spend our time until middle afternoon. The two of us had killed probably 15 ducks that morning, and we had worn the novelty off.

Loafing about camp for a few hours was a pleasure. Midafternon we were again out on the lake. I worked toward the upper end of the lake while Clare went to the lower. Ducks were scarce so I decided to work my boat in the reeds near an open patch of water and wait for them to arrive. Secreting myself satisfactorily, I settled down to await the flight. After several hours wait with no shooting to speak of, I became restless. Having noticed ducks flying toward the upper end of the lake I thought that there should be several up that way.

I had not proceeded far until I could hear ducks "quack quack" and was pretty well satisfied that there were ducks somewhere ahead. Crouching low in the boat I poled along as quietly as possible, and when the sun was about an hour high I slid the boat through reeds into an open patch of water probably 20 yards across. Near the center of the pool sat a pair of redheads. I could still hear ducks "quack quack" farther on. However the temptation to shoot the pair was too strong. Shooting one on the water, I got the other as it flew up. Caution was needless after shooting. Laying my gun in the boat bottom I grabbed the pole and started to retrieve my kill. Before I reached them another pair of redheads came sailing in and settled within a few yards of me. My gun was not loaded and before I could load it the ducks flew away. They had scarcely left, however, when came more. I shot one of them. Then the air seemed alive with ducks.

Singles, pairs, and even small bunches kept coming. I had no time to retrieve, in fact there were many times that I could not get my gun loaded fast enough to shoot incoming ducks. The gun barrel was getting hot and still they came. I'd dip my hands, in water to cool them and then shoot more ducks. As night approached I could not see the incoming flight, but could catch a glimpse of white as they would settle on the water.

I shot several that way then decided that I had killed enough for one day. I proceeded to gather up my kill. I could see no ducks except those that were dead and floating on their backs. Those, I gathered up. I knew that I had many more down, killed and crippled, but I could not find them so decided that I would return early in the morning and gather up those that were left. I had one end of my boat fairly well filled up with ducks, all redheads.

Finally, I pushed the boat toward camp. As I neared the landing Clare showed up*.

"What were you doing so much shooting for?"

"Listen boy," said I, "I've had the duck shoot of my life, probably never again will I get such shooting."

"How many did you get?" he asked.

"Lord only knows," I answered, "but I have one end of my boat pretty full and doubt if I have the half of those I killed. I'm going back in the morning and gather up the rest."

"Can you find the place?" he asked.

"I think I can," I answered.

"What luck did you have?" I asked.

"Not much, seven or eight," said Clare.

We had to make two trips to carry our ducks to camp, and while friend Clare (continued on page 24)

APRIL, 1961 17

NEBRASKA'S ROUGH FISH

BLUE SUCKER

Uncommon to rare during most of the year, blue suckers ascend the low reaches of the larger streams from the Missouri River in late April or early May to spawn. Reaching a length of five to seven inches at the end of the first year, the young will mature during the second or third year and may weigh four to six pounds. This sucker is dark gray or slate blue above, a lighter hue beneath. His body is long and slightly compressed, and the head is abruptly small and more slender. The eyes are small and located back of the center of the head while the tail fin is deeply forked. Insects and their larvae, crustaceans, and plant materials are preferred foods, but the sucker is most often caught by fishermen using worms or other live baits.

BIGMOUTH BUFFALO (1)

Each spring, when the plum trees are in blossom, according to legend, the female bigmouth buffalo, also called lake buffalo and common buffalo, scatters thousands of eggs over a mud bottom or on submerged vegetation. After 8 to 14 days, the fry hatch and start a growth trend that may produce a 5 to 7-inch fish at the end of the first year and a 26 to 30-inch, 80 to 90-pound fish at the end of 10 years. The bigmouth has a bluish-green color with a coppery tint on the back that fades to a light cream or white below. Turbid or muddy waters may cause a bluish-gray color. The body is slightly compressed, the head big and heavy, and the scales large and uniform in size. Preferred foods are crayfish, insect larvae, and other vegetation. Occasionally the bigmouth may be hooked on worms or dough balls. The smallmouth or thick-lipped buffalo, scarce in Nebraska, is similar in habits and appearance except that its mouth is smaller and its lips thicker.

SHORTNOSE GAR (3)

More widely distributed and abundant in Nebraska than its longnosed relative, the shortnose gar occurs in the lower and less turbulent streams and lakes along the Niobrara, Platte, and Missouri rivers. This primitive fish is olive-green above and silvery to white below. Venturing forth from the shallow bays where spawned in the spring, the predatory young shortnose gar is noticeably darker than the longnosed species and the black stripe along the side is considerably broader. Unlike the longnose, except when found in clear water, it usually has no dark spots on the head or snout. With a tooth-studded, broad, short beak, it devours large numbers of rough and game fish and takes some insect larvae and crayfish. Anglers occasionally catch the gar on hook and line.

