FISHING THE RESERVOIRS

Here's your guide to fishing the big water—Nebraska s myriad system of recreation-packed reservoirs by J. Greg Smith

NEBRASKA'S RESERVOIRS, boasting thousands of recreation-packed surface acres and hundreds of miles of exciting shore line, have gone a long way toward making the state one of the leading outdoor play areas in mid America. The impoundments have been a real windfall to anglers, proving a veritable fish factory for such prized species as walleye, northern pike, white bass, largemouth, trout, and pan fish. But boaters, campers, and hunters get their share of outdoor kicks, too.

Three of Nebraska's main river systems, the Platte, Republican, and Missouri, have been dammed. And each boasts at least one whopping-sized reservoir. Lake McConaughy, in the panhandle, sprawls 23 miles up the North Platte River behind Kingsley Dam. It has 105 miles of shore line. Lewis and Clark Lake on the Nebraska-South Dakota border is 33 miles long and offers over 30,000 surface acres of the Missouri. Harlan County Reservoir on the Republican in south-central Nebraska boasts big water.

These are the giants. Those that are just big include Sutherland, Maloney, and Johnson on the JUNE, 1961 3   Platte, and Medicine, Swanson, and Enders on the Republican. And there are still more.

Fishing the RESERVOIRS continued

McConaughy has been old reliable among the impoundments, producing more record fish than any other. In 1950, L. B. Eby, Sidney, latched on to a ll1/^-pound brown for the state record. In 1952, Barbara Hombach, Grand Island, hauled in a record 41/4-pound white bass. In 1953, a 12%-pound rainbow was creeled by J. D. Wickard, Brule, and a 4y2-pound brook by Vernon Zimmerman, Ovid, Colorado. Mrs. Ethel Engle, North Platte, tagged a 1-pound, 10-ounce yellow perch for another record. In 1959, Don Hein, McCook, landed a 16-pound, 1-ounce walleye and last year Jim Haggard, Ogallala, pulled in a 3-pound 9-ounce smallmouth bass. Quite a record of records.

But "Mac" isn't standing on its laurels. Plenty of big fish are there for the taking, as are many a stringer of frying-pan-sized fighters.

Getting to and around McConaughy is no problem. The big lake is only eight miles from Ogallala on paved U. S. 26 and State 61. Highway 26 skirts Mac on the south and there are several roads from it into the lake. An all-weather road provides access on the north, with others leading into the bays.

Once you get to McConaughy, you'll find plenty of play and stay facilities. The Game Commission 4 OUTDOOR NEBRASKA   has taken care of recreational development on the entire perimeter since 1959, and maintains a recreation area at Otter Creek on the north shore and another at Lake Ogallala, immediately below the dam. Ogallala features picnic facilities, rest rooms, and drinking water. Boating ramps are provided at Otter Creek and southeast of the dam.

Private concessionaires also have all of the necessities for enjoying Mac to the fullest. Six resorts, Lemoyne, Otter Creek, North Shore, Sports Service, Lake View, and Erbs, are spotted strategically around the lake, and offer food, lodging, boat rental, and bait and tackle.

McConaughy is the first of the big irrigation and hydroelectric impoundments in the Tri-County system on the Platte. Sutherland Reservoir, the next lake moving east, offers good catfish, walleye, white bass, perch, and crappie angling. Only six miles southwest of Sutherland on State 25, it is easily accessible. The Game Commission maintains a recreation area on the west side of the reservoir and it offers camping and picnicking facilities. A gravel boat ramp is located on the north shore.

Walleye and white bass enthusiasts will have no trouble getting plenty of action at Maloney Reservoir, six miles south of North Platte on U. S. 83. This next lake in the system is rated one of the top marbleye producers. In addition, perch, catfish, largemouth bass, crappie, and northern pike are there for the taking.

Maloney boasts five boating ramps on the northeast, southwest, and south shores of the lake. Inlet Cafe on the east shore and Frontier Resort on the west have food, bait, and tackle. The resort rents boats and provides overnight or vacation lodging. The Game Commission also provides a well-kept camping and picnicking area.

Moran, Box Elder, Cottonwood, Target, and Snell, small canyon impoundments in the system moving east, are undeveloped. The adventuresome angler, however, will have a chance to tie on to any of the fish found in the Platte. Access is provided by a meandering gravel road between State Highway 25 and U. S. 83.

Jeffrey Canyon, the next big reservoir, boasts-fine walleye, white bass, perch, catfish, largemouth bass, and crappie fishing. Just 10 miles south of Brady on a gravel road, the lake has a camping area and boating ramp on its northeast shore. Food, gear, and lodgings will have to be obtained in Brady or other nearby towns.

Little Reservoir is as its name denotes and offers limited recreation, but Midway, directly below, is well developed. Anglers taking walleye, white bass, and the other Platte varieties will find handy facilities and accommodations. Five miles southwest of Cozad via gravel road, the lake has a resort on the northwest shore which offers boat rental, lodgings, food, and gear.

Gallagher, the next reservoir, has a Game Commission-developed area on the northwest shore. Plum Creek, the next impoundment, would fall in the same category as the other undeveloped reservoirs. With Johnson, however, the last reservoir in the system, the story is different. The lake is well developed and boasts good walleye, white bass, northern pike, perch, catfish, largemouth bass, and crappie angling. Seven miles southwest of Lexington on U. S. 283, it JUNE, 1961 5   offers Game Commission-developed camping and picnicking areas on the west and east sides of the lake. Hudsons Resort on the east shore provides boat rental, lodging, food, and gear.

Fishing the RESERVOIRS continued

The Republican's chain of reservoirs boasts over 27,000 surface acres of angling action and will take a back seat to no one when it comes to outdoor opportunities. Though much newer than the Platte, 6   the system has provided really outstanding fishing. Only two years ago, Tom Kinder and Larry Reid of Goodland, Kansas, tabbed Enders Reservoir near Imperial for a walloping 25% pounds of fighting northern, the present state record. And Harlan has fast gained the reputation as one of the finest walleye and white bass lakes in the southwest. Carloads of anglers from Nebraska, Kansas, and Colorado swarm to the lake when the marbleyes begin taking.

Walleye isn't the only thing for which Harlan is noted. Northern pike, largemouth bass, white bass, crappie, and channel cats are all there for the taking. As you would expect from this kind of angling, the shore line is well developed with outdoor facilities.

Five camping areas, two at the south and north side of the stilling basin on the east, and three on the north, including one east of the Corps of Engineer's administration building, another at Alma, and a third at the overlook, are easily accessible. Concrete ramps are located at Patterson Harbor, Gremlin Cove, Methodist Creek, and Alma. Patterson Harbor and Gremlin Cove also have concession sites which offer food, gear, and boat rental. There are two trailer parks, one on the north which has electricity, sewer outlets, gas, and water, and another on the south with electricity only.

Alma, right on the reservoir at the junction of U.S. 136 and 383, and Republican City, near the dam, provide overnight lodging as well as other recreation necessities. Construction will begin this summer on a resort at Gremlin Cove,

Medicine Creek Reservoir, the next lake on the drainage moving west, is a sprawling chunk of water couched in the rough hills north of Cambridge. The impounded creek comes into the Republican from the north. Medicine is easily accessible and offers plenty of action once you get there. Crappie, channel catfish, bass, and walleye are all ready to take your offering.

Camping is permitted throughout the area, but there are three developed areas maintained by the Game Commission. The main camping area on the southwest shore has a restaurant, boats for hire, and a boat ramp. In addition, rock ramps are located on the northeast and northwest sides of the lake. Overnight accommodations may be found in Cambridge.

Crappie, bass, walleye, and catfish all vie for the angler's lure at Swanson Lake, and you can bet that there are more than enough fishermen ready to get their share of these prized species. Swanson has a lot to offer the outdoorsman. Just three miles west of Trenton on U. S. 34, the Republican impoundment boasts convenient facilities. Game Commission-developed camping areas at Macklin on the north and Spring Canyon on the south shore can easily take care of the overnight visitor. Spring Canyon has a restaurant, bait and tackle, and boat rental. Lodgings can be secured at Trenton.

