FROG LEGS

GRANDDAD HAD been bugging me for the past two hours, playing his own brand of hide-and-seek with a knack that was about to get the best of me. No kin he, but the biggest bullfrog I'd seen in the slough waters of Burchard Lake. I had to get him.

For the past 10 minutes I'd done everything but tickle his nose in an effort to get him to take my offering. He blinked his huge eyes, looking more irritated than hungry at the strange bug of yarn that dangled so temptingly within striking distance. I figured I could wait as long as he could.

Angling for bullfrogs is a sport Bob Waldrop and I had heard a lot about but had never got around to trying. Some people said we would have to sneak up on the croakers while others reported they could walk up within fly-rod distance without spooking the bug eaters. Bob and I were out to see who was right.

As we parked at Burchard Lake, the last bullfrog croak of the night drifted on the slight breeze as the light fog and flying clouds gave way to the morning sunrise. Grabbing a pair of binoculars, I headed for the upper end of the shallow slough. We had agreed that I would try crawling while Bob should use the slow walk-up technique.

"There they are," I whispered. "At least four good-sized ones sitting in the shallow water."

Through the binoculars the frogs on the bank looked like ominous green stumps waiting for bugs JULY, 1962 3   to come within range. Others crouched in the shallow water of the upper end of the slough. Burchard, like many other waters throughout the state, boasted more than enough croakers for our needs.

Rigging up our fly rods, we planned our strategy. Bob would take the frogs in the deeper part of the slough while I worked the shallow water from the high banks. Our bait was pieces of red yarn tied on the shanks of No. 10 single hooks.

Though Bob and I chose the hook-and-line technique, we could have used a hand net, gig, or even our hands. All of these methods are legal with a fishing permit. A hunting permit would have been necessary had we chosen to bag bullfrogs with bow and arrow or a gun.

Approaching the slough, I duck walked, crawled on hands and knees, and then slithered through the grass up to the bank. Parting the tall blades, I could see one sitting half up on a floating branch.

Just as the fly rod swung out into position, I glimpsed something under the bank. A frog big enough to be the granddaddy of the clan eased into the concealing water from his grassy hide-out. It was my first look at the giant croaker that was to give me fits throughout the hunt. I froze and tried to squirm deeper into the grass, thinking he might come up again if I kept quiet.

"Hey, I got one," Bob reported with a roar that hit my ears like a clap of thunder in the early morning silence. Granddad was gone. Bob's rod curved dangerously as he swung a kicking, croaking frog out onto the bank.

Bob had crept up on what he thought was a frog, only to have it turn out to be a submerged twig. Then one jumped out from under a nearby beached boat and surfaced near a log. Bob dangled the yarn-bodied bug in his face and the croaker grabbed it with a vicious gulp. Bob caught the first. Mine would have to be the biggest.

An almost inaudible "blurp" brought my attention back just in time to see a dragonfly wing disappear into the gaping mouth of another bullfrog. I bounced the bug along the water surface in front of him. It twisted around a blade of grass, then loosened, bounced twice in the gentle north breeze, and settled on the frog's head.

As I lifted the lure the frog's sticky tongue shot out in an unsuccessful grab. I let the yarn bug 4 OUTDOOR NEBRASKA   settle back on the water and my prey shifted his weight nervously but wouldn't take the offering. A gust of wind moved the heavy fly line ever so lightly, causing the bug to jiggle. This was too much for the croaker. He struck and I had him.

Jerking the rod skyward, I threw him out into the grass and crawled back away from the bank. He wasn't jumbo-sized, but would fill a spot on a platter. At least I wouldn't be skunked. Working the small hook out of the frog's mouth, I watched Bob jiggling his lure in a driftwood tangle at the mouth of the slough. He was standing in plain sight of another frog. My partner jerked and again I was behind.

Crawling back to the bank I spotted another bullfrog's eyes sticking above the water. Ever so slowly, I pushed the rod out through the grass and let the lure drop. Seeing the red-mantled hook swing past, the croaker crawled a few more steps up on his weedy perch. Granddad was back to give me a second chance.

As the hook swung back he grabbed and I jerked. The rod arched as the frog was yanked about two feet into the air. Then granddad opened his mouth, gave a kick, and fell back to disappear into the murky water.

Fully disgusted, I watched Bob trying to reach another frog on a sand bar. He finally gave up and came over to my hide-out. After a quick conference, we decided to put on waders and go in after them. With the boots on I once more crawled up to the bank. This time there were no eyes peering up from the grassy depths like paired periscopes.

"One's sitting on the bank," Bob whispered. "He's big, but I don't think he's old granddad."

Leaning out into the slough I could just see his nose about 15 feet away. I slipped back, crawled along the bank six feet, and looked again. Little did I know this ace jumper was full of bugs and ready for a snooze. It took 20 minutes of working a rod to find out, the croaker ignoring me completely. Meanwhile, Bob had bagged another fat bullfrog. Now I was two behind.

Grabbing a treble hook, I was determined to get the snoozer. The hook swung back and forth in front and around my prey until it settled in the mud right under his chin. Taking a deep breath, I yanked, but not too hard. The hook fell free just as my snagged catch landed on the bank. I chased him in the grass, trying to keep him from water. My hand finally clamped over him just as he gathered energy for that last big jump for freedom.

After this commotion I figured every croaker in the upper slough would take off for parts unknown. A hopeful glance in that direction proved me wrong. There was granddad sitting on his weedy perch as if nothing had happened. Ducking out of sight, I maneuvered into position and changed back to the artificial bug.

The first swing was completely ignored, as were the second and third. Then, without warning, he lunged with what seemed more like revenge than hunger. My frayed nerves yanked and granddad was mine.

Two hours' effort had netted Bob and me six frogs and proved that they do not spook as easily as most people think. Bob got the first and fastest bites, I grabbed the size title. We were a long way from the daily bag limit of 12 each, but any way you look at it, we had a nice mess of frog legs. Fried in butter, they would be a perfect topper for two hours of fun on the Burchard slough.

HOUSEBOAT of Fun

FOR A HOME away from home, more and more people are discovering the special brand of fun a houseboat can provide. These floating summer cabins are opening a new world of boating to families along the Missouri River below Gavins Point Dam and along the shore line of Lewis and Clark Lake.

The Don Swift family of Crofton will be the first ones to expound the advantages of a house afloat. For the Swifts, houseboating means bringing along all the comforts of home. Built on a 6 by 10-foot base over two rows of oil drums, the 6 by 6-foot cabin has bunks for sleeping, a gas hot plate for cooking, and all the other family needs to make their voyage 6   comfortable. A 15-horsepower motor provides the power to carry them from spot to spot along the river.

The Swifts are only one family in the clique that is growing rapidly each year. When they built and launched their craft in 1951, they were definitely in the minority. But today, the numbers have grown until there are approximately 200 houseboats docked below Gavins Point Dam and at least that many around the shore line of Lewis and Clark Lake. Though these northeastern waters are the only ones now being fully utilized, many of the larger reservoirs such as McConaughy are suited to these homey crafts.

Combining assets offered by both a cabin and by a boat, houseboats give people a place to spend the weekend without having to worry about setting up camp on shore or renting a cabin. They furnish an ideal place for fishing or swimming activities.

Houseboats come in a variety of shapes and sizes, from homemade models to plush manufactured varieties that leave little to be desired. The large initial investment is worth the money. Most feature well-equipped cabins and often go so far as to include a diving board and a sun deck on the roof.

The houseboating potential in Nebraska hasn't even begun to be tapped yet. With large reservoirs already existing and more on the way, there is a wide range of waters waiting to be explored. Give houseboating a try. It will open up a brand new world of fun for the entire family.

PONCA Playground of the Northeast

THE TRAIL rambles leisurely through the wooded hills. Up ahead, the children race along, their sneakers marking the soft earth with tracks which will later be examined by a curious fox or deer come out of hiding. High in the trees birds dart here and there and the wind rustles gently through the tall oaks.

