to KILL A TURKEY

NEBRASKA'S FIRST turkey season has been a long time coming as far as 500 permit holders are concerned. They've been waiting to take a crack at this giant of the upland-game birds for a long time, a hunt that every Nebraska sportsman has been looking forward to since the first few wild-trapped Merriams's were introduced to the Pine Ridge only four years ago.

The turkey program has been a success story here since its inception, but right now it's a tossup as to who will come out the winner when the season ends November 18, the hunter or the hunted. Lucky permit holders can take little comfort in the knowledge that this wary bird may not be quite as spooky because he has never been hunted. They've got to lay their own inexperience on the line; hunt the rugged Pine Ridge terrain with its scores of hideouts.

Nebraska's present Pine Ridge flock, which numbers about 3,000, started in 1959 with the introduction of 28 wild-trapped Merriam's. These birds were immediately successful, in direct contrast to the numerous plants of game-farm turkeys released in previous years.

Since the Pine Ridge turkeys have never been hunted, some will be easy marks during the first few hours on opening day. Even after that some novice hunters will be just plain lucky and bag their bird. But the great majority will have to depend on knowing the birds' habits and habitat and proved methods of hunting them.

Knowing where turkeys roost can be the difference between success and failure. The birds roost at night near the tops of tall trees. In the Pine Ridge area, tall cottonwoods are preferred spots. Unless disturbed, the big birds generally return to the same roosting sites over long periods. Turkeys will generally leave the roost about daybreak, except during relatively severe weather. Then they remain in the treetops during much of the day. During normal days, turkeys again return to the roost about dark.

Feeding occurs during two main periods—in the early morning, shortly after leaving the roost, and in the late afternoon, not long before going to roost. Additional feeding occurs intermittently throughout the day. Preferred spots are small grain fields or cattle-feeding sites adjacent to timber. By knowing a spot used for feeding, and sitting and waiting, some hunters will be successful in bagging birds.

Approaches or stalks on feeding birds are usually difficult, as turkeys are extremely watchful, even when feeding. Sentries are not the general rule, but each bird looks around frequently after taking a beakful. A better method is to determine their direction and guess where the turkeys will pass.

At this time, mention should be made of the turkey's senses. Sense of smell is poor, so there should NOVEMBER, 1962 3   be little worry whether you are downwind or upwind of the birds. Hearing is extremely acute, so tread softly and watch for sticks and leaves. But of all the senses, the most important is sight. Stay hidden, as turkeys are watchful and always alert for movement. It's a good idea to wear drab clothing. Remember, however, that during the first two days of the season there will also be deer hunters in the field, so act accordingly.

The one factor which has probably resulted in the death of most turkeys is their tendency to group in small to large flocks, and to regroup after scattering. If you locate a flock and cannot stalk for a shot or outguess them on the direction of movement, try breaking the birds. Veterans will even tell you to run at the birds and fire several shots to get them moving. If the turkeys all go in one direction, you've had it. But if they scatter, you're in business.

If scattered before mid-afternoon, the turkeys will usually attempt to reassemble the same day. If scattered later than mid-afternoon, your best bet will be to return early the next morning. Here is where the call is used to best advantage in fall hunting. If you have a call and can use it, you have a much better chance of bringing home the Thanksgiving dinner. If you can't, and very few novices can, keep quiet. Otherwise you'll scare every respectable turkey from your neck of the woods.

Pick a spot near the point of scattering, and sit tight. Stay well hidden, but be careful to pick a spot where you can get off a quick shot with a minimum of movement. If calling, give two or three yelps every 15 to 20 minutes. Quit calling as soon as you have an answer. The turkeys may be several hours in regrouping after the breakup, so plenty of patience is required.

In calling, it is not always necessary to break up a flock yourself, since other hunters will be afield and may do it for you. Once again, allow about 15 minutes between calls. It generally pays to stay sitting for at least a half hour after calling, since the turkeys may be a long time coming, even if they hear you right away.

In addition to the methods mentioned, you can try still-hunting. Once again, a knowledge of the area is a prime requisite. Move slowly. Stop, look, and listen frequently. Turkeys make a considerable noise in feeding, and may be heard scratching for several hundred yards. They can also hear you, so move quietly. It is better to cover a mile a day cautiously than to cover 10 miles with the noise of stampeding buffalo.

If you're lucky, a turkey will come in range of your shotgun, and then your ability as a gunner will be brought into play. Know the range of your shotgun beforehand. The maximum distance at which you should try a shot is the distance at which you can place 6 to 8 shot in a 10-inch circle. Veterans recommend No. 4 or 6 shot and the gun set at full choke. Law stipulates that minimum shot size is No. 6.

In most bird hunting it is considered unsportsmanlike to shoot a bird on the ground. Wild turkey OUTDOOR NEBRASKA   hunting is the exception, as there is no stigma to "arkansawing" a turkey. When you have the shot, aim for the head or neck. A body shot is usually insufficient for a clean kill with a shotgun. After the shot, keep your eye on the bird, as it will sometimes collapse in mid-air long after it is hit.

A carrying strap can be a blessing when lugging the big bird home. Some adult toms will weigh in excess of 20 pounds, and may seem considerably heavier than that if carried by hand. Field dressing is a matter of preference. With temperatures low, most prefer to wait till they get their prize home. Plucking, of course, is much easier with undressed birds.

All turkeys must be delivered to one of the check stations at Chadron, Crawford, or Harrison. They may be field dressed, but may not be skinned or plucked. To give technicians better information on food habits, successful hunters are requested to save the crop from their bird and present this to the check station operator. Results of this study will be made available at a later date.

The long wait is over, with Nebraska's first season just days away. The lucky 500 permit holders will be counting both hours and days. So will the thousands who will hunt the majestic bird in seasons to come. All will agree that it's worth the wait, mighty happy that the big bird has finally been added to Nebraska's hunting list.

the Legend of HIRAM SCOTT

THE AUTUMN clouds danced crazily over the young company man's head, his fevered mind unable to cope with their antics. Riding in the bottom of the hide-covered bullboat, he felt like he was racing along with them. He was, in fact, following their lead, retreating from the untamed frontier and the Indians who had maimed him.