Enders on Frenchman River, eight miles southeast of Imperial via U. S. 6 and Nebraska 61, has earned a real reputation as a northern pike and walleye hot spot. Crappie, bass, and catfish fishing is also good. The lake gets a lot of play from both Nebraskans and out-of-staters but could easily handle more.

The Game Commission has developed facilities there, including two prime camping and picnic areas, and a concrete boating ramp at the east end of the lake. Food, bait, and lodgings must be obtained at Imperial.

Now to the Missouri's Lewis and Clark. This mammoth lake boasts 22 different fish species, and in its short history has already produced catches that have tumbled long-standing records. In 1958, Archie Prather, Wausa, tied into a 7-pound, 14-ounce sauger to claim a new state record for that species. Just last year Richard L. Jobman, Norfolk, nabbed a 26-pound sturgeon. And Robert L. Little, Lyons, broke the Lewis and Clark record for paddlefish, hauling in a giant 58-pounder below the dam.

The great majority of catches are coming from Gavins Point, five miles southwest of Yankton, South Dakota on U. S. 81. Few anglers really know all the secrets of the great reservoir, even though last year the Corps of Engineers recorded over l1/^ millions visitations. The lake features sauger, paddlefish, walleye, pike, bass and pan fish.

The Nebraska shore is well graced with trees and rugged cliffs, offering almost unlimited recreation JUNE, 1961 7   potential. The Game Commission has a management agreement with the Corps, and has presently developed five of the nine areas under its jurisdiction. Because of easy access, the tailwaters at Gavins has attracted the most anglers. Access on the upper reaches continues to be a problem that will ultimately have to be solved by the Department of Roads.

Fishing the RESERVOIRS continued

State recreation areas featuring camping and picnicking sites with water, fireplaces with wood, and rest rooms include South Shore, immediately above the dam, and stretching out above it, Weigand, Bloomfield, and Miller Creek. All are accessible by gravel roads. Corps areas are located immediately below the dam. Concrete boating ramps are featured at South Shore, Weigand, and Bloomfield, and gravel at Santee and Corps areas. Food, gear, boat rental, and bait and tackle are also available at Weigand. Overnight lodgings can be obtained at Santee and other nearby communities.

There's another group of reservoirs that anglers often overlook—those in the panhandle. The four, Box Butte on the Niobrara River, 11 miles north of Hemingford; Whitney on the White River, 1V2 miles west of Whitney, Minatare on the Guernsey Canal, 7 miles north of Minatare, and Oliver on Lodgepole Creek, 8 miles west of Kimball, offer good fishing. All are irrigation impoundments, and though they fluctuate during the summer, provide a lot of recreation.

Box Butte is easily accessible by gravel road. Once you get there, you'll be able to tie into walleye, crappie, perch, and catfish. The lake earned the title as one of the state's best marbleye producers last year. A camping and picnicking area and boating ramp are located on the north side of the reservoir. Lodgings, food, and bait and tackle will have to be obtained at nearby communities.

Whitney was as good a walleye producer last year. It also has crappie, perch, and catfish. The lake is managed by a private corporation and has not yet been developed. Access via U. S. 20 is no problem.

Northern pike as well as walleye, perch, and catfish are ready to take a lure at Minatare. Muskie, the big member of the pike family, has also been stocked. Camping, picnicking, and boating facilities are yet to be developed. An oiled county road leads to Minatare, providing smooth access.

Oliver, another Game Commission-managed lake, is easily accessible and offers good crappie, largemouth bass, and catfish angling. The wayside area on the southeast short has water, fireplaces with wood, and picnic tables. A boat ramp operated by a private club is available, but use is controlled by them.

There are reservoirs galore, with many more on the drawing board. Multiply the number of reservoirs by the number of activities at each and you'll come up with a "fantabulous" world of recreational opportunities. Admission to each area is free. Your only cost is your time. Give them all a try this summer.

THE END 8 OUTDOOR NEBRASKA

YOUR LICENSE... what does it BUY?

Hunters and fishermen don't own state s game and fish, they only pay price to reap harvest by Dr. Ira N. Gabrielson

A GREAT PART of the public is indifferent to the success of wildlife conservation, feeling Lthat it has as its chief object the provision of targets for the guns and fish for the lures. Official agencies are at least partially responsible for this feeling, which traces to the fact that they often depend upon fees for hunting and fishing for financial support, and that, therefore, they feel responsible for their acts to those who hunt or fish rather than to all the people. Such an unfortunate narrowing of the wildlife program results in a corresponding limitation of public interest and understanding.

Conversely, many who hunt and fish feel that they have a greater interest in the outdoors than those who do not, and a proprietary right in the wildlife of forest and stream. As a rule, they do manifest interest in wildlife, for when there is any crisis, such as a severe storm that renders unavailable the food supply for local game birds or mammals, those who hunt or fish are the ones who respond most quickly to the emergency and who help with either food or effort to see that the brood stocks for the next year do not perish.

The greater right of those who hunt or fish to dictate policies of wildlife conservation is widely questioned. Under American law and theory, game and fish belong to the state—to all the people. Those who hunt or fish pay license fees for the privilege of reducing to personal possession certain bits of this common property, but their fees give them no better title to the remaining stock than that of any other citizen. In practice, however, the interest of the license holder is manifested so much more than that of the average citizen that its effect on the policies and regulations for harvesting wildlife is much greater than is justified by the proportionate numbers of persons involved.

The history of American game conservation shows that sportsman influence can be harmful as well as beneficial. It has been injurious when groups have devoted their energies to fighting for greater harvesting privileges than the supply warranted, or to squabble over details of regulation and administration. It has been beneficial where local leadership has been wise enough and strong enough to insist on the employment of competent administrative personnel and the development of careful plans for safeguarding and perpetuating wildlife.

Many of the wisest leaders of conservation have come from the ranks of sportsmen, but they were men who were able to look ahead and foresee the effects of the abuses to which wildlife resources were being subjected. It is also true, however, that most of the resistance to intelligent game-conservation programs has come from those who hunt and fish. This spirit of resistance still prevails, and the adverse attitudes of groups of sportsmen is still too often a major factor in hampering conservation programs.

THE END The author is the president of the Wildlife Management Institute, Washington, D. C. In that capacity, he has played a key advisory role in the management of wildlife. This article appeared, in the Maryland Conservationist. JUNE, 1961 9

DATE WITH SEVEN SISTERS

FRANTICALLY I kicked my feet first one way, then the other, trying to find another foothold in the fickle surface of Seven Sisters Butte. It was useless. I had a good grip on a foot hole in the ledge above, but it would only be a matter of time before either my fingers or the sandstone would give out. And there was nothing between me and the foothills below but 120 feet of pine-scented air.

My only hope was that my climbing partner, Bill Stolldorf, could guide me to a firm footing before it was too late. Looking over my left shoulder, I was scared stiff. Bill was only five feet under me and 10 OUTDOOR NEBRASKA   had been pelted by about 15 pounds of the crashing rocks.

Fortunately he had heard the warning crack, grabbed a handful of sandstone, and held on. But as I watched helplessly it was obvious he was stunned.

A few minutes before we had crawled across the last few feet of the razor-thin hogback and assaulted this final cliff that kept us from our objective—the denuded sandstone east peak of the Seven Sisters Butte west of Crawford. For the past three days we had climbed 800 feet up the steep-sloping foothills below the butte, scaled the side of the 90-foot-high hogback, and chipped footholds in this crumbling vertical face that stretched another 60 feet toward the sky.

Leading the way up the steps today, I slowed to a snail's pace as we neared the suspicious ledge, that was now dust at the bottom of the butte. Bill was worried about it. Coming down yesterday he thought he spotted a crack in its otherwise secure-looking surface. He didn't have to warn me. If it gave way, I might find myself pawing thin air.

I stretched up and pounded the edge of the foot hole with my clinched fist. Nothing happened. I tested it again. Still no sign of a serious crack.

"You must have been air sick, Bill," I had kidded. "It looks all right to me." How wrong I had been.

With an air of confidence, I moved on up the cliff. As I stepped into the questionable foothold, I knew it should have been tested better. When I had my my full weight on it the sandstone crumbled away -falling 120 feet before bouncing on the steep-Sister and her view are ours—a town in miniature sloping foothill and rolling at least another 100 feet.