COMMON WHITE SUCKER (2)

This fish is found throughout western Nebraska and in the clearer streams of the eastern part of the state. The common white sucker does not inhabit the larger turbid rivers. This fish spawns in April and May, usually over a gravel bottom. Major foods are insect larvae, small mollusks, and plant material. It rarely grows larger than 15 to 16 inches and can be distinguished by its slender shape, short dorsal fin, and sucker mouth. It is not an important commercial fish in Nebraska, but it is taken by nets and sold in other states. It is likewise unimportant to sport fishing. Those that are taken are usually caught on dough bait, minnows, and worms.

OUTDOOR NEBRASKA   Pug uglys, maybe, but worth knowing about GIZZARD SHAD(6)

A member of the herring family, the gizzard shad is generally found in clear waters where its main food item—microscopic free-floating plant and animal organisms—is most abundant. It spawns in the spring when the water temperature hits 60° to 65°, scattering eggs at random over vegetation and debris in shallow water. Producing thousands of eggs a year, it has overpopulated many lakes in the past. Fortunately, though, it is easily killed by low oxgen supplies, marked temperature changes, and small amounts of toxic substances unharmfM to the more useful species. Inasmuch as the flesh of the shad is soft and not desirable for food, its biggest contribution is to provide food for more desirable game and commercial fish in the state.

NORTHERN RIVER CARPSUCKER

Plentiful in Nebraska yet seldom seen by anglers, the northern river carpsucker, also called quillback, is rarely taken on hook and line. It resembles the carp in body form but it is more silvery in color and lacks the hard spines found in the carp's anal and dorsal fins. It spawns in the spring and its eggs are scattered at random on the bottom of shallow lakes and streams. While large numbers of eggs are produced, overpopulation does not often occur. This fish feeds on river and lake bottoms, devouring large quantities of sedimentary materials. It does not grow as large as many of its relatives, reaching but 18 to 20 inches in length and only occasionally weighs over five pounds. Its flesh is mild and tasty but has lots of bones and consequently is of little economic importance.

NORTHERN REDHORSE(5)

Found in most major streams of Nebraska as well as in the reservoirs of western Nebraska, the northern redhorse is a bright-silver to brassy-colored slender fish with red fins and large scales. It spawns in April and early May in the tributaries of the larger rivers. This species prefers swift, clear water and rarely grows longer than two feet at maturity. It feeds on insect larvae and small mollusks. Sport fishermen report a few catches of northern redhorse, especially in the early spring—during and immediately after spawning. Best baits are worms, grubs, grasshoppers, crickets, and small pieces of meat. Not used extensively as a food fish, the redhorse is unimportant as a commercial fish on the Missouri River.

CARP(4)

Found throughout Nebraska, the carp can be distinguished by the heavy spine in the top and bottom fins and by the barbels located at the corners of its mouth. The carp prefers moderately warm water and feeds on vegetable matter as well as insect larvae, crustaceans, and small mollusks scooped off river or lake bottoms. A member of the minnow family, the carp has been known to weigh up to 50 pounds; 25 to 30-pounders are more common. It displays a fighting spirit and is an exciting catch when pursued with light tackle. One of the best baits is dough balls. The carp is No. 1 in commercial fishing take.

HIGHFIN SUCKER

Migrating in large numbers to shallow areas and overflow ponds of streams, the highfin sucker, sometimes called longquill, usually spawns in May. The young reach about four inches in length the first year, and weigh two to three pounds at maturity—in the third year. The fish's most distinguishing characteristic is the long first ray of the dorsal fin, which reaches the tail when held down. Its body is deep and its eyes noticeably larger than expected in a fish of its size. Uncommon in Nebraska's lakes, the highfin is found in streams of moderate to large size, feeding on plant material, insects and their larvae, and almost anything that may be sucked off the bottom. It competes largely with channel catfish for food and with more desirable species for space in the rivers. It is of no importance to either sport or commercial fishing.

GOLDEYE

Trout flies, spinning lures, and minnows are occasionally taken by the hard hitting goldeye, also called big-eyed shad. Its natural food, though, is usually limited to small free-floating plant and animal life and insects. Although a good striker, the goldeye is not considered a game fish. It may be found throughout eastern Nebraska but is most common in the Missouri and Platte rivers, with a few reported in the larger lakes. This fish is blue above, fading into bright silver on the sides and underneath, with a gold cast and pink color toward the tail. Its body is rather deep and much compressed; the scales are smooth, and there are slender teeth on the tongue. Spawned during the spring in shallow areas, the young reach 4 to 6 inches in the first year and 12 to 14 inches during a lifetime.

APRIL, 1961 19

GUNS for FUN

PISTOLS can be fun guns for outdoorsmen. They open a whole new world of sport, offering everything from target and varment shooting to plinking and, in some states, big-game hunting. Each year, as a result, thousands are climbing aboard the handgun band wagon. If you're one of the late joiners or plan to take up the sport later, this run down on pistols should prove helpful.