Hiram Scott was alive. No one knew why. He had survived the Sioux's attack on Sublette's fur brigade at Laramie's Fork. But he was hurt badly and hardly worth the bother of transporting downstream in a crude craft that rode the shallow Platte like a hump on a camel's back. Leastways, that's what his two companions figured, thinking more of their own hair than they were of his.

A wilderness man was supposed to be independent, made practical to the ways of life by seeing it dealt out in the high country with no questions asked. Trapping and trading furs in 1828 wasn't for the faint of heart. A man took his chances. If he came out on top, well and good. But if his luck ran out, then he took that too.

Scott's luck had run out back there on the Laramie. He knew it. So did his companions. But according to their leader, Bill Sublette, Scott's life was worth saving. The two trappers were ordered to float Scott quietly out of hostile country to a rendezvous with Sublette and the rest of the 70-man Rocky Mountain outfit at Ma-e-a-pe-te, the castle-like bluff that was the Sioux's "hill that is hard to get around."

Sublette hightailed it out of Laramie Fork country in quick order. He didn't want to take a chance of losing his 300 pack mules loaded down with bales of beaver, mink, and otter to the Indians. His decision to float Scott down river was a tough one to make, knowing that the chances of the three coming out alive were mighty thin. He would have rather waited a couple of days until Scott was well enough to stick a horse.

But waiting was out. The outfit would be sitting ducks to a large-scale attack. Besides, hunting had been poor and the men were running short of game. Sublette ordered the two men to build the boat out of buffalo skins and tend to Scott, figuring it was better to gamble on two men instead of 70.

Those in the bullboat knew their chances were mighty slim. Their mounted friends were making far better time than those in the boat were on the twisting course of the Platte, even though the main party was hunting buffalo. The two men even doubted that Scott would be alive when they reached the gray bluffs that jutted up from the river many miles downstream. The mountaineers could only hope that Sublette would hold good to his word and wait for them at the bluff.

Their wilderness-trained eyes searched the horizon, eager to spot the landmark. So intent were they that both failed to see the snag jutting just below water level. In an instant, the awkward craft impaled itself on the branch, then swirled and dumped everything aboard into the clear blue stream. The shock of cold water brought Scott back to consciousness as soon as he hit, but he would have drowned if it hadn't been for the strong arms of his companions. Holding their guns high to keep them dry, they pulled the wounded man to shore, then watched as their precious gear floated away with the current.

The two men wouldn't have given much for their chances in a bullboat, but now their situation was desperate. To stay with Scott till he recovered meant almost certain death, either by starvation or the Indians. The only provisions they had were those on them at the time of the accident, maybe a little jerky and tobacco in their possible sacks, but that was all. Powder for their long rifles was at the bottom of the river.

Conscious now, Scott knew what the men were thinking. The vast emptiness of the wilderness crushed in on him, more so than it had ever done since he joined General William Ashley's first expedition in 1823. He had been alone before, an insignificant part of a frontier that stretched to the horizons. There were still only a scant 200 white men in the mountains.

Scott preferred this kind of aloneness, away from the formalities and frills of (continued on page 32)

FALLING FOR BASS

THE BOBBER twitched ever so slightly. It stopped, lay still for a moment, then disappeared. I set the hook, checking the fish's rush for the lily pads. My three-pound-test monofilament would never hold him if he made it to the tangle.

Stymied in his run, the largemouth stood on his tail, trying to lose the hook by shaking his head. He dove for the deeper water, then came up again, the water glistening on his body like drops of silver and gold. But he was mine, and I eased him to shore where I netted the one-pounder. My partner, Charlie Armstrong, yelled from the other side of the small pond. He had one, too, and his reel squealed out line.

We were fishing a small gravel pit a few miles west of Columbus. It didn't measure more than 40 to 50 feet across and 100 feet long. But it had bass and that's what we were after.

I hadn't expected to go fishing that morning; for that matter, I didn't even want to fish. It was late October and time for hunting. My fishing gear was packed away and I already had two days of grouse hunting under my belt. But Charlie doesn't let hunting interfere with his fishing. Any time of the year is good as far as he is concerned, and the fall the best time of all. We had promised each other to get together for a fishing trip during the summer months, but hadn't gotten around to it before now.

"Get your stuff ready, we're going fishing," were the only words Charlie said when he called Saturday morning. I didn't have a chance to argue. He told me to be ready in an hour and hung up.

By the time I got my gear back together, Charlie was in front of the house. It wasn't until we were 8 OUTDOOR NEBRASKA   driving out of Lincoln that he told me where we were going.

"We'll try our luck around Columbus," Charlie said. "There's always a variety of fishing around there this time of year."

My thoughts were still on hunting as we drove. Charlie was telling me about a bass he had caught the day before, but I was only half listening. I spent most of my time looking into the passing fields for pheasants.

Our first stop was at the tailrace of the power canal where it empties into the Loup River just east of Columbus. The wind was howling across the water and blowing sand into our eyes. What few fishermen were left were packing up. Before the wind came up they had done quite well. A party of four showed us a nice catch of catfish and bullheads. They had been there since 3 o'clock that morning and the fish had been hitting until about an hour before we arrived.

With the canal out, Charlie headed west of town to a series of sand pits. Thanks to the trees, the wind wouldn't be a bother and we started rigging up. This tiny pond was our first stop. Within three-quarters of an hour Charlie and I had four bass each and were ready for a snack. That over, we tried the lake on the other side of the road.

I wanted to try out the lightest possible combination to see how it would work. Attached to the 3-pound-test line was a small plastic float used by spin fishermen to cast out light lures. To that I put on a 4-foot leader with a No. 6 hook.