Dangling there, cheating death by the grip of my finger tips, I remembered my brief climbing history. It all started back in 1958 when my father Cecil Avey, a conservation officer, was transferred to the Crawford area. Coming into the new country, I was fascinated by the buttes and their history. It is impossible to live in this northwestern Nebraska town without being aware of the buttes. The sun brilliantly illuminates their eastern faces with glowing colors in the morning, and their long shadows creep into the valley as the sun sets behind them in the evening.

The buttes are actually timeworn outcroppings of a sandstone formation that is prominently exposed in several areas of western Nebraska. Due to its easily eroded structure, the outcroppings form steep bluffs.

Trapped in the formation are quite a number of good-sized rocks the climbers rely on for foot and handholds. This is often a misplaced trust since the rocks are sometimes loose and will easily break out of the sandstone. An unsuspecting climber could spot a good handhold and wind up with a handful of loose rock.

Even though we knew there would be dangers involved, it was the early-day (continued on page 24)

JUNE, 1961 11

TO STOCK OR NOT TO STOCK?

Sportsmen should look to the land, not the game farm, for the answer to increased bob numbers by Karl Menzel Game Supervisor

THE 1960 quail-hunting season is history, and as in other seasons of low populations, many hunters were disappointed over the poor showing. Some of the uplanders who had quickly filled a limit of bobwhite in the peak years of 1958 and 1959 were most unhappy. To them, the solution to the 1960 season was simple—stock quail.

Stocking has probably been presented as a solution to lower populations more than any other, not only with quail but also other game birds and mammals as well. But what about stocking and 1960 hunting opportunities? Would it have done any good to plant game-farm birds? And if hunting success could have increased by stocking, what would have been the costs of such a program?

Stocking would not have increased the population of bobwhite. Not only would it have been a useless management tool but the operation would have been highly expensive. Numerous studies have been made on bobwhite populations and the value of stocking. All verify the conclusions stated here.

Consider the status of bobwhites in Nebraska. In this state, as in most, reproduction of a given year is the principal factor in determining the number of birds present for that fall hunting season. Winter losses are normally not important in the major range. However, Nebraska's climate and geography, on the northwest fringe of the bobwhite range, make the state vulnerable to occasional drastic losses. Such was the case in 1948 when snow storms and sub-zero temperatures eliminated much of the southeastern quail population. The 1949 winter was more severe, and quail numbers hit a real low.

Since 1953, quail were on the increase, reaching a record high in 1958 and 1959. These populations were far above average—populations that cannot be maintained under existing conditions in Nebraska. Bobwhites were abundant in good cover, and were common even in marginal areas. In 1960, snow of two feet and more blanketed the ground for nearly three months. Bird numbers were reduced in good cover and practically eliminated in poor cover. State-wide reductions in populations were about 55 per cent, with up to an 80 per cent decrease in certain less-favored regions.

If there had been total elimination, artificial stocking would have been necessary. Obviously, if no bobwhites were present it would have been a long time before birds filtered in from outside areas. However, throughout the principal range, numbers were adequate for natural replenishment to fill the vacancies.

With lower numbers of breeders, how long does it take the population to increase to sizable numbers? That depends on reproduction. In 1960, bobwhite reproduction was only average, so there are probably no more breeders in 1961 than the previous year. But consider the bobwhite build-up in Iowa following the hard winter of 1936-37 when a large part of the quail population had been killed.

On a study area of several thousand acres, breeding stock in the spring of 1937 was only one bird per 12 OUTDOOR NEBRASKA   86 acres. The spring was favorable and each pair nested under practically non-competitive conditions. By fall the population had increased a whopping 457 per cent.

In the spring of 1938, the surviving breeding stock was up to one bird per 16 acres, but in spite of favorable weather conditions again, the season's increase dropped off to 183 per cent. Once more a mild winter permitted a large number of breeders to come through, and by May, 1939, there was a quail for every six acres. Under these conditions, the birds were able to achieve only an 84 per cent build-up by fall. In two favorable seasons, a heavy quail breeding population was present.

This is only an example of the bobwhites' tremendous reproduction potential when environment elements are in their favor. As successively larger breeding stocks produced more young, limitations of the environment were asserted and reduced the proportion that survived. The capacity of the environment to produce bobwhite was reached.

Now what happens with stocked game-farm bobwhite? Contributions from spring-released birds could be either direct, by having released birds shot, or indirect, with their progeny hunted.

Although hunting season returns as high as five per cent have been obtained from spring releases in southeastern states, the national average is well below one per cent. In Nebraska, 295 game-farm birds were banded and released in April and May of 1960. The department is still waiting for the first band return. In other words, direct returns, if any, are negligible.

On a study area in Oklahoma, 74 male and 53 female game-farm bobwhite were released. Of these, two pairs produced broods and none of the adults were recovered.

Experiments in Kentucky with spring-released quail showed low survival of birds. Few quail could be found within several weeks after liberation. Kentucky has shown conclusively that, at best, releases of pen-reared quail, made either in spring or fall, cannot be depended upon to produce an increase in the population of native quail present on the area the following fall. The low survival of spring-released birds plus the variability shown in fall population changes on the stocked areas, make it appear unlikely that the fall populations have been greatly influenced by nesting spring-released quail. Changes in fall populations on stocked and unstocked areas can better be explained as a result of habitat changes.

A study on two areas in Missouri showed the following results: the unstocked area carried a higher population of birds; the population on the stocked area was actually smaller each year in relation to the unstocked area; the pen-reared quail did not supplement natural reproduction; and each winter the population of the stocked area decreased to the usual carrying capacity for wild birds.

Could the recovery of quail in Nebraska be speeded by artificial stocking? Generally, no. In a few highly local instances, it might. For an expenditure of $100,000 in the spring of 1960, the Game Commission could have purchased and released about 25,000 pairs of bobwhite (if they were available, which they were not). If half of these pairs succeeded (this has been equalled in only one case in Louisiana) with an average of 10 young, about 150,000 birds might have been added to the fall population. With the hunter's usual harvest of 10 per cent on quail, the 1960 kill could have increased by 12 per cent. This would be assuming top results. In nearly all cases, stocking adds nothing to fall numbers.

What about stocking birds in the fall? An avid quail hunter from Lincoln released about 200 bobwhite in late summer on one of his favorite hunting areas near Beatrice. The opening day of quail season, using good bird dogs, he was able to find one covey. And this covey would probably have been present without stocking. Another Lincoln hunter released 17 birds in late fall. A few weeks later he could find none of these birds.

Average results from other states are about three per cent returns from birds released in early fall. On this basis, if the Game Commission spent all its money from 1960 small-game permits and upland-game-bird stamps (about $810,000), it could have increased the quail kill of 121,900 by about 20 per cent. To increase the natural kill to that of 1959 (328,100) would have cost about $7 million.

By stocking on heavily hunted areas during the season, and by keeping the (continued on page 25)

JUNE, 1961 13

NIGHT FOR WALLEYE

by Gene Hornbeck The marbleyes had insomnia and we knew the only practical cure

THE WIND-LASHED waters of Harlan County Reservoir didn't hold much promise for an evening of fishing. Everett Cramer and I drank coffee and watched the white caps roll in from the window of his restaurant at Patterson Harbor. I was out on a picture-taking expedition, but hoped to line up a night walleye jaunt before I pulled out.

"The winds have been dropping along toward evening," Everett offered hopefully. "If it lets up, we'll work along the face of the dam."

Walleye had been spawning along the rocks up until a week earlier when cold April weather moved in. But it moderated in recent days.

Everett's guess was that most fishermen are fair-weather, day-time fishermen. He said that most anglers don't realize there's a lot of activity at night, especially walleye, cats, and white bass.

I was one of the fair-weather, day-time lot, not by choice but by necessity. Usually when I'm out, it's for pictures, and night isn't the best time for photographing fishermen. But I was determined to give it a whirl this time, so finished my coffee and told Everett that I would return at six.