From the clearing at the top of the hill, the shouts of happy swimmers drift up from the pool far below, and before you spreads the breath-taking panorama of the Missouri weaving its way between the deep-green bluffs of Nebraska and the checkerboard farm country of South Dakota and Iowa.

It's all here for the seeing and doing. This is Ponca State Park, 500 acres of timbered hills and ravines in northeastern Nebraska. Two miles north of Ponca on Nebraska Highway 9, the park offers vacationers a bit of everything.

Travel the scenic highway winding through tree-topped cliffs to the rustic entrance to Ponca. Checking into your modern cabin or setting up camp in a wooded canyon, the rolling hills surround you with beauty that says relax and enjoy yourself.

Each year more and more fun seekers are discovering the charm of Ponca. Since 1954, when only 30,350 persons visited the park, the number has grown until in 1961, 106,000 persons came to Ponca looking for vacation fun.

And there's plenty of fun to be found. Picnickers, campers, and fishermen can all discover something to appeal to them. The Missouri River running nearby offers its waters to boaters, and nature lovers will delight in the many different species of songbirds and trees and shrubs found here. And if you have especially sharp eyes, you might be able to glimpse the deer, raccoon, fox, coyote, and bobcat that discreetly live in this rugged country.

For campers, there's a special brand of attractions. Nestled in canyons or on top of hills offering gorgeous views, the campgrounds come complete with fireplaces, water, and restrooms. The charge at Ponca, as at the other three state parks, is 50 cents per carload per night.

For those who prefer more at-home conveniences, Ponca offers housekeeping cabins that are just what mom ordered with a minimum of work and a maximum of enjoyment. Eight new double-unit cabins were opened recently and for $8 per day the family can have the time of their lives. If more beds are needed, rollaways can be brought in for $1 per day.

The double-unit cabins are situated in groups of four in hillside settings. Looking out from the screened front porch of the log-walled, knotty-pine-paneled cabin, the spectacular view comes right into your home away from home. The cabins have two bedrooms, a modern shower, and a large kitchen and living area.

Don't worry about bringing anything but the food. The beds are completely outfitted with linens and plenty of blankets. The refrigerator comes complete with ice cubes when you move in, the dishes and cooking utensils are all ready as is the modern electric range. To make for complete comfort during the warm summer days, the cabins are all air conditioned. In case of a sudden chill spell, the cabin's electric heating unit will still keep you warm and comfortable.

Large groups, like Boy Scouts, find the park the ideal place for their nature studies, hikes, and good times. Picnickers will also find Ponca made with them in mind. For years picnickers have been enjoying the area with its relaxing atmosphere. Long ago when Ponca was known to local folks as Bigley's Ravine, the cool, shady banks of the Missouri were looked upon as the ideal spot for a lazy summer 10 OUTDOOR NEBRASKA   picnic. There have been many improvements made since then.

Hikers will be able to wander to their hearts' content at Ponca. Approximately eight miles of trails lace the many hills and offer trips through terrain that abounds in natural beauty. Walk over the bluffs and along the river bank. Here on the bank tiny snails are seen, and embedded in the rocks are miniature fossils from a long-ago time. High in the bluff behind you, cliff swallows have built their nests and flit about. Up steep hills and down into heavily-wooded ravines, or on leisurely strolls, there are trails that will fit everyone's taste.

When you have finished exploring the many trails and enjoying the scenery, what better way to top off the day than with a cooling dip in the modern pool. Opened in 1956, the pool is open every afternoon and evening during the summer season. Lifeguards are always on duty, and the pool has full filtration and chlorination for your protection. Children from neighboring towns often use the spa during the summer for Red Cross-sponsored swimming lessons. And for the youngsters there is a supervised wading pool.

In the Missouri River and nearby creeks, the fishing is tops. Whether fishing from the shore or exploring the big river in a small boat, the angler can find plenty of sport. Drum, carp, and catfish abound, and the list of species that have been taken from the river at Ponca runs long. Sauger, walleye, white bass, black crappie, sturgeon, buffalo, and paddlefish round out the list and give lots to look forward to. Bring along some tempting minnows, crayfish, and night crawlers and you're on your way.

Much as Ponca has to offer the visitor now, there are big plans for the future. A new trailer court will be opened with complete facilities for trailer hookups. A hot and cold shower room will be installed near the camping area, and completely new group-camp facilities will replace the barracks used in the past. The group camp will include a mess hall, dormitories, latrine-shower building, and sports area.

In the near future, park visitors will be able to follow the trails through the hills on horseback. A string of riding horses will be available that should prove extremely popular with visitors.

The vacationer can also look forward to numerous side trips that will add interesting variety. During the summer, on Sunday afternoons, the Omaha Indians hold Open Tepee at their powwow grounds at Macy, topped off in August with their big annual powwow. The Winnebagos also hold their annual powwow at the Winnebago grounds in August. Both are within easy driving distance of Ponca. Lewis and Clark Lake is also within driving distance of the park and can provide plenty of sport and sightseeing for the whole family.

Ponca State Park is waiting for you now with its tree-covered hills, fine facilities, and opportunities for summer sport. Make your reservations by writing the park superintendent, and get ready for a relaxing, fun-filled vacation in northeastern Nebraska.

SCALPING AT PLUM CREEK

WILL THOMPSON'S eyes fluttered open, saw the horror that was everywhere, and closed again. It was a nightmare, one that would go away if he waited a moment for the fog to clear from his throbbing brain. So he lay there, letting the sweat drip from his brow and enduring the ring that ricocheted within. It would pass and he would see the familiar walls of the Plum Creek Station, and hear the snores of the rest of the repair crew.

But it was strange that he was sweating, for the August night was cool. And he couldn't understand the pain that threatened to blow the top of his skull clean back to England. Thompson raised his hand to wipe his brow, and in an instant understood all. This wasn't a dream, and the sweat wasn't sweat at all, but blood coming from where his thick shank of auburn hair had been. Thompson had been scalped alive.

Again Thompson opened his eyes, this time knowing he was a part of the macabre scene that glowed in the untamed Nebraska prairie. Looming precariously above him was No. 53, the General Sherman locomotive mortally wounded by a Trail rammed completely through its iron innards. Above the escaping steam Thompson heard someone groan and looked up at the cab to see Engineer Brookes Bowers hanging from the window, more dead than alive and his scalp gone.

The tender had catapulted over the engine and lay in shambles to the west, its wood scattered over the right-of-way. The three front cars of the freight headed for end-o-track at North Platte were rammed up behind the engine. Amazingly, the other 13 cars and the caboose were still on the track. The light of the retreating freight train spotlighted them against a dark sky, catching the bronzed savages looting cars.

Thompson closed his gyes again, letting the Indians believe he was dead. His breathing would surely give him away and he tried to control it. But he was safe enough for the moment. The hostiles were more interested in the freight's rich cache of goods.

The young section hand tried to piece together all that happened, but his mind was not up to the 12 OUTDOOR NEBRASKA   task. Why the train was there was a mystery. The last he remembered was the crashing handcar, the desperate retreat, the leering face and raised tomahawk, and then blackness. The remembering was too vivid, the throb too intense, and Thompson again retreated into unconsciousness.

His date with a Cheyenne tomahawk began when the telegraph wire to the West went dead at 7:30 that evening, August 6, 1867. Thompson and the rest of the crew had just returned from a day of making minor repairs to the track four miles west of Plum Creek (now Lexington). When the crew pulled in, night telegraph-operator Sam Wallace advised them of the break and the work that had to be done.

After a hurried supper, Foreman Jim Delahunty, Tim Murphy, John Kearn, Pat Handerhand, Pat Griswold, Murphy, and Thompson grabbed their tools and guns and climbed aboard the handcar. None of them suspected that the Cheyennes had cut the line, using the wire to attach a tie to the track.

All eyes were on the telegraph line as the crew sped toward disaster. They slowed to investigate a small fire on the north side of the track, but since it was near where they had been working, Delahunty ordered the crew to keep pumping. In the fast diminishing light, none saw the slight bump in the twin rails that stretched to the horizon.