The float was light enough so the minnow could swim around, giving the bait a tantalizing motion. The trick worked on the first cast. A bass started to move in on the bait and the minnow took off in a frenzied attempt to escape. It skittered nearly 20 feet before the bass finally hit. The float went under, then popped quickly to the surface. Down it went again. I waited for a few seconds and set the hook on a 10-inch bass.

On my next cast I put the bait over a weed bed. It hadn't been there for more than a minute when the float went under. There was no fooling around with this one. I eased the taker out of the weeds. When he didn't break water, I knew I had a crappie. We fought it out for nearly two minutes, but I brought him in.

My crappie was a real beauty, just a fraction under 13 inches and weighing almost 2 pounds. He wasn't close to the Nebraska record of 3 pounds, 15 ounces set this spring by Delmer Butler in Lake McConaughy, but I wasn't complaining.

Charlie and I went right back to work. We both tried our luck in the same weed bed and immediately started getting action. One after another we pulled in crappie, all small but keepers. Then the action stopped as quickly as it had begun. The only movement on the lake was the falling leaves skimming over the water's surface. A flight of snow geese beat their way across the sky, reminding us that fall was fast fading.

As darkness approached we switched to surface lures. There was already a few plops as bass started hitting near shore. My pearl-colored jitterbug gurgled across the surface, leaving an almost iridescent wake. Suddenly the quiet was broken by a loud smack as a bass tried for my lure but missed. I reeled in slower the next time. It must have been just the right speed. I saw a little swirl behind the plug and then felt the sharp tug as the bass hit.

He was mad at being fooled and took out his anger with a vengeance. The bass fought back with everything he had, walking across the water on his tail in an effort to shake the hook. The line sang out of the reel as he made his bid for freedom. Finally the tide began to turn and I was taking in more line than I was giving. He made one more try, thrashing around like an enraged bull, then settled into the net.

I caught one more and Charlie netted two before we called it quits. I hadn't wanted to go fishing but I was glad I did. When we got home we counted out our catch and came up with 12 bass and 11 crappie. Charlie, without saying a word, proved that fall was fishing as well as hunting time.

the CUSHION RIDERS

NEBRASKA'S whopping 1963 pheasant season is under way. In every corner of the state—every corn, milo, and wheat field — the ringneck reigns supreme. He's the target of thousands of hunters who take to the fields and leave the cares of the everyday behind.

Tramping the fields for this wily target is a rewarding experience. Here the hunter pits his skill against the cunning of his prey. He's in the bird's bailiwick, a place where the ringneck has every advantage of eluding the hunter. Success is measured in outwitting the pheasant in his own back yard. This is as it should be, the element that makes hunting the tremendously popular sport that it is today throughout the United States.

There are those who have never enjoyed this warm feeling of accomplishment. They're the breed known as the "cushion riders", the men that spend their hours afield driving the roads with eyes peeled along the right of way. These hunters have the notion that this is the easy way to get pheasants throughout the long season.

They are only kidding themselves. Riding in a heated car might be easy, but it isn't the way to get birds. It doesn't take much of a mathematician to figure out that the cushion rider is covering but a scant part of the pheasant's range. The bulk of the 10 OUTDOOR NEBRASKA   pheasants are back away from the right of way in natural cover.

No one will argue that the cushion rider won't get some birds. On any given day there will always be roosters near the road. Some hunters might even fill their limits where pheasant populations are high. But this isn't hunting, at least not what sportsmen consider hunting.

The cushion rider takes more chances than just that of hoping to spot an occasional bird on the roadside. When he sees a bird, he's got to move fast. This means jumping out of the car on the run, loading shells as he goes, and getting off a shot before his target disappears into the thick cover of the field.

Because the road hunter has to move fast, he's tempted to have his gun loaded and ready to go before he ever stops the car. It may cut down on the time to get off a shot, but having a loaded shotgun in the car invites a date with a conservation officer. This is one of Nebraska's major game infractions. Last year there were 330 arrests.

There's good reason for the loaded shotgun law to be on the books. It's primarily designed to keep the hunter from shooting himself, but it does serve to discourage the unsportsmanlike conduct of the cushion rider. Loaded guns in cars can cause accidents, as the record books dramatically prove. A bouncing car, a gun that has been forgotten to be set on "safety", a quick grab when a bird is spotted, and you've got a killing in the making.

Sportsmanship and safety are two of the factors going against the cushion rider. There is another. Each time a hunter bolts from his car and pursues a pheasant through a fence he's inviting the wrath of the landowner. He doesn't have time to get permission so he plows on through and breaks the law once again. More often than not, he'll top the whole thing off by blasting away at a bunch of buildings in his eagerness to get the bird. Such actions by this minority are the best way possible to have "No Hunting" signs blossom on the Nebraska scene.

One more point. Young hunters pattern their habits after the older hunters with whom they are hunting. If the "experienced" hunters get their birds by driving the roads, the youngsters will more than likely develop the same bad habit. Then they, too, will miss out on all of the enjoyment of a real hunt.

This season, don't make the mistake of joining the cushion-rider clan. Get out where you know the birds will be located, then take them on in true sportsmanlike fashion. You'll see more birds and have a better, safer time afield.

Custer GAMELAND

IN ONLY one day, a warm feeling of comradeship had blossomed between the three sportsmen. The Texas oilman and the school teacher from Michigan visited about hunting in their states. The third member of the party, a salesman from Chicago, was washing up before all three sat down to a country-style noon spread. This was the kind of outing all three had dreamed about—friendly companions, near-perfect surroundings, and some of the finest pheasant hunting anywhere.

Custer Gameland had brought these three men from different walks of life and parts of the country together. The organization of 11 towns in Custer County has come up with the most imaginative hunting idea in NEBRASKAland. Thousands of acres of prime hunting land has been opened to resident and nonresident hunters with the added bonuses of room and board and other special services. All this is offered for only $10 per day, making it a real bargain to the hunter taking on new territory. One dollar is charged by each landowner for those who only desire to hunt on his land without any of the services except access.