And as luck would have it when I did get back, the reservoir had stilled to gentle swells. Two other boat loads of fishermen had the same idea; they were already trolling along the dam. Everett was waiting with a 14-foot boat, the five-horse motor already idling.

"Climb aboard, partner," he said eagerly. "Let's see if you can catch yourself a walleye."

The motor purred into high gear and we were soon out of the harbor and making good time toward the dam. I rigged my spin-casting outfit with a good walleye spoon. We were both using fairly heavy line in the 15-pound-test class. Everett had pointed out that snags were frequent along the fill of the dam, and that lighter line was often cut on the sharp edges of the rock. Finally, he swung the boat in at the south end of the rocky fill and told me to get fishing. He snapped on a silver-colored, medium-running plug.

"Want to use one of these plugs?" he asked as he fed out line behind the trolling boat. "Spoons just 14 OUTDOOR NEBRASKA   don't do the job here. The rocks really give you fits, and you get more snags than strikes."

I thanked him but stuck to my spoons. There have been few places where I couldn't fish them.

We moved along the rock fill, getting closer all the time. A fresh breeze began to kick up as the sun slipped below the horizon. It was cold enough to make me pull up the collar on my jacket.

We'd covered almost 200 yards when my lure slammed to a dead stop. I hit back, sure it was a snag, but set the hook just in case. The reel whined in protest as the trolling boat kept moving. I reefed back on the rod, held it taut for an instant, then called, "Snag."

Everett kicked the motor into neutral, reeled in his line, and swung the little engine around to pull us backward to my lure.

"That's the biggest reason I use plugs here," Everett said as he stopped over my lure. "Plugs ride nose down, keeping the hooks up off the rock to some extent. But they'll snag up, too, if they slide into a crack between the big stones."

At the center of the dam, we did an about face and started back.

"This end is usually the best," Everett said, "especially during spawning season. Walleyes use the rocky fill for spawning."

He added that this end of the dam drops off in deep water while the other side is much shallower. There aren't so many fish in the shallows and it's a lot harder to troll.

After another 100 yards, Everett grunted and socked his rod back as he felt the first fish of the night. Darkness had closed now, and I held the lantern ready as the fish was led to the net.

"Feels like a nice one," he reported, playing the fish like the pro that he is.

I had turned on the portable running lights of the boat, and the white light on the stern cast a dim glow on my partner's battle. His white glass rod danced like an ivory baton. The fish had hit almost on the shore and had made its run for deep water. We closed the battle 50 feet from shore in what Ev said was close to 40 feet of water.

The never-ceasing pressure of the rod finally brought the fish to the surface. One more run and I netted the walleye from the gunwale.

"Four pounds or there about," Everett said, with a satisfied grin. "Are you sure you won't try my plug now?"

My extended hand was my answer. Once the bottom-knocking plug was in place, Everett kicked the motor into gear and went back to trolling. I could feel the little plug skid along the rocks every now and then as we moved along the fill. The only action on the second pass was a snag apiece.

Shortly, though, Everett tied into another good fish. Some five minutes later I slid the net under the prize, a female walleye that went just a shade bigger than the four-pound male.

A sliver of a moon came out and spread its pale light along the dam. There were still three or four boats out. An angler just ahead of us switched on a flashlight as his companion played a fish. Coming alongside, we saw him hoist a nice three-pounder aboard. It was their second fish of the night.

There were a number of "ah's" over Everett's two fish, but they hadn't seen anything yet. We again moved up along "walleye alley" as Everett called it. The boat had just neared the gates in the center of the dam when Everett slammed back on the rod and then called "Snag," but changed his mind and whooped, "No, it's a fish."

I reeled in my lure to clear the battle field, and got the net ready. This I was good at.

"This one should be a whopper," Ev said excitedly. "He's sure dogging the bottom."

Ev reached for the net, so I handed it to him. I was relegated to holding the light.

The big fish stayed deep for at least five minutes and then rolled to the surface next to the boat. One swoop with the big boat net and Everett proved his point of fishing the walleye at night. An eight-pounder flopped into the bottom of the boat.

Three lunkers the size Ev boated were prize enough for any fisherman, particularly on a chilled April night, so we called it quits.

"I'll be back," I promised my host, "and maybe the worm will turn."

"Gene," he said, "I sure hope it does, but you're not going to fish with bait are you?"

THE END JUNE, 1961 15

FORT HARTSUFF

Well-preserved post typical of frontier's hog and hominy forts

IT SAT TRIMLY on the bank of the North Loup River, looking more like a settlement than a military fort. Its soldiers played and partied more than they scouted and warred. It never witnessed an Indian campaign; its one and only skirmish ended when the Sioux sneaked back to the reservation at night. This was the paradox that was FortHartsuff, just another of the obscure little "hog and hominy" forts of the frontier.

But because Fort Hartsuff was there lending protection, farmers came to the North Loup Valley. Because it offered work when those pioneers desperately needed it, they stayed on through the grasshopper blitz. Fort Hartsuff, like dozens of other frontier garrisons throughout Nebraska, Wyoming, and the Dakotas, was built to appease the settler rather than restrain the Indian. Laramie, Robinson, Phil Kearny were exceptions; the greater number of frontier forts grew up after settlement had already begun and upon the appeal of the pioneers for protection.

These stations, however, played a necessary role in the civilizing of the West. They kept roads open, guarded settlers, protected railroad crews, and gave stability to the frontier. Fort Hartsuff is not only representative of them, it was one of the best. In its day, the fort was reckoned as the cleanest and most desirable station in the Department of the Platte, and today Hartsuff's buildings are still in repairable shape when other forts have crumbled into the grass. Fort Hartsuff can be restored, and it will be; the Game Commission has acquired it by generous gift and is shaping it into a historical park.

Few settlers penetrated the North Loup Valley before 1871. For years after the signing of the peace in 1869 the frontier was a tinderbox of unrest. The Sioux returned at will to their traditional hunting grounds in the North Platte country. Wild young men, hot to war when warring was forbidden, periodically stole away from the reservations on the South Dakota line. They prowled through the southeast-running valleys of the Sand Hills to the Nance County reservation of their ancestral enemies, the Pawnee, looting as they went. The North Loup Valley lay along this trail, and the first settlers never knew the absence of fear. The land could be fruitful, but the pioneers were afraid to set down roots.

In 1873 a band of Sioux swooped down on the Turtle Creek settlement, driving away a mare and her colt. The men gathered their stock together, left them in the protection of an old man and two women, and thundered off in pursuit, scatter guns loaded to the muzzle with shot. But while a few Indians engaged the settlers, the others drove off the remaining stock. At first the chase had been a lark, but the empty corral sobered the settlers.

The government was petitioned for protection, and a company of cavalry was sent out from Omaha. An April blizzard, the worst in years, forced the troopers to take refuge in Loup City, then just two buildings. Their mounts froze to death, and the disgruntled cavalrymen marched through the snow to an east-bound train to Omaha.

A second troop of soldiers, this time infantry, came in the spring to guard the pioneers, who tried every wile to keep them through the winter. But warm barracks and social doings at Omaha won over, and the infantry pulled out at the first snowflakes. As winter progressed, the panicked settlers rendezvoused at every Indian sighting.

In January of 1874, a Sioux hunting party raided the reservation at Genoa, only to find the Pawnee had been shipped off to Oklahoma. Goaded by hunger, the maurauders robbed and pilfered settlements 16 OUTDOOR NEBRASKA   throughout the North Loup Valley. Challenged by a determined group of whites as they were roasting a stolen cow, the Indians attacked. One settler and a number of Indians were killed. Such incidents as this finally convinced the powers in Washington that a fort should be built.

But many wagons were packed and turned eastward that spring. Had the government stalled much longer, it would have found few settlers left to protect. The year 1874 saw the first clouds of grasshoppers descending from the northwest to ravish the young corn, grains, and even the blankets and quilts spread to shield the gardens.

The construction of the fort that fall revitalized the valley. Every able-bodied man and boy in the region, and some from as far as the Platte Valley, came to work at the new post. Every team up and down the river was requisitioned. The buildings were to be made of grout, and there was much hauling to do—sand and gravel from pits 4 miles south, cedar timbers from the canyons 8 miles north, lime from the kilns 40 miles downstream, bags of cement from Grand Island 80 miles away.