The handcar hit the obstruction at full speed. Lurching crazily off the track, it spewed the men and their gear over the right-of-way. Before they knew what happened, Turkey Leg and 25 mounted braves were upon them. Each man grabbed what weapon he could, opened fire, and started to leg it back to the station. Handerhand, Griswold, and Thompson didn't have a chance, cut off from the rest with the first charge of the hostiles.

The mounted warriors rode in close to the running trio and clubbed Thompson and Handerhand to the ground with their tomahawks. Griswold, though shot in the hip, miraculously managed to elude the Indians and crawled off into the darkness to safety.

Delahunty and the rest of the crew were able to shoot two Cheyennes and a pony in their running fight to the station. This was enough to discourage their pursuers, and the railroaders made good their escape. Unfortunately, none of them was in a position to warn the fast-coming freight from the east.

At the last moment, Engineer Bowers saw the dumped handcar and pulled hard on the brake, but it was too late. The loaded cars, trailing behind at 25 miles per hour, humped up on the tender, driving the screeching, steaming banshee into the obstruction. Fireman George Henshaw slammed into the fire box and was killed. Bowers was thrown out of the window by the impact, mortally wounded. For the first and only time, the Indians had been successful in wrecking a train.

The three men in the caboose, Conductor William Kinney and Brakemen Fred Lewis and F. L. Barker, were thrown to the floor by the impact. No one was hurt. Lewis and Barker took off for high country when they heard the first Indian yells, escaping to an island on the Platte. Kinney, realizing that a second freight was right behind, grabbed his lantern and raced back up the right-of-way.

Amazed with what they had accomplished, the Cheyennes let him go. With Kinney in, the second freight retreated back to Plum Creek. Had it not been for the conductor's fast thinking, the Cheyennes would have counted more coup in this one night than all the hostiles had yet been able to accomplish on the entire Union Pacific spread.

News of the wreck crackled up and down the telegraph wire. Not long after the second train pulled into Plum Creek, Delahunty, Wallace, Murphy, and Kearns arrived there. Pat Griswold staggered in sometime later, reporting both Handerhand and Thompson dead.

This was the news that Union Pacific officials had long dreaded. Months earlier, when both Sioux and Cheyenne ran roughshod over the construction crews, Chief Engineer Grenville Dodge had written General William T. Sherman:

". . . We cannot hold our men to our work unless we have troops. Our station (continued on page 28)

Come on, Dad LETS GO FISHING

OUR SIX BOYS were having the time of their young lives, with the small farm pond they were so thoroughly thrashing the center of a great adventure. But we dads were having a lot of fun, too. Taking time out from our more usual evening pattern of reading the paper and relaxing, we had introduced our sons to the outdoors.

The kids were spread around the pond watching their bobbers nod with the soft waves. We dads were knotted together talking about the happenings of the day, but keeping a close watch on the lines ourselves. We were as anxious as the boys to see who would land the first fish.

Suddenly, the stillness of the summer sunset was broken by a whoop from young Dave Kramer, "I've got one, Dad. I've got one."

"Pull him in. Don't lose him now," his dad, Bill, yelled, rushing up to coach his son in a battle with 14 OUTDOOR NEBRASKA   an eight-inch bluegill. It was hard to tell who was the most excited, Bill or his boy. The bluegill skittered across the pond, then swung precariously through the air to a pair of small arms. Dave missed and the fish splashed Bill before it finally flip-flopped on the bank. The bluegill squirted out of the six-year-old's small hands, but he grabbed the line and hoisted the fish for all to see, the first fish he had ever landed.

"Hey, you guys. Look at my whopper."

Boys and dads crowded around Dave to see the first fish of the evening. The eight-incher looked mighty good to the kids, and they hurried back to the pond to see who would get in the next lick.

The eleven of us are members of the YMCA's Indian Guide program. We call ourselves the Otos. Tribe members include Bill and his boy, Dave; Cleve Stauffer and son, Jim; Bill Wheeler and son, Neal; Bob Finley and sons, Jeff and Bruce; and myself and son, Paul.

The Indian Guide program accomplishes the basic step of getting fathers and sons together. Once this is done, the fathers get together and select a program that will keep all hands active and interested. We chose the outdoors, believing that it has the most appeal to any boy, young or old.

Boys have plenty of opportunities to enjoy the outdoors, but not often with their dads. They're pretty much limited to what the neighborhood has to offer, unable to explore the countryside because their fathers are too busy making a living all day. For a dad to take time out to join his son in enjoying the outdoors is something extra special, the experiences shared together remembered for a long, long time.

When you hand your son his first fishing rod and tell him to go to it you can almost see him grow a couple of inches. Stringing up can be a real problem and nothing can top the way he massacres a worm. But your boy's learning and having fun and so are you. Finally, after a wait that is endless, the bobber nudges a little bit, then goes under, and the first fish is his.

Life around the pond doesn't miss a boy's sharp eyes. The booming of a bullfrog will bring a startled "What's that, Dad?" and a turtle will be teased all the way down to the water. Sometimes the two of you lay back and watch the clouds roll by, saying nothing. You don't need to, each understanding the other.

Paul and I shared these experiences on this first outing. So did all the other sons and dads of the Oto tribe. The boys hadn't creeled any amount of fish, but all could say that they had caught one when we left the pond at dark. They were already planning the next outing and anxious to show tonight's catches to their mothers or anyone else who would care to take a look. A tradition had started tonight, one that would continue for a long time.

LAKES OF GOLD

OUTDOOR RECREATION has boomed to a multimillion-dollar industry in southwest Nebraska, thanks to the Republican Valley's impressive trio of giant reservoirs. Boasting a combined water area of 10,000 surface acres, Enders, Swanson, and Harry Strunk reservoirs attracted over 400,000 outdoor enthusiasts last year.

The phenomenal story involves a nine-county area containing 17,500 square miles, populated by nearly 46,000 people. In the early planning and construction stages of the large dams being built for flood control and irrigation storage, very little consideration was given to what has proved to be a very important use of the three big reservoirs, outdoor recreation.

If the federal and state planners and prospective water users could have gazed into a crystal ball they would have seen a vision to quicken the heart of many outdoor enthusiasts. Boats by the score would be plying the waters of these newly created lakes. Campers, picnickers, swimmers, fishermen, water 16 OUTDOOR NEBRASKA   skiers, and hunters would be utilizing the man-made play meccas.

The rapid transformation of the landscape and social habits of the people and the quick change in economic conditions started with construction of the Frenchman-Cambridge Division, Missouri River Basin project, in the late 1940's. Enders Dam and Reservoir, Medicine Creek Dam and Harry Strunk Lake, and Trenton Dam and Swanson Lake were completed and filled in the early 1950's. A fourth and very promising attraction for recreation enthusiasts, Red Willow Dam and Hugh Butler Lake, is under construction and will be completed in 1962.

During construction of the first of these three big reservoirs, only minimum basic facilities were planned to take care of the sight-seers and an occasional fisherman and to provide protection for reclamation facilities. It was not expected that the reservoirs, located in a lightly populated section of the state, would attract many visitors.

Time, however, has written a different story. In keeping with national trends after World War II, a virtual "recreational explosion" occurred around the new lakes. A whole new world of activity opened.

The minimum recreation facilities, constructed with the three dams and reservoirs, were greatly overtaxed. Fortunately, the Bureau of Reclamation, National Park Service, and the Game, Forestation and Parks Commission worked out a co-operative program which has in large measure eased pressure.

Paul H. Berg, project manager for the Kansas River Basin, in whose area these lakes are located, was convinced that there should be a "new look" at the recreation potential for reclamation projects in the planning stage.

The University of Nebraska was called upon to make a comprehensive and unbiased study. It would collect vital information to determine the extent of the economic and sociological impact attributable to recreation at the three sites.