Members of the Oconto Grange began the project on a small scale last year. A small advertisement in OUTDOOR Nebraska brought 150 hunters to Custer Gameland before the season was over. Although most were experienced on other game, hunting pheasants was something new. They wanted answers to "Where's the best territory? Where can I stay? Are there guides?" Custer Gameland had the answers.

At the end of their stay, the hunters went back with great memories of NEBRASKAland and its 12 OUTDOOR NEBRASKA   pheasants. The farmers benefited as well. The $10 daily fee came in mighty handy, giving them a chance to cash in on a resource that thrived on their lands. Landowner and hunter got to know each other on a personal basis, and began to appreciate each other's problems.

The program was so successful that this spring 10 other towns in Custer County asked to join. Committees were set up to process the letters and enroll farmers and ranchers in the project. Darrell Nelson, Oconto rancher, was named chairman. Funds were allocated to finance the expanded program. The project is sponsored by the Custer County Rural Area Development Committee with the co-operation of the Custer County Home Extension Clubs. The program is voluntary and is designed for those who have facilities and are willing to permit controlled hunting.

After agreeing to join the project, the landowner fills out a form showing how much land he has available and the number of hunters he can accommodate at one time. Letters received by Custer Gameland from persons desiring accommodations are distributed equally and each farmer receives his share. The farmer then takes over the correspondence with the hunters and makes all arrangements for their stay in Nebraska.

All money received by the participating farmer from hunters in the program is kept by him. Since all the clerical work is carried out on a voluntary basis, there are no expenses. This year's budget, which is paid by the Custer Rural Development Committee, is $150. It's used to pay for printing signs and $1 hunting tickets.

Even before this year's program started, letters were received from persons who had hunted there last year. These men have made reservations for themselves and friends as well. Some are bringing their families and the committee is attempting to book them with farm families having children the same age as their own youngsters.

While most groups are from two to four hunters, a company in Casper, Wyoming, has made reservations for 60 of its employees to hunt in the Oconto area this fall. The men will come in groups of 12 to 14 over the season.

An estimated 200,000 acres are already under contract with more agreements coming in each day. Broken Bow, Comstock, Arnold, Milburn, Gates, Berwyn, Sargent, Ansley, Westerville, and Anselmo have joined Oconto in the county-wide project. Information on persons and accommodations in each area are available by writing Custer Gameland at any of the above towns. No additional address is needed. In addition to the other facilities, guide service and processing are handled at each town for a nominal fee.

Requests for information and reservations have come in from all parts of the country. Hunters from Michigan, Illinois, Ohio, Indiana, New Jersey, Missouri, Texas, New Mexico, Wyoming, Minnesota, and Oklahoma are showing special interest.

Although pheasants are the big lure, quail and grouse are also available. Nelson says a number of deer hunters have also checked on the opportunities and services available.

Custer Gameland has taken advantage of its abundant game resources and wide-open spaces to bring new money into the county. Oconto's experience last year showed that hunters are more than willing to pay for the kind of services that are offered. The sportsmen let the organization take care of the details so they can get the most out of each hunting day.

DO FISH TALK?

DO FISH talk? Most people—especially anglers—would smile at the suggestion. But is it so improbable as it sounds? After all, most other creatures have some form of communication with their own kind. Even the so-called dumbest animal can produce some form of noise at times, notably during courtship and mating, though it may be no more than a faint piping or grunt or snort. Even bees talk by fanning their wings at one another.

Whales, long thought to be completely silent creatures, grunt and groan and make clicking noises underwater, while recent work on dolphins has proved beyond any doubt that they are highly intelligent animals that are most voluble. They converse continually with a startling repertoire of quacks, clicks, and whistlings. In fact, dolphin language is at this moment being seriously studied by phonetics experts in America who hope to learn it themselves and to eventually teach captive dolphins something of our own form of speech.

Will men ever similarly set out to study fish talk? The chances are that they will, for it seems fairly certain that fish can and do produce quite a lot of noises, intended primarily as a means of communication with other fish of their own kind.

There are two prerequisites for any form of talk: the ability to hear it, and the need to make it. In fish, both these requirements are present. All fish can hear, if in a different way to ourselves. And almost all fish need to be in some form of touch with each other, not only during their breeding season, but also for keeping in shoals, migrating together, and moving toward food together.

Fish possess an internal ear provided with the usual tubules and the same liquid-filled spaces as are found in other animals, including man. But they have no external, visible ears and most importantly, no aperture in the head to connect the internal ear with the outside world, as have whales and dolphins.

Yet in all animals this inner ear has two functions, to hear with, and to maintain balance. It is this latter function which a fish's inner ear serves.

Fish are far more complex creatures than most tend to imagine. Take, for instance, their lateral line, in very many species a single-grooved line running along either side of the body from head to tail, and containing various sense organs. This line acts as a device for detecting variations of water pressure, and its owner could hardly get along without it.

The lateral line of many fish has regular perforations, and beneath it lies a shallow canal containing sense cells and nerve endings. With the constant aid of these, the fish can tell even in complete underwater darkness how near it is to bank or rock or 14 OUTDOOR NEBRASKA   other obstacle, how close it is to other fish in the shoal or swimming close by, the exact temperature of the water and its rate of flow. It is also probable that a fish can similarly register vibrations entering the water that are more or less alien to its habitat. These would include the screws of a passing ship or motorboat, footfalls on the river or bank, even an angler knocking out his pipe on the side of his boat.

It is also most likely that the lateral line augments the fairly simple ear most fish possess by providing its owner with a lot of information about the doings and intentions of its neighbors in the water, including a sensitive reaction to the movements of a fin or tail close to it, as when perch are grouped in a school.

Thus equipped for the detection of sounds and vibrations in and near the water in which it lives, a fish must also possess some means of producing talk itself. Although the harsh "bark" of a landed conger eel and the so-called breathing sounds of certain fish like carp are not true fishy voices, being merely air-conducted noises caused by the sudden expulsion of air from the fish's swim bladder, many fish have the physical equipment for making sounds which clearly has no other purpose.