A grand ball celebrated the completion of Fort Hartsuff in December, and sprigged muslin and broadcloth settlers got their first taste of society.

The gold braid and dress sabers saw more action during the fort's existence than did rifles and canteens. The fort itself was in name only. The only defensible portion, should an attack ever occur, was the waterworks, up the hill from the fort proper and surrounded by a circular stockade. An underground passage led to the fort. Conveniently, it opened right behind the commanding officer's house.

A barracks and kitchen, two commissioned officer's houses, a guardhouse, office, and hospital, together with stables and barns made up the buildings of the fort. The original area consisted of two sections along the river one mile north of Elyria, plus several more above Burwell to be used as timber and hay reservations.

The fort was sold in 1881 after the settlers set up county governments and appeared able to take care of themselves. The Game Commission acquired 15 acres of fort land and an access road this January as a gift from Dr. Glen Auble, Ord, son of Loup Valley pioneers. He has long been interested in preserving the fort and its history. The buildings will be stabilized in the near future, one of the houses turned into a museum of fort and area relics. A permanent superintendent will be assigned to speed and direct restoration. The flavor and atmosphere of a frontier fort will be preserved.

Fort Hartsuff was no glamour post. But it was a vital segment of frontier life, so vital in fact, that the National Park Service once considered selecting it as representative of a typical frontier garrison. Hartsuff is a part of the everyday history of Nebraska and the West, and deserves to be remembered that way.

THE END

208 FOR PARKS

by Jack D. Strain Chief, Parks Division Dream becomes law, opening the door to great recreation era

WITH SUMMER VACATIONS just around the corner, many Nebraskans are looking to the state parks for week-long vacations, stopover-spots, or as the answer to the where-to-go problem on long weekends. In view of the publicity that the state park program has had in connection with the new 10-year park program passed in the 1961 Legislature, there are probably many questions in the minds of park users concerning the effect of this program, and just what the vacationist can expect from it in the 1961 season.

In previous years it has been difficult, if not impossible, to organize and execute a systematic state park development program in Nebraska, because the basic finance system of state park areas was based solely upon biennial appropriation by the Legislature from the general fund. Sometimes these appropriations provided for capital development to greater or lesser degrees, and at other times, budgets were restricted principally to an operations and maintenance situation.

The 1959 Legislature passed a sound, basic state park law but, for several reasons, failed to adequately finance the program it established. The law provided a small mill-levy income over a period of 10 years, the best feature of which was its consistency, since park administrators could look ahead and plan with a known income.

The 1959 Legislature established an Interim Committee to further assess outdoor recreation requirements of Nebraska during the 1959 and 1960 seasons, and following their recommendations to the 1961 Legislature, a major step forward was taken on April 10 when Governor Morrison signed L. B. 208 into law, providing a firm, tax-supported income to the state park system of approximately one million dollars a year for a period of 10 years.

This action by a farsighted Legislature will enable Nebraska to develop its park system on a soundly-planned basis, designed to meet known needs of today as well as anticipated future requirements. The only thorn in an otherwise rosy picture is the fact that funds to be developed under the new legislation will not become available until approximately January 1, 1963.

In the interim, which will include the 1961 and 1962 seasons, actual progress in the way of development of new and improved facilities at existing state park areas will be slow, because the income from the current mill levy of .13 of a mill is of necessity, mostly budgeted for operation and maintenance purposes. Therefore, Nebraskans will not start to see results of the new program until the summer of 1963.

Lest I paint too bleak a picture, however, consider what has been accomplished over the past year or so with the little margin available from current income.

A long-range plan of state park development was devised even prior to the action of the 1959 Legislature; this plan has been revised from time to time to meet whatever financing was available but, essentially, this plan consisted of two major endeavors: (1) to upgrade existing state park facilities to help meet current needs, and (2) the acquisition and development of new areas to round out the Game Commission's capability to provide for today's requirements and those of the future.

A major deficiency of the existing park system lies in the area of what we call "minimum facilities". These are the facilities that are deemed necessary to enable the public to use and enjoy the park area concerned, and may vary substantially from area to area.

At a major state park, for instance, overnight cabins are considered a basic facility. On the other hand, at a wayside area, picnic tables and a few fireplaces are the essentials. At all areas, however, we need modern toilet facilities, safe drinking water, adequate parking areas, and other items which are essential to public health and safety.

The Game Commission, with limited development funds and tremendous needs on all sides, has been faced with difficult decisions on how to best utilize the available money. It has wisely determined to exert the preponderance of the initial effort to meet immediate needs on existing areas, but at the same time, when feasible, to look ahead and provide for the future.

Exemplary of this philosophy is Ponca State Park which the Game Commission considers a critical area because of its location on the Missouri River adjacent to population centers. Here, to meet existing needs, the department is building, or has completed, 8 new modern vacation cabins, bringing the total to 10, and is hard-surfacing iy2 miles of the primary road system. New picnic areas are being developed and modern toilets are replacing outmoded facilities. To meet future needs, over 200 acres of prime land were acquired to expand the park's visitor capability. It will be appropriately developed as funds are available.

Similarly, at Chadron State Park, Nebraska's most popular terminal vacation site, a new modern swimming pool is being constructed for use in 1961. It replaces the former grossly inadequate facility. In addition riding horses were placed in service late in the 1960 season.

Work was also done at Niobrara State Park. Four of the old single cabins were remodeled and 18 OUTDOOR NEBRASKA   equipped as modern doubles last year and will be in full service for the 1961 season.

To meet existing as well as future needs, park day-use facilities were developed at the new Two Rivers Recreation Area near Omaha. This multiple use area, which affords hunting, fishing, camping, and swimming along with other park features, was heavily utilized during the short time it was open to the public in 1960, and a booming visitation is expected in the current season.

Travelers this year will find five developed and intensively maintained state wayside areas in operation on state highways where none existed two years ago. Two more roadside parks are in the negotiation stage, and one of these will likely go into service during the 1961 season. These are the forerunnners of nearly 50 such sites to be developed in the 10-year park program. Also, in negotiation and planning phases are two Missouri River access sites. These are an entirely new concept in Nebraska, born of the recreational boating boom. Each will provide boat launching, parking, and minor day-use facilities.

As funds start to become available in significant amounts early in 1963, the program will be stepped up accordingly. On tap is a completely new approach to organized youth camp facilities in appropriate major state parks, stabilization of primary park road systems, supplementation of overnight facilities, including completely modern overnight camping areas as well as additional cabins, overhaul of inadequate utilities systems, decisive action in the area of state historical parks, also a new undertaking in Nebraska, and many other improvements.

True enough, initiation of most of these is a couple of years away and full realization even farther. Once completed, the system will be one every Nebraskan can be proud to use and enjoy. This doesn't mean that you shouldn't use and enjoy present park facilities now. On the contrary. Visit the parks for a week or weekend this summer. They promise a great vacation.

THE END JUNE, 1961 19

I HOOKED A LUNKER

Nine Miler was biggest I had seen, let alone hooked by Arthur A. Russel

AS I LOOK back across the months of this trout season, the event that still stands out most vividly in my mind occurred on one of my first fishing jaunts of the season last October, when I tangled with the biggest rainbow ever to grace Nine Mile Drain. I have had better than average luck this year, but last fall the sort of thing happened that keeps a fisherman's dreams sweet, expectations high, and adds even more allure to the siren call that draws him toward trout water.

I should explain that I don't have my months mixed up, and that my trout seasons are really inverted for a good reason. Traditionally, trout fishing begins in early spring and ends in late fall. But because of a pecularity of Nine Mile Creek, near Minatare, my favorite and nearest stream, good fishing doesn't start until fall and becomes hopeless in late spring. Summer fishing is good exercise, and there are some interesting birds and various furry animals to observe, but anyone who expects to catch fish is doomed to disappointment.

Nine Mile winds its way through prairies, farmlands, woods, and swamps for about nine miles from its point of origin until it generally parallels the North Platte River for another eight miles. The upper 5V2 miles of the stream are considered excellent and another four miles good trout water. During its journey, Nine Mile gradually changes from a trickle to a street-wide junior-grade river as a result of numerous springs, small tributaries, and seepage.