An informative report containing numerous side lights on the extent and variations in the recreational uses of the lakes was prepared. Over 3,000 questionnaires were sent to persons living in southwest Nebraska and northwest Kansas once the study got under way. Scores of people were interviewed during the summer recreation season by trained personnel.

The detailed surveys made of business establishments in the communities in the area revealed that many new ventures had moved into the area to furnish the special services and equipment demanded by sportsmen. Concessionaires now operate at Swanson and Harry Strunk lakes, supplying goods and services related to the outdoors. Thanks to the lakes, the construction industry has also boomed. Twenty-two cabins have been built at Enders and 19 at Strunk and Swanson.

Why have the many new business ventures been attracted to southwest Nebraska since the lakes were built? Dr. Edgar Palmer of the University's Business Research Bureau found that almost $1.4 million is spent annually in the area in connection with recreation at the lakes, plus another $1.2 million spent elsewhere.

These expenditures generate another $2 million derivative business associated with the direct recreation spending. He also found that $1.4 million spent in the area is providing work for 50 persons directly, plus another 70 indirectly. This means that about 300 persons in the immediate area, including families of workers, are supported by the recreation business.

"This is not the only economic benefit from the lakes," says Dr. Palmer. "The presence of recreational facilities is an important factor in making a region attractive, and water is one of the most important types of such facilities in this regard. Prospects for the establishment of industry often inquire concerning the quality of such facilities in deciding whether to locate in a given community."

It has been said that one acre of water is worth a thousand acres of land. These three big impoundments prove the point and then some, generating a multimillion-dollar industry where none existed before. Outdoor recreation, obviously, plays a dramatic part in the state's economic picture.

ARCHIE the Elephant

ERNEST HEMINGWAY once told of the carcass of a leopard that was found on the side of a desolate mountain, and how it puzzled man to understand why it had gone that high and what it had been seeking. There is yet another mystery about a beast, a gigantic one that plodded its 10 tons of flesh and bone across Nebraska even before the time man stalked bison with a lance or atlatl.

Scientists at the University of Nebraska State Museum gave him his name, Archidiskodon maibeni. When they measured Archie, they found that he was the largest land mammal and elephant ever found. They still believe, with the usual scientific reservations for the outside chance, that he was the largest that ever lived.

The mystery that begs for an answer is why Archie and his ponderous and hulking brothers and sisters, who once walked through Nebraska and North America, died out. Why did Archie, 25 feet long and 14 feet high, die in a hill of dust?

Archie's story, or at least the part man figured in, began one afternoon in 1922 when a Nebraska farmer and his wife in Lincoln County, watched chickens pecking at a limy, flaky substance on the ground. After a little digging, Mrs. F. S. Karriger uncovered one of Archie's 300-pound tusks. His bones lay underground in a canyon where dust and loess measured 100 feet in thickness.

Not knowing what they found, but believing it was good for their chickens, they helped them get at it until Mrs. Karriger uncovered a portion of the fossil skull. The world's scientists were electrified when the University began studying and describing 18 OUTDOOR NEBRASKA   the beast. Dr. Edwin H. Barbour, then director of the University of Nebraska State Museum, procured 70,000-year-old Archie and began mounting him.

In the scientific literature, often given to the dry but accurate description of fossils, there appears, in Archie's case, pure excitement. Dr. Barbour used such words as incredible, magnificent, outstanding, huge, and giant. These were strange and uncommon outbursts from a cool-headed researcher.

Dr. C. Bertrand Schultz, a student of Dr. Barbour and now director of the museum, knows a good deal about Archie and his kind that lived during the last great interglacial period. With that knowledge and that of other Ice Age specialists, it is possible to piece together more of Archie's story, at least in general.

Forget, for a moment, about Nebraska's lush prairie, its green and golden fields, its gently sloping and hazy hills of sand, and the dark green rivers and streams that honeycomb through the state. Nebraska was likely a nightmare for Archie. He was born and he died in what scientists call the beginning of the Wisconsin glacial period, one of the four great advances of ice that gouged its way from the north.

Millions of tons of dust and rock that had been imbedded and melted out of the third great advance was already as loose as the refuse of a vacuum cleaner. The dust swirled in raging storms as Archie and the rest lumbered away from the filthy black clouds, trumpeting in terror.

The great beast was hungry and thirsty most of the time. He moved with the scent of the green bush, from one murky, muddied hole to another. He and all his kind had an appetite that required several hundred pounds of vegetation a day and many gallons of water.

But Archie had more trouble. Herds of giant bison were muscling in on Archie's already barren territory. The bison herds increased, cropping the green life that Archie needed by the bushel just to keep from falling. But fall he did, maybe choked to death, maybe starved, maybe dead of old age, scientists don't know for sure. But this they know: When Archie did die, one of those dust storms or a giant flood of mud covered him quickly enough to protect his bones until the (continued on page 30)

A July BIG ONE

MY HUSBAND and I have spent many years fishing Nebraska's Platte. I remember many warm nights with fire flies blinking, frogs croaking, a cozy campfire with friends ringed around, and a coffee pot never allowed to run dry. But there were other nights, too, hideous ones spent huddled in last season's duck blind to escape the incessant rain. I've fried breakfast eggs over a campfire with rain splashing in the pan and have been burned to toast under a hot midday sun.

Walt and I went line fishing every Friday and evening of every summer holiday in those days, rain or shine, camping overnight. Anyone wanting to go along just let us know and Walt served as a sort of guide and I was always camp cook.

But the nicest memory I can recall is the warm July night in 1955 when we caught the big one that didn't get away. The next day was the Fourth so we decided to go on an overnight camping trip for the holiday. I'd packed and planned all day, and we finally set off with a small hauling trailer hitched behind the car. It carried a big tub of ice and a huge watermelon.

Our favorite spot was on the Gottsch farm halfway between Springfield and Louisville. We drove right to a good choice of campsites and the water was good there, deep channels changing from one side to the other. On the night we caught the big one, Walt's brothers, Ray and Ralph, and two cousins, Don and Leo Mitera, had come along.

Walt is one of those rare people who seem to have a kinship with nature. He can look at the river and "read" the shallows and channels. He can tell right where the fish will be feeding the best and whether or not they'll be biting. If they're not biting, he can visualize for you the big ones roaming along the bottom and convince you the best one of all is going to grab your bait any minute. Walt lends a vibrant excitement and expectation to every outing.

Our party skimmed across the channel in a boat loaded with long, pointed willows, bait, and lines. Walt got out in the shallows and forced the first willow deep as it would go in the sandy bottom. He attached the line, then threw it out into the deep 20 OUTDOOR NEBRASKA   surging current. Don and Leo put their lines out next. They always fished as a team. We had seined crawdads and minnows for bait and also had brought some worms and commercial bait. But on that big night the crawdads proved to be the most tempting to the catfish.

The first few runs yielded just a few fish. They were nice ones, one and two-pounders, "A sure sign the big ones would be running," Walt said.

We were getting tired. It was almost two in the morning. The six of us had sorted out the biggest, best crawdads and boiled them in spices and were eating them with hot coffee and cold melon. The men were wondering whether to run the lines once more or leave them till morning. They finally decided to check the bait once more before turning in for the night.

I jumped into the boat and rode along. The first few lines yielded one fish and one tangled, twisted hook. Then Don began pulling in the line we would all remember. One touch and he said, "I've got one," then, "It's a big one." Don gave a slight pull and a huge form broke the surface, rolled, and disappeared again. I saw Don's face go white in the lantern light as he called his brother. My heart froze. Leo helped Don pull the line again and the huge fish came heavily up again, then suddenly shot upstream. Walt grabbed a small net designed for panfish.

"They'll never make it," I thought, "that cat's too big, too determined to shake loose."

But then the catfish took one lunge and Walt jammed the small net straight down to the sandy bottom. More by luck than anything else, the fish hit and was caught enough that he couldn't get away.

The three men wrestled the monster into the boat. I threw the life jacket over it and we shouted and laughed and gaped at the prize. The hook had pulled almost loose. One more jerk and that would have been a long-gone blue.