Handguns come in different kinds, sizes, calibers, and have varying types of actions. They are traditional in America, going back to the cap-and-ball Colt, Remington, or even the local flint models made by Simeon North. Today, modern reproductions of the Colt and Remington cap-and-ball revolvers are on the market for black-powder fans. Basic pistol actions are the revolver and the automatic or "self-loading pistol". Both have potential.

Modern revolvers may be divided into two classes: the single action and the double action. Prices start at around $30, and run up to well over $100 for some of the better models. Calibers range from .22 rimfire to the big .44 Magnum.

The .22 revolver is used for target shooting, plinking, and killing trapped fur bearers. It is illegal here to take protected game birds with a pistol or revolver.

Larger calibered revolvers have sport utility, also. The .32's are seldom popular except for home or business-protection purposes, but the .38 special, the .357 Magnum, the .44 Magnum, and the .45's are used by the big-bore enthusiasts for varments and long-range shooting. A new development for hand loaders is the .224 Kay-Chuck which is based on a modified .22 Hornet case and has excellent ballistics. Some pistol fans have installed telescopic sights to help improve long-range accuracy. The big .44 Magnum approaches the energy of some mediurn-powered rifles at short ranges, but does not qualify as a legal weapon for deer under the present Nebraska regulations which require 900 foot pounds of energy at 100 yards. In the hands of trained people, the .44 Magnum with the right bullets can take all the larger North American big-game species.

Lots of gunners enjoy shooting one of the many .45 A.C.P. revolvers which, in Colt and Smith & Wesson brands, have been official side arms of the Armed Forces. Ammunition is readily available but special half-moon clips are necessary to shoot the .45 A.C.P. load in these revolvers.

Revolvers come in two kinds of actions: single and double. Single-action revolvers require that the hammer be cocked for each shot. Most double-action models can also be fired single action for better accuracy. They can also be fired by merely pulling the trigger which cocks the hammer and then releases it.

The other main type of pistol is the automatic. This is more accurately termed a self-loading pistol, and it fires but one shot each time the trigger is pulled. The rearward force against the base of the shell forces the slide back and ejects the shell. Then a spring forces the action forward and locks it. During this reciprocating action, a fresh round is picked up from the magazine and chambered, and the hammer is cocked. In other words the pistol keeps firing each time you pull the trigger and as long as there are shells in the magazine.

by Frank Foote

Automatics have definite advantages and disadvantages. Many claim, especially in .22 caliber, that automatics are more accurate for target work. However, persons not familiar with the gun often fail 20 OUTDOOR NEBRASKA   to realize that a shell remains in the chamber when the magazine is taken from a loaded weapon. It is necessary to work the action to remove this loaded shell. Automatics find more utility for plinking and target work than in the hunting field.

Plinking to pest hunting, the new handguns can provide a handful of fun to anyone who wants new kind of sport

Recently, several single-shot .22 caliber pistols have been placed on the market for those desiring an inexpensive handgun. These will do the job for which they are intended and may have utility as a training weapon for young shooters. Fine accuracy should not be expected. Target-pistol shooting is regarded as the most difficult of the target-shooting sports, because the weapon is supported in one hand and because of the sighting radius. Excellent coordination, eyesight, and a great deal of "dry" and live firing is necessary to achieve satisfactory scores.

Various positions for the long-range shooter have been developed over the years. One is the prone position in which the handgun is held in one hand and that hand supported by the other. The other is the sitting position in which the knees are used to steady the hands holding the gun.

Outdoorsmen who become proficient at hand-gunning get real satisfaction from shooting prairie dogs or jack rabbits at 50 to 100 yards or even farther. This, too, takes training and experience.

The Game Commission receives many questions regarding the ownership and use of handguns. Persons who have been convicted of a felony may not own or possess a pistol. The same is true of persons under 18 unless they are in the Armed Forces, or are accompanied by an adult when using the weapon. When in doubt, contact local authorities as city ordinances on ownership vary in Nebraska.

Just how safe is the handgun? The answer, of course, depends on the individual. It can be a safe and enjoyable experience for the safety-conscious, properly-trained shooter. This requires a great deal of training and familiarization with the weapon.

A handgun in any caliber should never be considered a plaything. It must be kept away from children and the idly curious. Another point: the relatively slow-traveling pistol bullet tends to ricochet more than the faster-moving rifle bullet. Plenty of space behind the target must always be considered.

Thanks to modern developments, handguns can provide enjoyable and safe sport to the outdoorsman who considers safety and has had adequate training. Get on the fun-gun wagon.

THE END

HIGH NOON AT HAT CREEK

(continued from page 5)

to stalk the fish and get your bait to them without scaring them than it is a battle to the finish.

The remainder of the fish in the hole were no longer co-operative, so we fished upstream for an hour without success.

According to the rules, the contest was almost over, but the two veterans weren't too concerned. Al had two; Tom one. Their three combined with my trio would make a nice lunch.

The fish, along with hot coffee, bread, and some sandwiches were soon gulped down. Not, however, before Al got in his digs by pulling out a can of sardines and offering them to Tom for lunch.