During the late fall to early spring months, Nine Mile is as nice a trout stream as you would care to find anywhere. It it not a glamour creek. There are no boulders, waterfalls, or pine forests. But there is enough variety of holes, riffles, undercut banks, and natural obstructions to hide plenty of trout.

In the late spring, however, Nine Mile trout stream becomes Nine Mile Drain. Nebraska's Valley of the Nile is so named because of the wonderful crops grown on irrigated land. But the waste irrigation water has to go somewhere, and one of the somewheres is into my creek.

During the growing season, the trout fisherman bides his time. But finally the head gates of the canals are closed, and gradually Nine Mile clears and the water level goes down. Then, at last, it's OUTDOOR NEBRASKA   time to get the trout tackle out again and go see if the fish are waiting.

Enough preliminaries. Let me tell you my fish story now, just as I wrote it one night last October so I could get it off my mind and go to sleep.

Fishing had been slow, but the water looked especially promising. The stream was still a little roily from the dwindling irrigation runoff, so bait fishing had seemed like the best bet. I had tried in succession minnows, worms, and salmon eggs with very little success. As I crossed a water cress-filled marsh to get into position to cast, a large grasshopper that had survived the autumn frosts jumped away from in front of my feet. He was sluggish and catching him was no problem. In hopes of changing my luck, off came the salmon egg and onto the tiny hook went the grasshopper. I know that I should have changed hooks, but I'd taken too much time already and would have to call it quits after fishing this stretch of water. I had some misgivings about the size of my bait, too.

I approached the stream at a shallow riffle between two holes. The upstream pool was created by the current eating the shore line at a sharp bend, the other by a partial dam of driftwood and brush lodged against a streamside willow.

Casting upstream about 20 feet, I let the bait drift from the upper end of the deep water along the edge of the hole. This didn't produce any results, so I turned my attention downstream.

I let my slightly-weighted monofilament line be carried by the current so that the grasshopper floated naturally into the deep water above the willow. Immediately I felt the powerful tug that every fisherman knows means a big one. It wasn't a sharp jerk, but an authoritative pull that made me realize that I didn't even have to set the hook. In fact, I knew that I shouldn't snap my wrist to set the hook, because here was a fish that would break my light tackle if I did anything but play him gently.

He didn't start out with a vigorous fight. I wondered later if he even knew at first that anything was wrong. He did retreat downstream a few feet, and I followed him. Then I thought that he must have become entangled in submerged brush. There was no movement on the line, even when I exerted as much pressure as I dared. But then the line moved out into the stream. This wasn't just a big one; it felt like the largest trout I'd ever hooked.

I still hadn't seen him. As I mentioned, the water wasn't completely clear, and he was staying deep. It would take all of my fishing skill and considerable luck as well to land this lunker. The odds were on his side. Without a landing net, I would have to play the trout until he was exhausted enough to lead him into shallow water. The nearest shallows were upstream, but I wouldn't be able to force him against the current unless he moved on his own. There was a possibility of taking him downstream. It wasn't a good bet, but it looked like my only hope.

The small pool where the prize was sulking was some 50 feet upstream from a calm, broad, shallow stretch of water where I would have a good chance of bringing him in—if I could get the rainbow past the fallen cottonwood. It bridged the stream, with the channel going on the far side. The near side at this point was a maze of submerged limbs. If my trout took shelter there he could easily snap the light monofilament line.

My only hope was to try to get the rainbow to move down the channel into the pool below. From there, I might be able to gradually force him out of the pool and into the shallows. I wasn't wearing waders, just four-buckle overshoes. And under my fishing coveralls were my dress trousers. I had come fishing during my lunch hour and couldn't take time to change clothes, but I was ready now to do any wading necessary to help land that fish. I unsnapped my creel harness and let the creel fall to the ground. Just then the trout decided to travel.

OUTDOOR NEBRASKA proudly presents the stories of its readers themselves in this 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 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.

He started downstream, and right toward those underwater branches. My fly rod was bent just about double from the force, and I grudgingly let the line slip between my thumb and finger as I tried to lead him away from the branches and into the channel. The drag on my closed-face spinning reel was not enough to slow him down, so I had to supplement it with thumb pressure. The lunker finally seemed to realize that something was wrong, and started some typical trout acrobatics. He came out of the water, shaking his head and showing his silver, pink-striped sides. For the first time, I could see the size of my adversary. I had known something about his size from the feel, but this was almost unbelievable. He was the largest trout I had seen any place, let alone hooked.

I continued trying to keep him away from the snags, but his powerful lunges were too much. My line went slack, and with a flick of a tail the size of my hand, the trout was gone. I reeled in, and found that my hook had been bent straight. I slowly, almost involuntarily, sank down to the ground.

Maybe if I had taken time to change to a larger hook . . . Maybe if I had let him run . . . Maybe if I had crossed the stream immediately and tried to play him from the other bank . . . All these and many more thoughts turned over and over in my mind as I rested to let my pulse rate return to normal.

After losing old mossback I called it quits. That was enough excitment for one day. But I promised I would be back. And I have, always hoping he would find my offering tempting. He hasn't so far, but you can bet that Nine Mile will see a lot of me until he does.

THE END JUNE, 1961 21

PART TWO NEBRASKA'S GAME FISH

The successful angler knows his fish. You will, too, when you read last of series on state species WALLEYE (2)

The walleye is well distributed in many of Nebraska's reservoirs and clear regions of the larger rivers. Sparsely-scaled gill coverings easily distinguish him from the sauger. Sometimes called pike-perch, walleyed pike, pike, jack fish, and jack salmon, this meaty game fish is mostly brassy olive-buff in color, sometimes shading to yellowish sides and mostly white beneath. There are no distinct bars or blotches on the sides, nor are there spots on the first dorsal fin as found in some of his close relatives. Shortly after the ice melts in the spring and the temperature reaches 45° F., walleye move into shallow water to spawn. The eggs are deposited in 1 to 5 feet of water at night over rock reefs, sand bars, or gravel areas, and are left unattended. Hatching after about 12 to 18 days, depending on the water temperature, the young feed extensively on insects and their larvae. A walleye may attain a length of 6 inches in 1 year and 27 inches in 10 years.

NORTHERN PIKE (3)

This prize predator is a voracious feeder of overabundant species, and is a popular game fish here. Northern are also referred to as common pike, great northern pike, jack fish, snake, and pickerel. Extremely variable in color, depending on the water from which he is taken, this fighter is usually bluish-green to gray on the back. The markings on the sides are light yellow or gold spots. Once the ice disappears from the lakes in March, northern move into the shallows to spawn. Pike are random spawners, distributing their eggs over submerged vegetation. Fry emerge 12 to 14 days after the eggs are deposited.

SAUGER

Seasonally one of the state's most sought-after game fish, the sauger is found in the Missouri River from Gavins Point Dam to Sioux City, in the tailraces at Milburn Dam, and in the powerhouse tailrace east of Columbus. Olive-gray in general color with brassy or yellowish-orange sides mottled with dark blotches, the sauger profile is long and rather cylindrical. The sauger, sometimes called sand pike, river pike, spotfin pike, and jack fish, is easily distinguished from the walleye by the presence of scales on the gill coverings. The adults live largely on fish, crustaceans, and a host of other animals and plants. Usually showing a strong preference for large clean rivers and lakes, the sauger ascends tributary streams or backwater lakes to spawn. The eggs hatch in 12 to 18 days in 50° waters after being deposited at random in April or early May. Growth rate is slow and a sauger rarely exceeds four pounds.

22 OUTDOOR NEBRASKA   CHANNEL CATFISH (4)

The channel catfish is widely distributed throughout the state in established lakes and streams and has even taken hold in artificial lakes where adequate reproductive cover is available. He is silvery-gray and profusely marked with dark spots. These are usually more or less obscure in large adults. The tail is deeply forked. Quite selective in his breeding habits, the channel prefers obscure nesting places. Overhanging rock ledges, deeply undercut banks, underwater muskrat runs, hollow logs, and even large tin cans, tile, and other similar objects in the stream or lake serve as spawning sites. Soon after the water temperature reaches about 70° F., the female deposits her eggs in the selected site and leaves them to be guarded by the male. Incubation is completed in 6 to 10 days. Omnivorous in his feeding habits, the channel utilizes touch, taste, and sight to gorge itself on all types of living and dead material.