Back at camp we were all ready to pack up and go home but Walt hadn't finished his trip and wanted to stay as planned. Walt anchored the fish firmly to a dead tree along the bank before we turned in.

It was noon on the Fourth before we could convince Walt it was time to go home. The men put the catfish in the big tub that had held the melon and brought him "back alive". Later, the blue weighed in at 28 pounds, 3 ounces.

I don't go fishing much anymore. We have three new little anglers that need some growth before they're broken in. We drove by our old spot the other day. The farmer has moved to town and they're dredging lakes on our old camping grounds. But the blues and channels and muds are still roaming the river. The crawdads they're biting on aren't on our hooks, but the memories will always be there, especially the memory of the big one that didn't get away.

RENOVATION Payoff

NEBRASKA HAS added a raft of new sport-fishing lakes to its long list of lunker producers without going to the expense of building new dams or digging lakes. These bonus waters came about through rotenone and toxaphene, key fish-management chemicals that make sour lakes support prime game-fish populations.

Some 156 lakes have been treated since the legislature authorized the use of fish-killing chemicals in 1955. They vary in size from .25 to 819 acres. Several lakes are already producing, while others are still in the process of building up populations.

Rotenone and toxaphene are proved fish killers. They are called upon when rough fish take over or game-fish populations become so large that the catch is stunted. Their purpose is to kill the entire fish population. Once this is accomplished, preferred species are stocked. Rotenone effects only fish. Unfortunately, it does not always assure a complete fish kill and is more expensive. Toxaphene, though far more effective, can only be used where other life is not threatened.

Of the numerous rehabilitation jobs completed since 1955, several are worthy of mention. Since it normally takes about three years following treatment to once again furnish angling, many of the lakes still have young, growing populations.

Swan Lake in central Holt County was treated in 1958 and today anglers are harvesting northern pike, largemouth bass, bluegill, and crappie. This is the outstanding fishing site in the county and the future holds great promise for continued angler success.

Hackberry and Pelican Lakes on the Valentine National Wildlife Refuge have returned to their primary use as waterfowl nesting and resting areas. Increased waterfowl usage, vegetation, growth, and game-fish populations again prevail following rehabilitation in 1957 and 1958. Dewey, Clear, and Willow Lakes, treated in 1960 and 1961, have already shown a marked waterfowl increase and will provide sport fishing by 1964. Shore-line counts and weights of dead fish revealed that these highly fertile lakes had been supporting 600 to 900 pounds of carp per acre. The total count of game fish was less than one per cent by weight.

The Dunning Pit No. 1 and the Brainard Pit in Blaine County are prime examples of successful 22 OUTDOOR NEBRASKA   renovation projects. Both contained abundant carp, carpsucker, and sucker populations before treatment. The waters were investigated and found capable of supporting trout. Rainbow were stocked and one year later local anglers were taking 12-inch fish.

Round Lake in central Cherry County was rehabilitated in 1961 with toxaphene. Because of the lake's high water exchange, game-fish stocking is already taking place. Once carp comprised 99 per cent of the catch. Within two years, good bass, pike, and bluegill fishing can be expected.

Not all renovation jobs achieve a 100 per cent fish kill. Incomplete kills can be attributed to ineffectual toxicants, high water turbidities which buffer the toxicant, poor dispersal of the chemical, or escape of fish in spring-seep areas.

Large lakes having muck bottoms and a dense growth of vegetation have been a special nemesis to technicians. Some of these lakes are now being treated with toxaphene. By using this highly toxic chemical a lake can be kept "hot" for a period of 12 to 14 months. This prevents escape of rough fish in the spring seeps and shallow weedy areas. A complete and final fish kill has resulted in all areas that have been treated with toxaphene since 1960.

Rotenone can also be used for partial control. In Shell Lake, for example, the problem did not involve carp or other rough fish, but rather an abundance of stunted yellow perch and bluegill. By thinning out these species with rotenone the remaining fish were provided with space and food.

Renovation is practiced on a smaller scale in southeastern Nebraska but has produced some quality angling in gravel pits. After rehabilitation, Fremont pits Nos. 2 and 4 and Louisville Pit No. 2 are now providing good bullhead and largemouth angling. Verdon Lake, renovated several years ago, now offers largemouth and crappie fishing.

In the west, several of the Bridgeport gravel pits were rehabilitated in 1956 and 1957 and restocked with rainbow and brook trout. These renovation jobs were only partially successful because of incomplete kills and the overflow of the river into one pit.

Ravenna Lake had a goldfish, carp, and stunted bluegill problem before being treated in 1960. The lake has only recently been restocked with bass, bluegill, and catfish. Rock Creek Lake underwent renovation in 1959 and will furnish good bass, bluegill, and catfish angling by late 1962. Muddy water is now clear because of the elimination of carp.

The entire watershed above the Red Willow Reservoir dam site was renovated in the fall of 1961 to make sure that all rough fish were absent before introducing game fish. This project required careful, detailed pre-renovation planning. Such planning has paid off in complete watershed rehabilitation.

The granddaddy of the Nebraska renovation jobs will take place during the fall of 1963. At this time 150 miles of the Snake and Boardman river watersheds in Cherry County will be treated to remove all existing rough-fish populations. This project is planned just prior to the closure of Merritt Dam on the Snake River. Following the treatment, trout will be stocked throughout the area. Merritt trout should furnish angling 10 months after stocking.

Reclaiming waters to provide increased sport fishing is progressing in Nebraska. Rotenone and toxaphene have proved effective tools, returning plenty of lakes as prime fish producers.

THE TIME IS NEAR

IN THE PONDEROSA-covered Pine Ridge of the northwest, more and more people are thrilling to their first glimpse of Nebraska's newest addition to the game-bird world, the Merriam's wild turkey. In the brief three years since their introduction into the Pine Ridge, the Merriam's have dispersed to the limits of their range, and by the fall of 1962 the population is expected to reach a minimum of 3,000 birds.

The Merriam's have enjoyed a real population explosion, the present number of turkeys the result of 28 birds released at two sites in 1959. These were obtained from wild Merriam's flocks in Wyoming and South Dakota and brought here as experimental transplants with the hope of adding this prime game bird to the list of huntable species.

The population increases that followed the initial plants were explosive in nature. Not even the technicians had hopes of such rapid increases, but after studying the population for two years, their ideas and thinking had to be modified to keep up with the boom. By the fall of the first production year it was estimated that approximately 125 birds were in the immediate areas of the two release sites. Investigations in 1960 revealed a population exceeding the 300-bird level scattered over the Pine Ridge range from the Wyoming state line to Hay Springs. And in the fall of 1961, some 1,000 to 1,500 occupied the entire Pine Ridge escarpment.

In developing a turkey program here technicians have an advantage over neighboring states. Both Wyoming and South Dakota have been working with 24 OUTDOOR NEBRASKA   turkeys longer, allowing Game Commission personnel to profit from their experiences and use the knowledge they have gained to develop a sound management plan.

Without exception, investigators in other states have reported that holding a turkey season as early as possible after the birds are established is highly desirable. Information from these states indicates an early hunting season has two principal advantages. It results in the removal of the unwary birds. Those remaining exhibit the typical wild turkey traits. Early hunting also permits the removal by hunters without slowing down the population growth.

The recreational values derived from hunting this species are one of the prime objectives of management, and thus the opening of a season this fall will be a climax for the project. The public expected a season some time after the project got under way, but the 1962 fall turkey season may surprise some people.

Many who have had an opportunity to observe wild turkeys in their habitat would readily testify that the birds seem unwary. This has been demonstrated by various unmolested and unhunted populations in various neighboring states and, in general, of the species of turkeys as a group. However, as soon as an open season has been declared the turkeys immediately exhibit their inherent characteristics of the true wild bird. This can be supported by the relatively low hunter successes in the various states. In time the unwary or misfits are weeded out of the population, leaving the wilder birds for breeding.