"Well, gentlemen," Tom said, taking the rib, "let's give the trout a try for another hour or so."

It was here that I left my two veterans to their fishing and hiked downstream to see if I could catch a few myself. I had four to go.

I hooked a small minnow under the dorsal fin and dropped it over the edge of an eight-foot bank into a pool I knew had fish. Ten seconds later I had a nine-incher on the bank beside me. I took another within a minute and another soon after. Almost ten minutes passed before I felt the strike of my last fish.

Almost an hour had passed by the time I hiked back upstream to join Tom and Al. Tom had turned the tables and had taken two while Al caught one. The score was tied and the game in the last inning as I watched the two of them trying for the winning run. Al came the closest when I saw him set the hook and hoist the best trout of the day just out of the water. But the brookie flopped once and landed with a big splash back in the pool.

"Well," Al conceded, "if I was playing horseshoes, Tom, I would have the contest won, because we could call that one a leaner."

"I would agree with your 'if'," answered the fisherman whose four score hadn't dimmed his enthusiasm for life, "but this isn't and you didn't."

"Well," Al sighed, "best we head back for town. I hate to leave this trip at a tie."

"Maybe I like it better this way," Tom confided in me, as we hiked back to the car. "Al's slowing up and he needs something like this tie game to get him hepped up to go again soon." THE END

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SNAPPER NO SNAP

(continued from, page 9)

into hibernation during the winter. That's why early spring is the best time to hunt them. They're still buried in the mud and can't move very fast, yet the stream has already thawed."

As we stood there gabbing,- knee-deep in silt, sticks, and stumps, the snapper came to life and tried desperately in its ultra-slow-motion way to slip away. Bob teased it with a stick, but contrary to its usual habit of snapping at everything, it only meekly mouthed the stick.

"See the path he took coming from the creek into this mud bank?" George pointed out. "He followed this little neck of water, slid under this brush pile, and settled into the mud under this bank.

"You can save a lot of probing time," the biologist continued, "if you can visualize what a turtle looks for when the cold weather drives him into hibernation. A favorite spot is a partially submerged log, where they work their way into the bank right at the water level. Or sometimes like this fellow, they like to bury themselves under a brush pile."

After we exhausted all possibilities of another snapper being under the same brush pile, I grabbed the snapper by the tail, and we started working our way up the creek.

"Look out for his head!" George yelled suddenly. The moment I dropped the turtle and danced a little jig, it flashed through my mind what was wrong.

As George explained it, when carrying a snapping turtle by the tail you have to keep its stomach toward anything you don't want to get bit because he is very agile at extending his head up and over his back. I was carrying this one in just the opposite manner and his mouth was wide open and slowly heading for my leg.

After trying several times to get me to do the jig again for the camera, Bob offered to carry the turtle. This way, I could help George work some stumps and drifts he had spotted just upstream.

As we jabbed our turtle hooks in the mud under the logs, we hoped with every thrust to hear that magical hollow thump that would mean snapper.

After thoroughly exploring the ground under several logs, I decided that if I were a turtle, the mud bank under the beaver dam just ahead would be an ideal place to spend the winter.

My fourth jab into the mud that had a consistency of quicksand hit a hard object about six inches deep that I thought was a buried log. Just to be sure, I jabbed again and was rewarded with a hollow thump that all but cried "Turtle."

Moving the hook around in the mud searching for the edge of the shell, I felt the reptile move just as my hook slipped into place. A slow but forceful tug slid the snapper out into the shallow water and I made the capture complete by grabbing its tail. This time I carefully kept the turtle's stomach toward my leg.

Although we kept going the rest of the morning and worked another mile of Camp Creek, all we found to break the monotony of continuous probing were a few pockets of air in the ice, some hollow logs, and two tin cans.

A morning in the stimulating early spring air had introduced us to a new sport, and we had two turtles to show for our efforts. Mine weighed five pounds and George's tipped the scales at eight pounds. Ready for cooking they would give us about 5V2 pounds of meat.

Snapper meat should be deep-fat fried, simmering under a lid for about 20 minutes prior to browning. When brown it should be served hot with practically anything you would serve with chicken. And believe one who has tried this delicacy, it is really a new taste and a rich reward for braving the cold creek water after spring thaw.

THE END

MOVING DAY

(continued from page 7)

always located toms as Ed had prophesied, almost any time of the day, but the hens secreted themselves, emerging from the timber where they had been loafing only at nightfall. Knowledge of the loafing area was important, for the biologist had already found that the flock would roost in different areas when they were found in certain loafing areas during the day.

Finally he picked a spot on the terrace of the creek bottom, and set about clearing the area of debris which might entangle the net. As Zarek and Ostermeyer helped, the biologist unrolled the 80 by 40-foot mesh and stretched it flat, folding the 40-foot width neatly to prevent tangling when the projectiles pulled the net forward and up over the birds. The back edge was staked down, the three cannon or projectile bases driven into the ground.