BLUE CATFISH (5)

This tackle-buster of the catfish family is located only in the Missouri River and a few of its larger tributary rivers and streams. Blue or slate-gray above and light below, the upper jaw of the blue protrudes slightly, and the head is convex. The tail is deeply forked like that of the channel, but the eyes are smaller and the outer edge of the anal fin is straight. Breeding in June and early July when the water temperature reaches about 70° to 75° F., the big cat constructs the nest similar to the channel in sheltered areas. At maturity, the blue may attain a weight of 100 pounds, but 20 to 25-pounders are more common. The range of the natural foods preferred by the blue cat is very diversified. He takes other fish, crayfish, worms, frogs, small fresh-water mussels, insects and their larvae, and a host of other living and dead material.

FLATHEAD CATFISH (6)

Mud cat, shovelhead cat, yellow cat, and Mississippi cat are all common names for the flathead. He is dark to olive brown with dark brownish mottlings on the sides, especially when young. When taken over sand or light stream bottoms, the fish is often light tan or even yellowish in color. Spawning occurs in June and July in secluded and obscure places. Eggs in the nest are jealously guarded throughout the incubation period. The flathead may live a considerable period of time, at least 20 years, at which time he may weigh 100 pounds or more. This cat is found generally in muddy areas and prefers deep water. He feeds upon insect larvae, crayfish, mollusks, fishes, worms, and other terrestrial animals that wash into the streams

BLACK BULLHEAD

The bullhead, found in virtually every major water in the state, can be his own worst enemy. He is more abundant in state lakes and streams than any other member of the catfish family, and in several lakes, the population has increased to such an extent that it has ruined all types of fishing, and the bullheads themselves are in the process of starving. Color is usually dark olive to black, although in some waters it is light brown. The chin barbels are dusky or black. A saucer-shaped nest is constructed in two to four feet of water on a weedy or muddy bottom. Spawning takes place in May or early June. The young feed extensively on midge and May fly larvae while the large bullhead feeds on other insects and their larvae, small crayfish, worms, small mollusks, crayfish, and insects.

YELLOW PERCH

Most popular as a winter game fish, the yellow perch travels in schools and is usually game for a minnow all year. Other names include ringed perch, ring-tail perch, and lake perch. Sides are rich yellow to a brassy-green with seven vertical dark bars. The underside is usually light and the back is a dark olive-green. The perch spawns when water temperatures reach 45° to 50° F. The whole school spawns in a relatively small area. Distributed at random over sand bars, submerged vegetation, brush and other materials at the bottom of the lake, the eggs hatch after 12 to 21 days. Since they are slow swimmers, the young hide in water vegetation for protection from the multitude of fish and fish-eating birds. Rarely reaching l1^ pounds in Nebraska waters, the yellow perch feeds on small fish, insects, young crayfish, and snails.

PADDLEFISH (i)

One of the most primitive of fish, this giant is highly specialized in other ways. He has a basically cartilaginous skeletal system. The jaws of the young are covered with minute teeth but as they grow older these disappear and the jaws become large and feeble. The slate-gray body is naked, completely lacking any type of scales. Making him even more unique is his bill and complex gill system. Although the long snout may be used for feeding, it is believed to be used primarily in directing the fish's movements. The grown paddlefish uses his gills for straining minute organisms from the water, his sole food. Amazingly, though, he grows to fantastic size. Little is known of mating and reproduction.

STURGEON

Easily distinguished by the rows of armor-like bony plates or scales which partially cover his body, the sturgeon represents a family of fish that includes many of the largest fresh-water fish of the world. To aid in their constant search for food, these primitive fish have four barbels located on the long, pointed snout that projects far beyond the mouth. The most common sturgeon here is the shovelnose found primarily in the Missouri River. Sometimes called sand sturgeon, hackleback, switchtail, and flat-head, this strange fish is colored buff or olive-drab above and light beneath. This variety has been known to reach a weight of 6 to 8 pounds, although individuals of 4 pounds are unusual. Food includes insect larvae, snails, bits of aquatic plants, and other litter taken from the floor of the lake or stream. Little is known about the sturgeon's habits and life history.

THE END

DATE WITH SEVEN SISTERS

(continued from page 11)

history of the White River Valley thatNured us on. Before the white man came to the West, Indians used these buttes for signal mountains to communicate between tribes and scouting parties. It was from these same buttes that Indian scouts and war parties watched as soldiers arrived to establish Fort Robinson and patrolled the White River Valley. Later, after the white man's initial push West, both the Indians and the cavalry used these high vantage points to keep an eye on each other.

This Indian lore gnawed at our imaginations until one hot, windless, summer day Bill and I decided to try Saddle Rock—the nearest bluff to Crawford. After exploring the base of the unique formation—it looks just like a saddle—we discovered holes cut into the west face. These were supposedly made by Indians or the cavalry at the Fort.

Bill and I were too involved in climbing to pay much attention to the scenery, but once we mastered the timeworn foot holes and reached the top, we saw a panoramic view that made us hungry for more. Right then and there we decided to explore all the buttes in the Crawford area.

The tamer Saddle Rock was only our training grounds. After trying its sandstone face a couple of more times, we turned our attention to the higher Giant's Coffin, Seven Sisters Butte, and Lovers Leap.

Giant's Coffin had really roused our curiosity. Soldiers were supposed to have made a spike stairway up the western face. When we climbed to the place where the spikes should have been, all we found were some empty holes, some loose spikes, and very few good steps. After struggling up these few steps, we got our first crack at climbing a bare wall. Some folks have accused us of being human flies, but it's only a matter of finding secure hand and foot holes. That plus a lot of caution—a lot more than I had displayed today.

The Seven Sisters Butte was the next formation on our list, and it soon became our favorite. We even built a fireplace on top and ate many noon and evening meals there.

The dangers that can befall an inexperienced climber are exemplified by an accident on Saddle Rock two summers ago. A girl from Crawford, climbing with some unseasoned adventurers, fell off a ledge and broke her leg. Her companions had to run to town for help while she lay in pain on the slope of the hill.

But today I didn't have a safe ledge or slope to drop to. My fingers were getting numb and sweaty. And moisture on these rocks means only one thing —slippery handholds. My stunned climbing partner was my only hope.

"Bill, hang on and help me. Are you all right?" There was a long nerve-shattering pause as he wavered on the brink of the 120-foot cliff. Finally he realized my predicament. Bill took a firmer grip on a rock with his left hand and grabbed my foot with his right, finally leading it into the next foothold. Gingerly I tested this hole before I trusted my weight in it. Only then did I relax my grip on the lifesaving holes above.

"Are you all right?" I asked again when I realized he still hadn't said a word.

"Yes," came his feeble reply. "I'm still a little dizzy,but I can make it if my legs will quit shaking."

Once our nerves got back to somewhere near normal, we repaired the broken step and continued climbing and digging steps on the vertical face. Bill and I had been hanging on that face like flies for almost two hours. Our legs ached and strained muscles shook uncontrollably from the ordeal. It sure felt good to stand up.

"Just look at that view," Bill exclaimed. Just across a shallow depression to the southeast was Saddle Rock. Ant-sized cars crawled along Highway 20 and the streets of Crawford below, and Crow Butte stood majestically about seven miles across the White River Valley. To the northeast we could see Lake Whitney, the town of Whitney, and way off on the horizon, Chadron. To the south was the rough Pine Ridge, and at our feet to the southwest stood historic Fort Robinson.

Although most of our schoolmates think we're crazy, our parents are convinced we are daredevils, and the people in town say we haven't got good sense, we will ever be lured to the buttes. Today we had nearly substantiated everybody's beliefs—but you can bet this won't keep us off those crumbling cliffs. The climb and rewards are just too stimulating. Nowhere in this broad country can you keep your feet on solid ground and see the panoramic, three-dimensional history and beauty of northwestern Nebraska.