Montana, starting originally with 18 birds, estimated their fall population at 700 birds after the third breeding season. This compares to Nebraska's population estimate of 1,000 to 1,500 birds during the third fall. The following year Montana permitted 500 hunters to hunt turkeys for three days using any weapon. Hunting success was about 20 per cent, with about 100 birds taken. After hunting commenced, birds became quite wary and were difficult to hunt. Technicians expect this same behavior in Nebraska flocks.

Turkeys are quite secretive, especially during spring and summer. This may cause the occasional Pine Ridge visitor to think the population is low. The individual flock in a particular drainage may be low in number, but the whole unit is studied and taken into consideration for management of the big game birds.

As a complete unit, the Pine Ridge now supports a minimum of 1,000 birds and this fall is expected to have a minimum of 3,000 birds. An open season on this number will not remove enough to keep the population from increasing to the upper limits of the carrying capacity of the area. No one can say with any certainty what the upper limits of the carrying capacity will be, but it is believed that it will not exceed 5,000 birds. This level can biologically be attained after one more breeding season if the present high rate of population increase continues.

Along with this carrying capacity problem goes the reproductive potential of the breeding population. Numerous investigators have supported the idea that as the population of any species approaches the upper limit, the reproductive rate decreases. Some investigators believe this is due to sociological influences while others say it is due to physiological factors. In either case, the end result seems to be the same, that of a lower reproductive rate. Therefore, to maintain an efficient breeding population, theoretically, the annual increment, or increases, must be removed, keeping the population on the edge of a peak population number. This can be done with a hunting season.

The only mistake Nebraska may make is delaying the first season too long. Hunters can derive countless hours of recreational pleasures in trying to outwit the wary Merriam's. The wild turkey's secretiveness may cause many a hunter to agree on the ability of the birds to become the phantom of the woods. The time is near when Nebraskans will determine this for themselves.

THE Taste OF SUMMER

WHEN I WAS a boy in western Nebraska, my mother warned me that wild rose hips were poisonous. She was greatly disturbed when I told her I'd eaten some pickled buffalo berries at a poor relation's house, and the roof fell when I came home with breath reeking of wild onion and pockets full of badger bread.

Aside from an occasional mess of lambs-quarter greens in springtime, and one attempt at brewing a crock of dandelion wine, mother preferred garden stuff. Being a boy, I couldn't understand all that work raising vegetables and fruit with so many free wild ones handy.

Today, plenty of Nebraska's wild plants and fruits are being wasted from lack of harvest. You won't lower your grocery bill to the vanishing point, but you can discover some unique taste treats.

Instead of spinach, for instance, some wild substitutes are the common dandelion, lambs-quarter, or young milkweed shoots. All three grow in abandoned lots, along roadsides, and in unattended open fields. Pick the young, tender plants. Wash them carefully and remove any woody stems and coarse leaves. Cook them just as you would spinach, and serve with vinegar, crisp bacon, and a hard-boiled egg.

A word of warning. One variety of milkweed is extremely bitter, and a stalk of it can ruin a whole OUTDOOR NEBRASKA   pot of the tasty kind. Nibble a green leaf of every find until you can tell the two apart. The bitter one does not grow as large in the mature state as the edible variety.

For a salad green, you can't beat water cress. Look for it in gently flowing streams and clear spring holes where enough silt has been deposited to support its growth. Oddly enough, a favorite cress bed produces the year-round. Chop a hole in the ice in midwinter, and cress will be there under the clear water. Some varieties of cress grow entirely underwater, while others grow both above and below.

Most cresses are very bland in flavor. Generally, a mixture of cresses provides a more tasty salad than a single variety. Try any of your favorite salad dressings.

A favorite marsh plant, the common cattail, is quite a versatile edible. It grows in low, damp swales, and along the edges of lakes and ponds. Some old stalks, complete with unbroken tails, remain in most beds from year to year, so even the novice can hardly mistake it for any other marsh plant.

When new growth begins in spring, the shoots at root level are tender, creamy tidbits that combine wonderfully in a water-cress salad, or they may be used as a green vegetable dish alone. The old roots are available year-round as a substitute. Scrape off the plant's root hair and cut the roots in pieces. Boil and season them as you would potatoes. Before cooking, a cattail root is fibrous and very dry, almost like flour in texture, but once cooked it becomes soft and somewhat sweet. The root can also be baked, but should be parboiled first.

The cattail blooms in late spring. Yellow pollen at the top of the stalk was used by the Indian in place of flour for bread baking. It takes a while to collect enough of it for this purpose.

The root bulb of another water plant, the arrowhead, so called because its large leaves are arrow shaped, is also a tasty vegetable. You'll have to wade for this. Dig your shovel deep under the plant, and wash the mud away carefully. Like cattail, arrowhead root is fine either boiled or baked and served with butter.

Everyone admires the Sand Hill's yucca or soapweed when it's in full bloom. Few know that within the center of each flower is an acorn-sized nodule with a nut-like taste that is just right to munch on. No soapweed goes to seed in an occupied pasture, as cattle love these flowers, too.

While in grass country, look closely for a small, nodding white flower cluster. It may be a wild onion stalk. Wild onions are almost impossible to find unless they are in bloom, since they usually grow no taller than the grass that surrounds them. Four to eight inches is a usual height, and the plant appears as an exact miniature of its larger garden cousin. The bulb of the wild onion is from peanut to marble size, and in spring is very mild. The bulb grows much stronger in taste as the season progresses. Then it provides a definite lift for any soup.

Next winter, jelly made from these next three plants will put the taste of summer in your mouth. Mint grows plentifully in Nebraska. The spearmint smell of a crushed leaf is unmistakable. If you've never tried mint tea, you've missed a treat, but a stronger fusion is needed for the jelly. A recipe will be found in the package of commercial pectin you need to make the jelly.

Sour dock is an early spring flowering plant with a large cluster of coarse-petaled flowers. The flower cluster is used here. Boil for 20 minutes in enough water to cover them and use the liquid. The same jelly recipe used for mint may be followed.

How mistaken my mother was when she thought the red seed ball of the wild rose was poisonous. Actually, these seed balls or hips contain high quantities of vitamin C. Three of them provide as much of this important vitamin as a large orange.

To make jelly, gather the hips while they're still soft. Use enough water to cover them, and boil for 30 minutes. Stir and mash the hips during this time with a potato masher. The odor is not pleasant, but don't be discouraged. Press out the liquid in a jelly bag as the seeds themselves are indigestible. Add a little lemon to the liquid to bring out the odd flavor, and follow the mint-jelly recipe again.

Wild strawberries grow over portions of Nebraska, and come into season (continued on page 32)

SCALPING AT PLUM CREEK

men will not stay at tanks and stations 20 miles apart, unprotected.

"I tremble every day for fear of a stampede. I have smothered all of the recent attacks and kept them out of the press. General Augur and myself know it, but should our men get at the real truth, they will stampede. State agents, telegraph men, emigrants, tie contractors, and railroad men of all descriptions out there are pressing for protection."

Dodge could stifle the news no longer and it spread across the Nebraska plains like an untamed prairie fire. A company of Major Frank North's Pawnee scouts were called in from North Platte and another sent from Omaha. The railroad men, impatient to strike back at the Cheyennes, climbed aboard a special train early the next morning and headed for the crash scene. When the impromptu force reached Plum Creek station they could see smoke billowing in the distance. They realized then that the fate of anyone still aboard the train had already been decided. Hopping mad at this latest action, they constructed a fort of ties on a flatcar, hooked it in front? of the engine, and moved ahead.

The train had gone only a short distance when one of the railroaders spotted Thompson. He was staggering along the right-of-way. Garbed only in his shirt and his head black with dried blood, he presented a sickening example of the treatment other men would get if they fell into the hostiles' hands.

Hauled aboard, Thompson mumbled out the story of the nightmare he would never forget. He had crawled into the thick weeds after he had regained consciousness again. The Cheyennes, busy with looting the cars, failed to notice his escape. The section hand had spent the night in periods of consciousness and unconsciousness, forcing himself between sieges of nausea to stagger on toward Plum Creek and safety.