With a gunner's precision the biologist estimated the vertical angle of the projectiles. The middle one pointed straight ahead while the two end projectiles, set approximately 10 feet in from the end of the folded net, were angled outward to stretch the net taut over the birds. Now the men ran the wires from the firing box and quickly set up the charges, 22 OUTDOOR NEBRASKA   for the afternoon was fading and the turkeys would soon be coming down out of the pines. Then the trappers crouched by the car to wait.

As time lengthened, the trio began a muted conversation to relieve the waiting. Ostermeyer recalled the day the Game Commission had brought the first- wild turkeys to his ranch in Cottonwood Canyon and how the 3 toms and 17 hens had flown strongly from the boxes into the timber.

"And 91 birds after the first breeding year," he exalted. "Some 81 on my place the second year, and 165 on five other ranches from Crawford all the way to the Wyoming line."

"The Deadhorse Creek release was just as good," added the biologist. "It started with five hens and three toms, increased to 25 or 30 the first year, and now we believe there are around 75 turkeys."

The trio knew the reason for the success of the plantings. The Pine Ridge had all the cover and the food that the turkeys needed. The ponderosa pine-grassland-cropland complex of the Ridge was similar to the turkeys' native habitat in the southwest and the range in Wyoming and South Dakota where transplanted Merriam's thrived.

The soft clear "kwip-kwip" of feeding birds broke into their conversation, and soon the night's waiting was over, for the turkeys flew into the cottonwoods to roost. They would try in the morning.

Early the next dawn the same "kwip-kwip" floated across the creek from the elusive birds, and occasionally a sharper "kelp". At first, one, then in twos the hens moved down near the net.

The biologist could wait no longer. He had to get a small group, the whole group of 40 hens under the net would cause mayhem and possible mortality.

The dull boom of the charge rolled across the tranquil morning, and even before the echo came back, the biologist was at the net to prevent the birds from escaping but several scooted out.

Working feverishly, the three men slipped.leg bands on the birds, recorded sex and age information, and crated them, two hens to a box.

The biologist rechecked the remaining boxes, then waved a good-by to his friends. They know him as Harvey Suetsugu—that's me. Anyway, these turkeys, along with the toms I had already trapped, would go to White clay, the Wildcat Hills, and the Niobrara River south of Valentine. The Merriam's turkeys were on their way, and in just a few years, if they took elsewhere as they had here, Art and Ed and others could enjoy the first season on these wariest of game birds.

THE END

Outdoor Elsewhere

Stung on This Deal

IOWA . . . Unusual phone calls are commonplace in the Conservation Commission's office, but this one was a little more so. Seems 'that a local fisherman out on an ice fishing expedition bought some larvae for bait. He didn't use them all so brought the remains home to save for the next trip. After a few days in the warm basement the leftover bait got confused about the season and hatched into honeybees. The angler's question: "How do you drive bees out of the house in midwinter?"

New Quail Call

MARYLAND . . . Anne Arundel County's warden was patrolling in a slight drizzle with his windshield wipers going, which were noisy and quite squeaky. Upon sighting a covey of quail he stopped his car. His account:

"The birds immediately started running at breakneck speed toward my car. Soon a total of five pairs of quail were standing at my left front fender, looking as though they had just found their long-lost mother. They remained there for five minutes and ran off only when I opened the door."

The warden wonders if he has a new quail call.

6,014 Bastille Days

WISCONSIN . . . The Conservation Department says 4,933 fish, game, and boating law-breakers last year spent 6,014 days in jail and paid $158,000. They also drew probationary jail terms totaling more than 36 years. Violators paid $130,000 into the school fund, $22,000 for court costs, and $6,000 in wardens' fees. In the last 10 years fines have totaled more than 1 million dollars for the school fund.

Stinger More Deadly

WASHINGTON, D. C. . . . Grown men cringe at the sight of a rattlesnake, but brush away the buzzing nuisance of a bee. But the National Office of Vital Statistics can tell them that the bee is as deadly a killer as the rattler. The stings of bees, wasps, hornets, and yellow jackets take more lives than the bites of all the poisonous snakes, the office concludes after conducting a survey. Some 85 people died from insect stings, and 71 from bites of poisonous snakes. The bee and rattler proved about equally deadly.

APRIL, 1961 23

THE SKY RAINED DUCKS

continued from page 17)

got down to the business of preparing our supper I proceeded to draw the entrails out of our kill. This way one can, by hanging the ducks by the neck, keep them in good shape for some time.

Both our boats leaked a little so our feet and knees were rather wet. After supper as it was rather cool, we sat around the fire taking the chill out of our bones, and talking over the day's events before we retired.

We were doomed not to have much rest, as the weather grew colder and colder. We nearly froze. Long before daylight we froze out. Getting up to start the campfire we found that our socks, shoes, gloves, and pants were frozen stiff. Putting on what clothes we could we endeavored to dry and thaw out those that were frozen too badly to get on over the fire. Clare had a good pair of gloves, and I had a comparatively new pair of shoes. The gloves were almost burned up and I burned the whole toe out of one of my shoes and singed the sole leather on the other one until it cracked and crumbled away in a few days. Our socks nearly all had holes in them.