Although water is a much more positive conductor of sound waves than air, the sounds of fishy talk are different to those humans hear in the air. With its ear (and lateral line) already in the water, a fish can register the sound vibrations traveling toward it immediately in the liquid inside its own ear. It does not have to effect the change from sound waves in the air, as our ears do. So what with changing water pressures and currents and temperatures, plus the fairly constant din set up underwater by almost all swimming creatures, from shrimps to sharks, a fish's hearing is probably more sensitive and more selective than is imagined. Man's concept of the "silent sea" is a complete myth.

Some fish have scraping devices for making submarine conversation, others are equipped with special adaptions of the swim bladder that can produce water-borne signals. It is a remarkable fact that certain fish can vibrate their swim bladders in the water so that sound waves emanate from them, to be picked up by other fish at some distance. For instance, the spotted catfish has a couple of springy projections on the front of its swim bladder and their action, aided by special muscles, causes a violent vibration of the bladder. A fish taken out of the water has been known to produce a noise audible a hundred feet away.

Sticklebacks can produce a scraping sound by rubbing the bottom of one (continued on page 33)

CRAZY FOR CATS

THE ELKHORN RIVER and I have long enjoyed more than a casual acquaintance. Through the years we've got to know each other pretty well. To me nothing can match its peaceful beauty or its catfish.

I've fished the river for many years, almost since we moved to Madison and later, Scribner, where my husband, ''Sodie", has served as pastor of the Lutheran churches in the two communities. At first the two of us would spend many a pleasant evening working set lines. Later, when Sodie lost some of his zeal for the sport, I struck out on my own, using rod and reel.

The old adage, "If I had my way, I would go fishing every day," aptly applies to me. I've done just that, at least every time I get a chance. Sodie introduced me to catfishing the Elkhorn long ago when we first moved to Madison. We would start out at about seven in the evening, laden down with food, bait, lines, dip net, and even a few blankets. Most of our spots were around Norfolk.

Once located on a nice sandy bar, we would deposit our belongings and then hunt for deep holes and set out our lines. Every two hours through the night, all night long, we would go back and forth from the sand bar to the crayfish-baited lines. The steady heavy jerk on the lines as they were pulled in and then a big two to five-pound catfish lying in the dip net got into my blood, and I was "hooked".

By the time we moved to Scribner, I was a real catfisherwoman. To my delight I found our home was just a half block from the Elkhorn. Looking out my window, I can watch the river moving on south.

Sodie and I had a lot of luck catching fish. Live crayfish were our best bet. They are pesky little things to work with, for those claws really pinch, especially if hooked from the front to the tail.

After a few years, Sodie and I decided to use rod and reels. It was so much nicer this way, walking along the river, fishing wherever we felt like it, wading out into the middle, catching big ones on the drop offs. We used most anything for bait. Sodie's favorites were crayfish, chicken entrails, and good old stinking catfish bait. When he started using that, I began fishing by myself.

Catfish are funny creatures. One day they will take nothing but liver, then another, nothing but 16 OUTDOOR NEBRASKA   crayfish. Seldom have I caught a big catfish on worms. Worms are good enticers, however. I usually put a big gob on the lower hook and a piece of shrimp on the upper. Big fish suck off all the worm and then go for the shrimp. By that time you know there's something working on your line and you're ready for it when the fish strikes.

Catfishing doesn't follow a set pattern. One day the fish bite furiously in the shallow water. That's when the real thrill comes. A big channel will take you hobbling all over in shallow water. Once you think you have him, he let's loose, only to grab the bait as it moves with the current. This can go on and on until the bait has almost reached shore. Then maybe the fish will take a last good nab at the bait and you have him. But things change. The next time you try catching the big ones in the shallow water, nothing happens, so in disgust you try to find a deep hole with good results. There are no set rules for catfishing. Just be prepared to try any bait in any sort of water every time you go fishing.

Sodie has lost interest in fishing, so I go out by myself. He drives me as near as he can to the river. Then we set a time when he'll be back to pick me up. This doesn't always work, for sometimes we get mixed up on the time or the place to meet or no wrist watch and then things happen. One time I waited for three hours while Sodie was driving all over. Thinking that I was at another place, he was sure something had happened.

Some days can really be hectic ones. I was walking through a pasture when a cow some distance away lowered her head menacingly and with the speed of an enraged bull started for me. I figured the safest spot was the river so in I went. It was pretty boggy, but the water wasn't deep, so I wouldn't drown. And if I bogged down, so would the cow. Once in the water, I turned in time to see the cow reach the edge of the bank. She stopped short and snorted and let out an ear-piercing moo.

We both looked at each other for quite a while. Finally I couldn't stand where I was much longer, so I slowly edged sideways, one eye on the water and one on the cow. She just watched as I edged farther and farther away. I finally realized that she meant no harm and made it to shore. But I kept going, just in case. The cow was still standing there watching as I quickly walked out of sight.

One day I decided to explore new surroundings, for I had an idea I might just have some luck at a hard-to-get place. Very few fishermen would walk through what I did, up and down hills, through mire and knee-deep water, and then through almost impregnable willows. It was hot, about 99 degrees in the shade, and I had a lot of clothes on to keep mosquitos off. I fished off and on with no luck as I wended my way in, walking nearly a mile.

My fishing hole was completely surrounded by eight-foot willows right up to the banks of the river. It was so close I could hardly breathe and my sun glasses kept slipping down my moist nose. But I started getting bites as soon as I cast. I finally gave a jerk and reeled in a two-pound cat. After rebaiting, I threw out again, and immediately another fish struck. After I had him on the stringer I began feeling sick and my heart was pounding. But I cast out, secured my rod, and then crawled back under the willows to recuperate. This went on until I had nine catfish. I pulled up that big stringer of heavy fish, and knew that I had better start back.