Pushing westward, the train came within sight of the smouldering wreck. The railroaders could see the Cheyennes galloping across the prairie, their horses streaming colorful rolls of calico. Others had cracked open boxes of boots and had cut the bottoms off of them, using the tops for leggings as they danced around the fire. A barrel of whiskey had been discovered and the Indians toasted themselves at their success in wrecking the train.

The engineer gave a loud whistle and the railroaders opened fire. Grabbing what loot they could, the victorious Cheyennes broke for the hills south of the track. Being without horses, the men could only watch them go. The train eased into the crash scene and a couple of men made a dash to the engine, hoping, as Thompson reported, that Bowers was alive.

Bowers was alive, barely. He died shortly after they eased him down from the cab. Gear was scattered over the prairie. Boots, coffee, sugar, bolts of cloth, everything that was in the cars had been looted and thrown about.

And within the litter was Thompson's scalp, almost passed by the search party. When Thompson saw it, he claimed it as his own, and quickly scrounged up a bucket of salt water. He hoped to preserve his hair until he could find a doctor to sew the seven-by-nine-inch auburn shank back in place.

North's Pawnee scouts arrived from North Platte aboard a special train. They unloaded their horses and took off in pursuit of the Cheyennes. Turkey Leg's band was far out in front, however, and the Pawnee gave up after a short chase. Work crews moved in to clear the tracks and Thompson was put aboard a passenger train for Omaha.

The news that Thompson had survived the crash spread over the line. That (continued on page 30)

SPEAK UP

"Today I came home and as usual turned on the television set. When I watch television I occasionally glance out our picture window. I didn't see anything unusual until I noticed a pheasant staring at me. My heart skipped about five beats, and I thought I was seeing things, but there he was just big as life. Times must be hard and pheasants must be curious to go around peeking in windows."—Larry Hackworih, Seward.

"First of all I would like to shake your hand for the fine job you are doing on OUTDOOR Nebraska. However, there is one comment I would like to make about the magazine's content. I understand it is about hunting and fishing and it seems to me you stray from the point. Some examples are 'NEBRASKAland's Own' and 'Branding Time'—To me they stray from what I understood to be the point."—Mike Speece, Wood River.

Unlike most other state-published magazines, OUTDOOR Nebraska is the official guide to all types of family outdoor and vacation activities in the state. Its purpose is to help everybody enjoy, utilize, and appreciate Nebraska's many outdoor recreation resources. It is our opinion that outdoor sports and vacation subjects naturally go together.—Editor.

"After reading your article in 'Speak Up' about the 42-inch northern eating a 22-inch northern, I remembered that I caught a six-inch bullhead last year that had 15 crayfish shells in it."—Rich Tesar, Omaha.

"In your February issue you had a very good article on 'Dog Talk'. It told almost everything you would need to know about training a dog. One point you missed was how to break a gun-shy dog. We have a dog that could be a good hunter if she were not so gun-shy."—Mrs. Larry Sloner, Firth.

To break a gun-shy dog many trainers suggest shooting a toy cap gun while the dog is eating, around the kennel or yard, and while in the field, to get him accustomed to the noise. When this noise is accepted without unusual signs of nervousness, change to a .22 rifle and then to a shotgun.—Editor.

"Thank you for the recent article on skin diving in your magazine. Many of us were very glad to see this because enthusiasm in skin diving is growing more popular in our state.

"We in the Omaha area are forming a skin* diving club in membership with the Underwater Society of America. This is an important first step to organize a sport that is both useful and very exciting. It is obvious that organization of this sport will contribute greatly to safety.

"We are just getting organized and would like to invite all SCUBA divers and those interested in this new sport to contact us. This way we can get to know all our diving buddies and, most of all, get organized faster."—Dale Davis, 5015 Pine St., Omaha.

"Each month I look forward to the second Wednesday. That's the day boat mail gets here on the island and that's the day OUTDOOR Nebraska is put in my mail box. I'm the Line Chief of this squadron and it seems I just don't get much accomplished that day—I can't even hear what my wife has to say until I've read every page.

"I left Grand Island 21 years ago for the service and next to letters from home, the magazine is the best mail I get.

"Here on Okinawa our hunting is limited to mostly green-winged teal and a few mallards, although there are some doves. To get into good dove hunting areas you have to go into territory infested with 'habus', a poisonous Asian snake. Last year there were 328 people bitten by 'habu' snakes on the island and 34 never recovered.

"Personnel on this island get in some real good pheasant hunting but we have to fly to the small island of Che ju'do or Saishu, 98 miles off the south coast of Korea and 196 miles west of Fukuoka, Japan. There is no limit but we are allowed to bring back only 15 birds. The rest are given to the native Koreans. Hunting is real good and it sure reminds me of home except we hit the rice paddies instead of the cornfields."—SM/Sgt. Roger Burdick. Okinawa.

"In the issue of your magazine just before the big game hunting season opens next fall, I suggest you have a story on how to properly skin out a deer or antelope head for mounting.

"I do taxidermy work in my spare time and every fall and winter mount 15 to 25 big-game heads. At least 75 per cent are split up the throat or cut off short. I'm sure other taxidermists have the same trouble and a lot of beautiful trophies are ruined each year.

"I think a story on this subject just before the season would save many beautiful heads and make a lot less trouble for the taxidermist."—George Clausen, Grand Island.

"In the Field and Home Care part of the hunting regulations you give some pointers on dressing squirrels. I think my method is easier and faster. First scrape through the skin on the under side at the base of the tail. Then cut through the tail bone but leave the skin on the top intact.

"From this cut slice across the top of each hip. Place your foot on the tail and pull. The skin should come off almost in one piece. With a little practice you can skin out a day's bag in practically no time." —Norman Decker, Lincoln.

SCALPING AT PLUM CREEK

Will Thompson was alive was something in itself, but to be scalped and be around to tell about it was even more surprising to rugged frontier people who were used to such surprises.

A large crowd greeted Thompson at Omaha, and after he told of his harrowing experience, he was whisked away to Hamilton House on Douglas Street where Dr. Richard C. Moore cared for him. Thompson's dreams of having his scalp restored were shattered. Moore could only treat the gaping wound, hoping that with care it would heal.

Thompson's brush with the wild and untamed West and the hostiles that fought to keep it that way was too much for the young section hand. Soon after he recovered, he returned to England. Thompson wrote to Dr. Moore as late as 1913. When he died remains a mystery.

But part of Thompson stayed in Nebraska. When he learned that his hair could not be sewn back on, he had the scalp tanned. Moore, hearing that he was leaving, requested and got the scalp as a grisly memento of the train wreck.

Moore had the scalp sealed in a glass bell, and before he died, gave it to the Omaha Public Library where it was displayed for many years. Recently, the library gave the scalp to the Joslyn Museum in Omaha where it is stored today. It and a stone marker four miles west of Lexington are the only things left to remind today's travelers of the days when the road West into Nebraska wasn't quite so tame.

ARCHIE THE ELEPHANT

fossilized remains were discovered in Nebraska. There are many mysteries associated with Archie, and many of the hundreds of thousands of persons who gaze up in awe at him every year ask questions that have only partial answers. Why, they ask, did he grow so big and where did he come from?

The answers of the scientists go much like this. Nature, that broad, indefinable, and flexible word we all use, may have played a trick on the mammoths of that time. Gigantism occurred from time to time with almost every vertebrate mammal. The largest camel in the world, for example, as well as the largest American rhino fossil are also in the University of Nebraska State Museum.

Scientists who study the bones believe it may have been Archie's huge size which allowed him to compete for food for a time, but ironically his size may have caused his extinction because of the enormous amount of food he had to have to live.

One thing scientists have learned is that animals who have been the most adept at changing in the face of changing circumstances have survived. Archie's kind was separated from the living because they just couldn't change rapidly enough. Exactly what those circumstances were that required change is not altogether known.