THE END

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Outdoor Elsewhere

Geese Crash Iron Curtain

OREGON . . . Three Russian snow geese managed to break through the Iron Curtain and make their way to the United States during the past waterfowl season. The three refugees might have been better off at home; all were killed on the Summer Lake Public Shooting Area in south-central Oregon. The bands were sent to the "Bureau of the Rings" at Moscow. Waterfowl banded in the United States have been killed in Russia, but these are the first here.

Real Gone Gull

PENNSYLVANIA . . . The miserable gyrations of a gull attracted the attention of two fishermen on Pymatuning Lake. Time after time the gull struggled to take off from the water, but each time it could go but a short distance and not very high before it would again crash. The anglers chased it down, and found the gull well hooked with a musky-sized plug.

Methuselah's 152 Years

CALIFORNIA . . . One man's middle age is another's youth, or something like that. While most realize that giant tortoises (they look like big turtles but really aren't) reach a pretty ripe old age, it is a bit startling to find swans have lived as long as 102 years: giant tortoise, 152 years; box turtle, 123; great horned owl, 68; snapping turtle, 57; eagle, 55; toad, 36; bullfrog, 30; English sparrow, 23; beaver, 19; wolf, 16. These examples are from reliable zoo records

Birds Stop Invasion

LOUISIANA ... A demonstration of the rule that wild animals frequently help to maintain the delicate balance of nature which man destroys so easily was brought home to the folks at the Delta National Wildlife Refuge recently. An invasion of army worms suddenly and menacingly appeared on refuge lawn. Within 36 hours the numbers became so great that it was impossible to walk on the grass without stepping on dozens of the pests. The day was saved, however, by large gatherings of redwing blackbirds and grackles. Within another 36 hours not a single worm could be found anywhere on the lawn.

TO STOCK

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public posted, the Game Commission might obtain a return of about 40 per cent. At a cost of $1.25 for each bird in the field, the cost for each quail taken would be $3.12. This is a high price for four ounces of meat, and the sport derived from this program would certainly be questionable. With this plan, for a relatively low cost of $640,000, the 1959 harvest could have been equalled. The detriment of this expenditure to all other programs of the Game Commission would have been tremondous.

If stocking fails to improve the over-all status of quail, what will? The answer is simple—better land use. A Missouri study dramatically points out that quail numbers will increase through the application of sound land-use principles. These include maintenance of soil fertility by liming, fertilizing, and use of green manures; control of erosion by contour farming and maintenance of cover crops; and development of cover and wildlife borders in fence rows, waste areas, and wildlife areas. Co-operating farmers who followed these practices found that the quail population not only increased from 192 to 605 birds in just four years but that their crop yield increased too.

Stocking would be justified if Nebraska was faced with total annihilation of bobwhite. However the state is not in that position. With favorable breeding seasons, Nebraska can have good quail populations. Nature is by far the best source for repopulating ranges and application of good land-use principles will insure continuing populations.

THE END 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 agencies, conservationists, etc. One year (12 issues) $3.50 Samples 50 Send subscription to THE GAME BREEDERS GAZETTE O.N., ALLEN PARK DRIVE, Salt Lake City 5, Utah JUNE, 1961 25

Notes on Nebraska Fauna

EARTHWORM

by Mary Brashier A long digestive tube—that's the substance of an earthworm. Yet that makes him one of the most valuable creatures to inhabit our soil

HE FISHERMAN'S best but homeliest bait, the earthworm, has, as expected, received plenty of written comment. Articles may describe his sex life in minutia, measure his calcium requirements, or estimate the volumes of soil he turns over annually; but, to a man, they agree the earthworm has merit far beyond his wiggling allure to fish.

This acclaim comes from the earthworm's amazing ability to eat his way through the soil and leave it a better place. One of the best scientists of them all, Darwin, studied the worm for years, produced an 1881-vintage book still recognized as a classic, and declared that the lowly digger had played a more important part in the history of the world than man would admit.

"The plough is one of the most ancient and most valuable of man's inventions; but long before he existed the land was regularly ploughed, and still continues to be ploughed by earthworms."

Darwin's worms passed through their bodies and brought to the surface 10 to 18 tons of earth annually on each acre of land. Reputable investigators since then have found Darwin's estimates conservative, both as to number of earthworms present in good soil and tonnage of soil turned over. Favorable soil may support several million wigglers with a total weight in one acre of about one-half ton. Studies in the Nile Valley have shown an annual volume of castings, the excrement of earth-worms, averaging more than 200 tons per acre.

How has the earthworm reaped all this esteem? Simply by eating. He can munch through even compact adobe soils, softening the earth in front of him by saliva-like secretions, sucking it in, and leaving behind the friable mounds of castings containing a 26 OUTDOOR NEBRASKA   blend of minerals and organic materials rich in plant nutrients, leaving also the earthworm channels which improve soil aeration and increase water movement through the soil.

The earthworm is little more than a long digestive tube. The probing mouth releases saliva-like juices containing an enzyme which digests the food outside the body. Then the food—vegetable matter, animal matter, bacteria, mineral earth, small stones—is sucked in, to pass through the esophagus where a remarkable set of calciferous glands is located. Nothing like them is found in any other living animal. These glands release an endless flow of a calcium-rich liquid which neutralizes the acids of the plant tissues ingested. The end result is a much better soil reaction in the topsoil where earthworms are numerous.

The semiliquid plastic mass is further refined as it passes through the intestine which makes up the last two-thirds of the earthworm's body. The castings are finely divided, completely homogenized, and are notably high in phosphorus, nitrogen, and potassium. An abundant supply of them will contribute greatly to an improved soil structure. Because earthworms can burrow deep, they bring much sterile mineral earth to the surface and mix it with topsoil and their own mucus.

In the United States, worms are commonly known as angleworms, dew worms, night crawlers, night lions, fishworms, and rainworms. The rainworm is Lumbricus lerreslris, and thousands are dissected annually by first-year zoology students. A smaller relative is the manure worm, otherwise known as the brandling.

The earthworm burrows down to 14 feet if necessary, but thrives best in the upper 6 inches of topsoil. In colder regions he digs below the frost line in winter, spends the season in a dormant state, rolled up in a ball wTith several of his fellows. But the earthworm is hardy, may be seen prowling in slushy snow. Five or 6 inches is an average length; 12 is exceptional.

Most species of earthworms feed on fresh plant residues or on fresh animal wastes. There are carnivores that rely on smaller worms. And some diet exclusively on fungal mycelia, the thread-like strands of cells that are the vegetative part of mushrooms and puffballs.

Whatever they eat, it suits them. Earthworms are among the strongest animals in nature for their size. One worm weighing barely one-thirtieth of an ounce can move a stone of over two ounces. Part of this strength comes from the 100 to 400 muscular rings, or segments, of which the worm's body is composed. Chop off the front segments and the worm may grow a new head. Or another tail and starve to death.

Locomotion is aided by the setae, which are minute projections from each segment. These act as levers for the powerful ring muscles.

The worm typically works at night, as any fisherman hunting bait knows. He will travel overland, and moves about his own length in a minute's time. In a hurry he can do about double that.

Most worms prefer to stay home, however, keeping partly in their burrows while investigating the surface organic litter. Holding fast by their tails, they stretch and twist in a circle, gathering food.

The breeding habits of the earthworm are truly complex. No earthworm is male or female; it is both, producing both eggs and sperm. Each worm must, however, still find a mate, for self-fertilization does not occur. When two worms mate, both produce eggs, resulting in two litters.

Under favorable conditions adult worms can produce cocoons about once a week. If drought or cold strikes, the cocoons can go dormant, and have lasted 18 months in this manner. Cocoons are easily transported by water, birds, and in plantings.

The 3 to 8 eggs develop directly into young worms as whitish bits of thread about a quarter of an inch long, but soon turn reddish-brown after their first meal of earth. They reach full growth in about a year, one longevity record is 15 years.

The earthworm has a place in the natural scheme of things far beyond his size. No living thing is a quicker producer of humus, that complex organic substance of our soil. Give him his due—a moment's thought when you thread him on a hook.

THE END JUNE, 1961 27

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