The return trip should have taken only 25 minutes, but being sick and loaded with gear, it was something else. I had to sit down on logs or lie down on the sandy shore just to keep from passing out. Two hours later, I finally made it to the meeting place. After it was all over, I thought, "What a person will go through just to catch a few fish."

One endures many things for the thrill of fishing along the Elkhorn River. But the peace and quiet of the surroundings, the endless running of this fast stream, the gurgling of the eddies, and the singing of the various birds are satisfaction enough for me. So are those catfish.

HALL OF WILDLIFE

AFTER 16 YEARS of perfection work, the Hall of Nebraska Wildlife is now complete. The 16 true-to-life dioramas at the University of Nebraska State Museum in Lincoln offers an intimate look at many of the state's birds, rodents, and animals.

Completion of the final three scenes marks the end of a project begun in 1946. Dr. C. Bertrand Schultz, museum director, said that the dioramas have been so exacting that it has taken from six months to a year to complete each one. Every minute detail, from individual leaves to body conformation of the animal, is thoroughly checked by botany, zoology, and geology specialists.

Each diorama is an exact replica of a particular location in the state. No where else can one see the vast differences in the topography, habitats, and subtle beauty of Nebraska than by taking a few steps in the Hall of Wildlife. In supervising the massive project, Dr. Shultz was careful to see that one display did not distract from the others. His concern for perfection has resulted in one of the finest displays of its kind in the nation.

The final three scenes depict early elk-hunting Indians in a birch grove in Cherry County, a coyote and cottontail rabbit in Toadstool Park in Sioux County, and sandhills cranes on the Platte River near Lexington. The Indian scene is the only one in which man plays a part.

Other dioramas include a bobcat near the Wildcat Range in Banner County, whooping cranes in a Sand Hills lake near Valentine in Cherry County, and bison north of the Republican River in Webster County.

Also to be enjoyed is the great blue heron at Child's Point on the Missouri River near Omaha; pronghorn antelope in the Pine Ridge near Marsland in Dawes County; beaver on the Platte River in Hall County; red foxes near the bluffs of the Missouri River in Cass County; white-tailed deer in the Devils Nest area in Knox County. Striped skunks near Lincoln in Lancaster County; mule deer at Fort Robinson in Dawes County; prairie chickens at their drumming grounds in Garfield County; prairie dogs and burrowing owl in Custer County; and waterfowl on the North Platte River near Lewellen.

The Hall of Nebraska Wildlife is a must-see attraction for every member of the family. Museum hours are from 2 p.m. to 5 p.m. on Sundays and holidays and 8 a.m. to 5 p.m. on other days.

PLATTSMOUTH

FROM THE ground, the Canadas send their honking skyward, inviting the big geese high overhead to stop a while. The flock of blues soars in, their huge, powerful wings flapping thunderously as they come to rest on the fields. During the migration, other blues, snows, and Canadas will arrive, finding a haven where food, water, and rest are available.

Each spring and fall this same scene is repeated as the flocks of geese reach Nebraska on their migrations. Plattsmouth Waterfowl Management Area, located on the northern outskirts of Plattsmouth at the confluence of the Platte and Missouri rivers, is designed with the big birds in mind. Here they can stay as long as they like, unmolested by anyone.

Plattsmouth is one of nine state refuges in Nebraska. Without these areas, many ducks and geese would wing across the state almost nonstop. Serving the dual purpose of holding the birds here for shooting during the season and giving them needed resting sanctuaries during migration, Plattsmouth has worked toward increasing the chances of better gander gunning along the Missouri.

Geese are birds of habit, and once they establish the habit of stopping at Plattsmouth, it will be carried on over the years. Already the big birds have nested here and the young have returned the next spring. Because of its ideal habitat, an increasing number of geese use the refuge each year.

In the fall of 1961, 18,000 blues, snows, Canadas, and whitefronts stopped at the area, the peak number using the refuge since it went into operation in 1956. In the fall, the area is heavily used from October to December. In the spring, the big build-up begins in March.

The area has had a complete face-lifting, with three-fourths of the cost financed by Pittman-Robertson funds. Under Federal Aid, the state selects and plans each project, conducting the work at state 22 OUTDOOR NEBRASKA   expense. Then the state is reimbursed from the federal fund.

Originally a rifle range attached to Fort Crook, the 1,400-acre area was only a wooded bottom land covered with elms and cottonwood when the state purchased it in 1947. It wasn't until 1956, however, that actual refuge development began. The land was first cleared and put into cultivation. To stop tree stumps from sprouting, row crops such as corn and milo were planted. As time passes, the fields are gradually being converted to permanent pasture. All crops planted are useful to the birds, giving them more than enough food for their stay. Today, 1,250 acres are under cultivation.

The next step in the big project was to lure geese to Plattsmouth. A flock of captive Canadas was brought in to act as decoys for the migrants. A 15-acre pen at the north end of the lake was built to hold the captives. The flock now numbers about 40, with some nesting activity taking place among the Canadas.

A lake 180 feet wide, almost a mile long, and averaging about eight feet in depth was excavated and stocked with bass and channel catfish. In the near future, these will have grown to catchable size. Then anglers will be able to take advantage of the fishing during times when there are no geese on the area.

Federal funds have also provided for a small picnic area for use during the offseasons. However, to prevent any action that might spook the geese, no one is permitted on the refuge during the migrations. No hunting is allowed and molesting any of the birds is punishable by a fine or jail sentence.

Resting places such as Plattsmouth are vital to the geese. Cases have been told where the birds would fly nonstop to the coast, only to die of exhaustion once they reached their destination. With areas like Plattsmouth along the route, the big birds can land occasionally and rest as long as they like.

The blues and snows dominate the scene, adding color and spectacle. Though the majority of the birds soon take off for the south, some remain right up until the freeze up when they, too, continue their flight to the warmer regions. In the spring, the same thing occurs again as the geese move north.