Archie's ancestors did not originate in Nebraska or even in North America. Once they reached North America via the land bridge at the Bering Straits they migrated south with the ice. These animals developed from the same root-stock source as the Indian elephants of Asia. Other animals that came to America at nearly the same time were the giant bison, musk ox, wild cow, stag-moose, caribou, giant bear, cougar, jaguar, and many others. This, too, brings up many unanswered questions. Why did some of those animals migrate and not others who were apparently as healthy and able? Hemingway's mystery of the leopard on the mountain is just one among millions.

There are some things about Archie that are no longer a mystery. His bones alone weigh as much as a school bus. The tusks were approximately 13 feet long and 33 inches in diameter. Once magnificent pieces of ivory, they would have turned a Congo chieftain's eye green with envy.

Archie's here to see and marvel at, a rare Nebraska prize of the long ago. The next time you're in Lincoln, drop up and pay him a visit. He's waiting patiently at the University of Nebraska's State Museum.

OUTDOOR ELSEWHERE

WASHINGTON, D. C-----Bird migrations are being studied more easily, thanks to a rain of colored dye. At the Muleshoe National Wildlife Refuge in Texas, 800 sand-hill cranes were showered with 100 gallons of permanent black dye. At Oregon's Malheur National Wildlife Refuge, 102 whistling swans were marked with yellow dye. Two-inch neck bands of various colors and patterns have also been placed on thousands of Canada geese. Observers alerted to watch for the birds have provided important information regarding the migration of specific goose flocks.

KENTUCKY . . . Research and management teamed together to combat the loss of nutrients in Shanty Hollow Lake in Kentucky. In 1958, the standing fish crop was only 90 pounds per acre and anglers caught only 23 pounds per acre. Since then, after a two-year program of applying basic nutrients, the standing crop has doubled, the weight of harvestable fish has quadrupled, and fishermen caught 48 pounds of plumper fish per acre.

PENNSYLVANIA ... A Pennsylvania hunter got more of a turkey than he bargained for when he downed a 15-pound gobbler with 3/4-inch spurs. Upon checking the bird, he discovered his bag had not one but two 10-inch beards growing from the same spot.

OHIO .. . Try before you buy was the theory of a man recently brought before an Ohio judge on a charge of fishing without a license. His excuse? He wanted to see if the fish were biting before he bought the license. He soon learned, however, that fishing regulations don't work that way when he received a fine of $15 and costs. He also was told to buy a license within the hour and return and show it to the judge. He did.

NEW YORK . . . The oldest duck on record in New York, a black drake released there in 1933 and shot in Pennsylvania in 1953, logged quite a bit of mileage during its lifetime. According to biologists, its 20-year life span compared with an average one of three to five years, and it is estimated the duck had flown 100,000 miles.

OKLAHOMA ... A group of Oklahoma City fishermen are still chuckling about how they were "lost" in the fog for almost an entire night. While fishing for white bass after dusk, they failed to notice a fog bank rolling up around them. After realizing they had lost all sense of direction, the undaunted fishermen kept on fishing in hopes the fog would clear. Sometime before daylight they saw a dim light and realized they had been sitting in their boat just 50 feet off shore.

MISSOURI ... Two Missouri fishermen have learned the hard way that it's wise to test and inspect your equipment before the season opens. Two untested outboard motors on their boat refused to start when they launched it onto the Osage River below Osceola Dam. The strong back tow swept the fishermen into the dam and they lost the boat, motors, snagging equipment, and a camera. But they did survive to learn an object lesson in preparedness.

TASTE OF SUMMER

during the months of June and early July. Patience is required to gather the small fruit of strawberries in quantity, but the flavor so surpasses the force-grown domestic type that it's worth the effort. Look for them in moist, well drained areas where they're not choked out by overgrowths of grass and weeds.

Raspberries, wild gooseberries, and black currants thrive in much of Nebraska's woodlands, ripening during June and July. These seldom last long, as both birds and animals relish the wild fruits.

These berries grow on well-drained soil, usually clumped together under large trees. The gooseberry and raspberry bushes are low growing.

The currant bush grows waist to chest high. In spring you can locate the black currant plant because it's covered with small yellow flowers before the leaves appear.

Late August and September ushers in chokecherry, wild plum, and wild grape. These fruits are easily recognized as they look just like their domestic relatives, except for their smaller size.

Yes, Nebraska has its share of wild edibles. My mother may have had the sure system in raising her own, but she missed the thrill and satisfaction of finding a wild counterpart in places where no sissified garden vegetable could hope to exist.

How to PADDLE YOUR CANOE

notes son Nebraska fauna

CROW

THIS BIRD needs little introduction. He is as familiar as autumn leaves or spring thaws. His bold black color and raucous call seem to command the attention of the entire landscape as he flaps ungracefully over fields and woods. Tired of flying but vociferous as ever, he will usually select 34 OUTDOOR NEBRASKA   some conspicuous perch as a vantage point from which to continue his tirade.

The crow is closely related to the smaller and more colorful jays and magpies and the larger ravens, all of whom display seemingly audacious mannerisms and insolent voices. They have strong feet for walking and perching and have relatively long, stout beaks. Some of these birds also sport saucy mustaches which may be observed at close range at the base of the upper part of the beak. The wings are of moderate length, rounded and powerful.

Crows are among the more clever and successful of the birds. They are highly omnivorous feeders; no nutritious tidbit is overlooked in their foraging. This latter trait causes this group of birds to be viewed in disrepute by man through the destruction of crops of grain and fruit and eggs and young of song and game birds.

Everything from mice to cherry pits is included in the crow's diet. Such items as small birds and eggs, poison ivy seeds, sprouts and seeds of corn, and small grain, frogs and toads, and a wide selection beetles, flys, crickets, grasshoppers, dragonflies, larvae, and pupae are also eaten.

Biologists have classified crows as a local menace to nesting song and game birds in areas where the crow population is very high and the nesting cover very low. This, coupled with the crows' impudent behavior and black color leads some to believe that the raucous birds deplete game-bird populations when the real cause is poor land-management practices or lack of high-quality, permanent nesting cover.

The crow has become an acceptable quarry in the eyes of the varment hunter and provides many hours of off-season sport. Like most wildlife species, the bird is capable of producing a harvestable surplus, and sport shooting is not expected to be a major factor in reducing crow populations. However, hunting may serve to thin out local concentrations.

In some cases authorities have been prompted to take measures to control large numbers of crows because of the damage they can cause. For instance, from 1934 to 1945, Oklahoma killed an estimated 3.7 million crows by bombing winter roost areas. The bird has long been recognized as a rascal. Henry VIII first authorized public bounties in the early 1500's. Henry did not realize, as technicians do today, that bounties are rarely effective in the control of something as prolific as the crow.

Breeding occurs throughout the United States, southern Alaska, and most of Canada. The crow winters south to central Mexico. The bird specializes and co-operates well with others. His highest degree of gregariousness is manifested on winter roosts where hundreds, even thousands, will congregate.

Spring migration is usually well under way by February, and the second-year birds are ready for nesting activities to begin by the first part of April. A rather rough, bulky nest is built of sticks and twigs, and is usually located in the upper forks of larger trees. The nest is lined with strips of soft bark and grasses. Three to five greenish eggs blotched with brown and purple are laid and incubation continues for 16 to 18 days.

Crows have their enemies, too, including the great-horned owl and the Cooper's, red-tailed, and red-shouldered hawks. The crows arch-enemy is probably the great-horned owl who will kill and eat adult crows and their young on the nest at night. In some areas this is thought to be a major factor limiting crow production. By day, however, crows cause great direct and indirect mortality of nesting horned owls. They harass adult owls away from the nest and then destroy the eggs or throw the helpless young owlets from the nest. It does not seem so unusual, then, that a stuffed horned owl, a few crow-like decoys, and calls imitating excited crows are the perfect set up for a successful shoot.

As autumn nears, the crows begin banding together and head for warmer climes in flocks both large and small. By October the fall migration is well under way.