My shoes were nearly beyond wearing, but I had to wear them home or go barefooted. After talking the matter over we decided that we would take one last fling at ducks that morning and start the return journey after dinner. On going out to the lake we found that the water was all frozen over except one open spot near the center that was probably 35 or 40 yards in circumference. That open water was fairly black with ducks, but how to get to them was the problem. After considerable argument we decided that each one of us would take a different route and by keeping flags and reeds between us and the ducks, try and get in gun range. Ice would crack, pop, and break, making a noise like artillery fire when we slid our boats out. Most of the ducks did not take alarm. As a result we became bolder, and when we had succeeded in getting within 30 or 35 yards of that bobbing mass of ducks we started shooting.

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Surprisingly few flew away. We must have shot at least 20 rounds before the ducks had all departed. On going out to gather up our birds we found that by far the biggest per cent of our kill was mud hens or coots. There were probably 25 or 30 dead coots and probably 12 butterballs and pintails.

After getting those birds, Clare and I headed for the upper end of the lake to gather up the balance of ducks I had killed the night before, but find them we couldn't. Later I learned that the muskrats had probably carried them all away. But it seemed very mysterious to us at that time that the dead ducks had disappeared.

After convincing ourselves that we could not find any dead ducks, we said good-by to Mr. Homesteader, loaded our wagon, and started home. Since we now knew the trail we made fairly good time and by sundown were back at the North Platte ford. There was an island across a narrow channel near the north bank and we picked it for a campsite for the night. There were lots of ducks along the river and once in a while we would hear the "Honk, Honk," of the Canada geese.

"Clare," said I. "If we could be lucky enough to get a few of those honkers to mix with the bunch we've got we would be setting pretty."

"Yes," said he. "But it's very doubtful if we can get any without decoys."

"Oh I don't know," said I. "I have the big rifle and it may be that we can get a goose or two in the morning. Anyway, I'm going to give it a try."

Our camp here was comfortable but at various times through the night I was awakened by ducks and geese raising a commotion.

I awoke in the morning to find that Clare was already out with his gun. In a short time he returned minus game. He had heard ducks at the lower end of the island and thinking he might get a shot, had gone after them, but the ducks saw him first and he never got even a shot. So that was that.

The next step of our journey was to ford the river. Having forded it once without mishap, we scarcely considered the possibility of danger as we drove out in the river. We noticed a large bunch of geese probably 100 rods upriver from the ford and were discussing the possibility of making a sneak on them after crossing the river. Those geese attracted our attention to such an extent that I neglected to watch my team. Consequently they got off the trail of the ford.

Suddenly we were very much alive to this fact as our wagon and team ran into a bed of quicksand. The team scrambled and clawed, but to no effect. Seeing it was useless to try and have them pull the wagon out, we jumped off the wagon to release them.

We supposed that there was at least a couple of feet of water here, but found that there was not 24 OUTDOOR NEBRASKA   but six or eight inches. The wagon was down to the axles and one horse was buried clear up to his hind parts. We got the team loose from the wagon and after a supreme effort on their part we finally led them out.

There was a cold east wind blowing and the water was as cold as ice. But what mattered a little cold in a case of this kind. After Clare came out, we decided to go to the Lisco Ranch which was a mile away and see if they would help us get our wagon out. A rider returned with us.

He said that he would go and help us and that he thought we could get the wagon out all right. He got his saddle, pony and lariat rope. Going back Clare and I once more waded % mile of water to the wagon. We took double trees and tied them to the end of the wagon tongue. The cowboy took his lariat rope and tied it around the front axle and after one or two hard pulls, we pulled the wagon out.

A peculiar trait of nature is that after quicksand has been disturbed awhile it settles solid. We founcl this sand as solid as pavement when we returned to the wagon, and had to work the wheels loose from the sand almost as solid as cement.

Hitching our team back to the wagon we once more proceeded on our way. The geese that had caused the excitement had departed. Anyway we were too wet and uncomfortable to think much about hunting. We still had several miles to go to get to Clare's place, which we wished to reach that night. We never stopped for noon but kept going, walking most of the time to keep warm. That night shortly after dark we arrived at Clare's place, which was a welcome sight.

Our lust for hunting adventures had pretty well vanished. A good night's rest in a bed was appreciated. The following mornings I returned to the homestead with enough wild ducks to last our family for several weeks. And memories which still last.

THE END.

SPEAK UP

Send your questions to "Speak Up," OUTDOOR NEBRASKA, Stale Capitol, Lincoln 9, Nebraska Where Did They Go?

"Can you give me an explanation as to what became of our cottontails, at least in our territory? In the spring of 1980 we saw many, but now in the dry creeks where they were so plentiful, one has to hunt fairly hard to get three. Coyotes are plentiful but it seems to me they can't get them all. When I ask the farmers they blame it all on the coyotes. Might a bag limit of three with not over five in possession help? The cottontail is one game animal the farmers would miss."—Stanley Hoffman, Wilber.