Plattsmouth Waterfowl Management Area is answering an important need in Nebraska, the need for areas that will attract waterfowl and encourage them to stop. Through careful planning, the area will continue to attract the migrants, a program that benefits both birds and hunters.

PUBLIC HUNTING IN AMERICA

ODDLY, in this land of abundance, we have been showered too abundantly with explanations of why public hunting is doomed, why it is falling into disfavor with landowners, and why it is destined to become a thing of the past.

Why should people be saying that public hunting is doomed when it is among the top outdoor sports?

Personally, I do not think we are faced with any insurmountable obstacles. There are some trouble spots, to be sure. But they are few in number and can be solved if sportsmen can be awakened to the fact that public hunting, like many other sports, continually is besieged by changing factors.

People who want to hunt today and want their children to hunt tomorrow must resist being overwhelmed by these difficulties. They must single them out, evaluate their true threat, and move to correct or counteract them wherever necessary.

Hunting in America has gone through several phases. None can be outlined in sharply etched lines; each has been like a wave sweeping across the nation in response to deep-lying social and economic forces in the American culture. Every one has left a heritage of experience that affects the thinking and behavior of the modern hunter.

The first was the pioneer phase that rolled west of the Appalachians shortly after the American Revolution, reached the Rockies before 1900, and whose backwash still can be seen, just subsiding, in Arctic Alaska and northern Canada. Hunting then was a necessity of life, with the survival of the individual and sometimes of whole settlements depending upon the skill of the hunter. Our heritage from this phase was a concept of hunting rights entirely different from that found in most European countries, where the game belongs to the landowner as fully as do his sheep, cattle, and poultry. In America, the ownership of the game, until reduced to possession by an individual, is vested in the commonwealth. This is an extension of English law, based upon the Magna Carta; but in this country it was solidified against the anvil of the American frontier. The point is basic to any consideration of hunting today and in the foreseeable future.

A second phase began as soon as the frontier gave way to a rural economy based upon permanent settlements and specialized skills. It was at this point that sport hunting first began to emerge. A man no longer had to hunt for meat, but if he cared to do so, or if he wished to hunt for sport, there were practically no restrictions. There were almost no game laws, and those that did exist were little enforced, if at all, and there was an abundance of open, undeveloped land to absorb the insignificant hunting pressure. Good hunting could be found on the edge of towns, posted property was almost unheard of, and farmers were tolerant of the few hunters who tramped across their fields each fall.

It was during this second phase that the concept of free hunting actually came into being. We talk much of free hunting today, but during the early 1800's it really was free, both of restrictions and of expense, other than the cost of basics—powder, shot, and horse transportation.

A third phase began soon after the turn of the century. The automobile age changed everything in America, and the institution of public hunting was not spared its influence.

Before 1900 most people in the middle class had not been able to afford the pleasures of hunting. The work week was 6 days, from 9 to 12 hours each day. Except for rural residents who could steal a day or a few hours from their chores, sport hunting was a luxury enjoyed by the well-to-do, a pastime for youngsters, and sometimes a necessity for the very poor. The great masses of the middle class never had time to enjoy hunting until the machine age liberated them from economic drudgery and gave them, in the mass-produced automobile, a mobility and leisure that their fathers scarcely could have visualized.

This mechanization upset all of the earlier concepts of public hunting, especially near cities. In earlier times, a farmer glancing out from his milk shed might have seen three hunters on his land in the course of a week, and he usually knew who they were. After the development of the automobile, he was confronted with, what seemed to him, an army of strangers, many of whom had little conception of rural courtesy, and some of whom were surly and handled firearms carelessly. The farmer fell back on his age-old rights and posted his property, an act that squeezed the displaced hunters over on the lands of more tolerant neighbors who already were overburdened with uninvited guests. Other shooters sought out the remaining undeveloped lands that were shrinking rapidly under the expansion of the human population.

Game populations also suffered under the mounting hunting pressures, and it soon became obvious that some form of rationing would be required to spread the supply among the growing number of hunters and to carry a breeding stock through to spring. From this came the closed season, the bag NOVEMBER, 1962 25   limit, the outlawing of unsportsmanlike hunting practices, and the end of market shooting. All of these reforms had been tried in several states, but they did not receive general acceptance until well into the 20th century.

Before 1900, most of the states relied upon the local and county police to enforce their game laws. The officers usually were too preoccupied with problems in town to do much patrolling in woods and fields. This finally led to the appointment of special law-enforcement staffs under the authority of state game and fish commissioners. Game wardens originally were paid from a share of fines levied against violators, but flagrant abuses under that system soon caused most states to put their officers on a salaried basis. To pay the expense of these officers, a direct tax, in the form of the hunting license, was levied against the sportsman.

This was another significant development. It gave the hunter a financial stake in the wildlife resources that was shared by no other segment of the public. If it had been decided that state game commissions should have been financed from general funds, the story of modern wildlife management might have been different.

The federal government entered the picture in 1900 with the passage of the Lacey Act, which, among other things, prohibited the interstate shipment of game taken in violation of state laws. It elevated the Bureau of Biological Survey, the forerunner of the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service, to an enforcement agency and laid the ground work for the Migratory Bird Treaty of 1916, which firmly established the position and responsibility of the federal government in wildlife affairs.

From pure law enforcement, the various state agencies branched out with more positive programs designed to increase rather than merely save wildlife. This was spurred by sportsmen who had found that protection alone was not enough to assure a daily bag of the kind to which the hunters of those days were accustomed.

Inspired by the success of the ringnecked pheasant introduction in Oregon shortly after 1881, some states established game farms to extend the range of the newcomer. Many were successful, and artificial propagation was shifted to native species in an effort to supplement breeding stocks. That trial-and-error process wasted both money and effort. Pen-raised quail were dumped into coverts already filled with quail; elaborate and unsuccessful attempts were made to raise ruffed grouse; pheasants and chukar partridges were released far and wide, and most of them disappeared almost as soon as they left the delivery crates.