Coyotes are not the answer. They exert only a limited control on rabbits, and could not be responsible for as rapid and drastic a decline as occurred this winter. The severe winter of 1959-1960 Is undoubtedly the chief cause of the decline. Following the long snow cover, many rabbits were In poor and weakened condition, and there were some starvation losses.

However, the chief factor was lessened reproduction.

Normally, the first Utters are born toward the end of March. Following the severe winter of 1960, the first Utters were not born until late April. Cottontails average four Utters a year. However, as about 75 per cent of reproduction occurs prior to the end of June, this loss of the first Utter was quite serious. In addition, 25 per cent or more of the fall population may result from breeding by juvenile rabbits. The first Utter (late March) Is the most Important In this juvenile reproduction, and consequently this percentage was drastically reduced.

More rabbits are naturally observed in June and July than In the fall. The peak of abundance occurs In June. By November there are only about 50 per cent as many as In June, by February, about 22 per cent.

Bag limits are not Important In regulating cottontails. You suggested a bag limit of three, but mentioned that you had to hunt pretty hard to get three. It Is doubtful that you could kill many more rabbits this year with a bag limit of 10 than you could with a limit of 5.

Reproduction Is the most Important factor In determining fall numbers of cottontails. If conditions are favorable, our cottontail population In the fall of 1962 could easily equal that of 1958 or 1959.—Editor.

Coons and Carp

"There was an inquiry lately to Speak Up about keeping raccoons out of sweet corn. I had the same trouble once, so I set three traps down through the field, catching three raccoons. I killed them and bled them on the traps, then left the traps unset. There was no more raccoon trouble that year. The next year, just at the right time, I picked up a dead raccoon off the highway, skinned him, cut the hide in four pieces, and tied them at intervals on the creek side of the field. Not a raccoon in my field but my neighbor a half block away was stripped. For years I used the same technique, using the hides over and over again, with no bother.

"When we weren't chasing raccoons, my buddies and I were catching carp. We could get more lunkers than anybody on the lake, using my carp bait«. The recipe goes like this: Pour off all the liquid from a can of whole-grain yellow corn. Mash all the grains with a fork, adding sugar and a small amount of vanilla, and flour to make a proper paste. We used it on No. 2 hooks in pear-shaped balls. The carp sure liked it, but whenever we used cream-style corn we were out of luck."—John Korb, Burr Oak, Kans.

She Traps, Too

"Your article, 'Trapper Wears Skirts' (January, 1961), was especially interesting. I was happy to know there is another woman who enjoys this wonderful sport. I learned to trap as a little girl on a ranch in the lake country in the Sand Hills. Now I am 46 years old and the mother of three grown children. We live on a ranch along the Platte River and I still love to trap.

"I trapped alone this winter and caught 70 muskrats, 17 coons, 6 mink, and 6 skunks, not counting the animals that chewed out or got away with a trap. I saved the good prime muskrat pelts and had them made into a cape and a jacket. Now I am going to save mink for a stole, which will take a few years." —Mrs. Glenn Elfeldt, Sutherland.

Catfish Soup?

"I enjoy reading OUTDOOR NEBRASKA very much, and recently served up a raccoon cooked to the recipe of Cy Littlebee, 'Table Game' (January, 1961). We had several guests for dinner and they all agreed they had never tasted better raccoon fare. Would there be a chance of getting a recipe for making catfish-head soup? I do some trammel netting and sometimes catch a big cat that would probably make some good soup. I have heard it is real good."—Alfred Schmidt, Falls City.

We must ask our readers for this recipe. By the way, we are still searching for mouth-watering game and fish recipes to go In our game recipe booklet. All contributors will receive a copy of this booklet when published—Editor.

GAME BIRD BREEDERS, PHEASANT FANCIERS AND AVICULTURISTS' GAZETTE A generously illustrated pictorial monthly carrying pertinent bird news from around the world. Explains breeding, hatching, rearing, and selling game birds, ornamental fowl, and waterfowl. Practical, instructive, educational, and entertaining. Advocates the protection and conservation of disappearing species of wild bird life. The "supermarket" of advertising for the field. Official publication of AMERICAN GAME BIRD BREEDERS COOPERATIVE ASSOCIATION, THE INTERNATIONAL WILD WATERFOWL ASSOCIATION, AMERICAN PHEASANT SOCIETY, and many other game-bird societies. This periodical is subscribed to by bird breeders, shooting preserve operators, game keepers and curators, hobbyists and aviculturists, owners of estates, zoos, educational institutions, libraries, aviaries, government qgencies, conservationists, etc. One year (12 issues) $3.50 Samples 50tf Send subscription to THE GAME BREEDERS GAZETTE O.N., ALLEN PARK DRIVE, Salt Lake City 5, Utah APRIL, 1961 25

Notes on Nebraska Fauna

BLUEGILL

by Wayne Tiller Pretty as a picture, the rainbow-hued bluegill is the potatoes of any Nebraska angler's diet for hes fished nearly everywhere, anytime

THE BLUEGILL, sometimes called sunfish, sun perch, bream, pumpkinseed, and blue sunfish, is one of the most sought-after fishes in Nebraska waters.

The name, bluegill, is erroneously used many times to denote several species or varieties of the sunfish family, known in scientific circles as Cenirarchidae. Actually the bluegill (Lepomis machrochirus) is only one representative of that scientific grouping. Other members are several bass species, the crappies, and numerous sunfish.

The bluegill is found in every county of the state, because of his adaptability to practically every watery habitat. Larger populations and larger-size fish are usually found in clean waters with an abundance of aquatic vegetation over a sand or gravel bottom, although smaller numbers and smaller fish will persist in less favorable climes in streams, lakes and ponds.

Probably one of the most highly colored sunfish, the bluegill's color pattern runs from pale blue to bright orange, depending largely on the water in which he grows. In most of Nebraska's waters the fish is light to dark olive, with a luster of lavender on the sides. His common name comes from the gill covers which are characteristically bright blue. Other color markings include a bright orange or yellow throat, and brown, copper, green, and turquoise reflections on the scales.

The food of the bluegill consists largely of insects, their eggs, and larvae. Throughout the life of a bluegill he will utilize minute plant and animal life found in the water, known as plankton. As the fish increases in size these minute organisms become less important.

Spawning activities of bluegills are usually observed to start the last of May and run into early 26 OUTDOOR NEBRASKA   August, with most of the action in June. The nests are saucer-shaped depressions resembling miniature volcanic craters weathered away close to the ground. Found usually on sandy beaches or gravel bars near the shore, a typical nest is most often in 12 to 40 inches of water, about 10 inches in diameter, and 2 to 6 inches deep.

Bluegill nests are almost always found in close proximity to each other, with 40 to 50 nests in a radius of 60 to 70 feet being a common occurrence. These homesteads are easily sighted in a body of water since there is a rim around each nest where sand, silt, and debris have been brushed out by the fanning action of the male's tail fin. Every stone in the bottom of the nest is clean and free of all foreign material.

When the nest is completed, a process that usually takes several busy days, the male finds the lady of his choice, guides her over the nest, and spawning takes place. Since these fish are polygamous and all the eggs are not emitted at one time, those of several female bluegills may often appear in a single nest.

Individual females of this species have been known to produce from 4,500 to 61,500 eggs in a single spawning season. This high rate of production is necessary to maintain a population since nearly all predatory fish in Nebraska feed on bluegills.

Once the spawning is completed, the male fish stays at the nest to keep fresh water moving over the eggs and keep them clean with a gentle motion of his fins. If an intruder comes too close, he dashes belligerently off the nest to drive it away. If the unwelcomed visitor does not bluff and is considerably larger than the guarding fish, the bluegill may offer himself as prey to lure the predator away from the nest. This is one of the rare instances in nature when a species will go to such extremes to protect his young.

Since growth is rather slow, the length of a bluegill at the end of the first growing season is usually only 1 to 2x/2 inches. If all conditions are favorable during the second season, he may grow to a length of 12 inches and weigh a little over a pound. The average adult fish, however, only attains a length of 7 to 9 inches.

In some smaller ponds lacking a sizeable predatory-fish population and having the optimum conditions for producing the prolific bluegill, a stunted population may exist with the majority of fishes being less than two inches in length. To remedy this situation fishery management personnel have experimented with lowering lake levels to leave nests stranded, introducing predatory fish, and treating with chemical solutions. The answer appears to be an ecological balance of all fish in a given body of water.

Although the bluegill is absent in Hat Creek in Sioux County and the Nemahas in southeastern Nebraska, the state's creeks and rivers produce large numbers of bluegills. The Monroe power canal yielded a state record 2%-pounder in 1949. The world record is 4% pounds.

The firm white flesh of the bluegill makes it one of the finest eating fish anglers can dish up. Since, unfortunately for the bluegill, they are always hungry and susceptible to practically any bait at any hour of the day, they are by far the easiest pan fish to catch. They become a game species when the angler shucks cane pole for trout equipment and gets into a school of bluegills rising to tiny midge flies on the surface.

An avid bluegill fisherman works in and around weed beds and brush piles, and close to rocky shores. The best baits are worms, grasshoppers, crickets, grubs, corn borers, and other small terrestrial and aquatic baits. With one of these tasty morsels on a No. 8 to 12 hook, the preferred method is to fish at several depths until the bluegills are located, since they feed from the surface to the bottom depending on conditions.

Veterans also stay fairly close to the shore of a body of water unless the lake or stream is shallow enough to support an over-all growth of aquatic vegetation. But the big bluegills stay farther out and prefer the deeper water. Regardless though, of how or where a Nebraska angler tries for bluegills, there is a good chance that he will take home some tasty fish for dinner.

THE END APRIL, 1961 27

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