To protect the game still further, Vermin control' programs were promoted, and bounty payments, initiated originally to protect livestock, were made for all conceivable enemies of game birds and mammals. The buck law was initiated as a cure-all in deer management. Winter feeding of wildlife was advocated, and set the table for predators and pestilence.

These simple, direct approaches were accepted avidly by the sportsmen. They were things that the people could do themselves to help increase the game supply. Organizations and individuals threw themselves into the task, raising and releasing game, feeding birds, and shooting hawks and crows. When those methods failed to produce the desired results, the sportsmen often urged their state legislatures to reduce their own hunting privileges with closed seasons, reduced bag limits, and other restrictions.

All of the above needs to be known to gauge where we are and where we are going. Actually, this latter phase in the development of American hunting consolidated the moral and financial responsibility of the sportsmen toward the wildlife they hunted. Those of you in my age bracket who did much of your early hunting during that period will remember it with nostalgia. The antagonism of landowners toward hunters that characterized its opening years was alleviated considerably by educational programs sparked by the leading sportsmen's magazines and by national sportsmen's organizations like the old American Game Protective Association and the Izaak Walton League of America. Those private efforts were bolstered by liaison work and active campaigning by the state fish and game departments, and, as soon as the earlier conflicts had been resolved, there was plenty of elbow room for all.

That was a period of liberal open seasons and bag limits, and of self-sacrifice on the part of sportsmen. Every hunter thought that he knew exactly what should be done to increase the supply of game, and there were few wildlife biologists to disillusion him.

What might be called the modern phase of American hunting began about 1933, when Aldo Leopold published his book, Game Management, and brought into existence an entirely new approach toward wildlife production. His theory, based on the reproductive characteristics of the wildlife species in relation to the natural environment, upset completely many of the old ideas and practices that had been so popular in the past. It accounted for the failures of many restocking efforts and of artificial feeding. If the environment, or habitat, was not suitable, Leopold said, it was useless to try to introduce birds through stocking. If local covers already were filled to capacity with wild cottontails, it was wasteful to try to increase the population still further by dumping additional half-tame rabbits. The way to increase wild creatures was to expand the habitat, and 26 OUTDOOR NEBRASKA   the natural reproduction of the native populations would occupy it fully.

This theory was accepted by most of the state agencies, and it formed the basis for modern wildlife management. Many sportsmen also accepted the new concept, even though watching pheasants fly from a release box had been a more satisfying experience than planting multiflora hedges and waiting for results. In some states, however, the administrators found themselves saddled with firmly established bounty payments, game farms, and buck laws, all legacies from earlier days that they willingly would have discarded in favor of the new and more modern practices.

In 1937, Congress enacted the Pittman-Robertson Federal Aid in Wildlife Restoration Act and, in so doing, provided the most useful tool yet devised for aiding wildlife. It allocated the 11 per cent excise tax on sporting arms and ammunition to the states under a formula based on both the land area and number of hunting licenses sold in each state. With the required l-to-3 matching funds from state game departments, P-R provided the money to do such remarkable things as accelerate the return of deer hunting in many eastern states, greatly expand the numbers and range of the pronghorn antelope in the West, and make the chukar partridge a relatively common game bird in areas too dry to support native species. It provided public shooting areas and refuges and developed much information on wildlife diseases, food habits, and habitat needs. Without Pittman-Robertson Aid, hunting definitely would be much less rewarding today.

Three years earlier, in 1934, Congress had passed the Migratory Bird Hunting Stamp Act, which provided funds for the establishment of waterfowl refuges directly from the pockets of the wildfowlers. As an outgrowth of the stamp idea, many states began to require special hunting licenses and permits, in addition to their general licenses, usually ear-marking the proceeds for projects to assist the species for which the permit was required. Nebraska, for example, requires upland-bird hunters to purchase a special stamp, and a number of states have stamps or special big-game licenses. Virginia requires a use-stamp of all hunters on the national forests within its borders, the revenue being used for habitat improvement on the federal lands under a co-operative agreement with the U.S. Forest Service.

Out of the cumulative experiences of past generations of American sportsmen there has emerged the composite hunter of 1962. He comes from no particular walk of life, since hunting is one of the most cosmopolitan sports. The next hunter you meet in the field may be a bank president or a day laborer, a shop clerk or a corporation executive—it is difficult to distinguish one from the other in field clothes.

The composite hunter has definite prejudices and strong beliefs that come directly from the past. He feels that he has a proprietary interest in the game that he hunts, and a moral responsibility for its perpetuation. Because he buys a hunting license, he considers himself a shareholder in the state game agency and entitled to a voice in its affairs.

To the state game administrators, he sometimes is a problem since he often becomes impatient with modern, scientifically sound wildlife management. Due to the conditioning that he or his father received in the old days, when game management was looked upon as a much simpler problem, he frequently is distrustful of the trained scientist who opposes buck laws, stocking, bounty payments, and the other discredited cure-alls of the past. While he would like to hunt more than he does, he is untra-conservative toward the liberalization of game laws. If a longer season or a larger bag limit is proposed, he immediately fears that it will 'exterminate the game'. Yet he is equally critical of the authorities when they must curtail hunting privileges in the face of real necessity.

He is suspicious of non-hunting nature groups, although in the off-season he may enjoy wildlife photography or nature study himself. As long as he pays the required license fees and keeps within the legal restrictions, he considers both free hunting and the right to bear arms to be his birthright as an American citizen.

Do not misinterpret this analysis. The composite hunter of today is not the killer that some writers picture; he represents a cross-section of society. As an average citizen he has some of the good features and the bad of the typical American. The average hunter is honest, law abiding, and concerned over the future of his favorite sport, and, whenever he can be shown a clear need, he is willing to make sacrifices to assure its continuation.

Now then, with all this background, what is in store for the hunter? We know that he is moving very swiftly into a future that he must share with 200 million other Americans whose food, commerce, and residential requirements must be met. The question that we must ask ourselves, in all seriousness, is whether there will be room for hunting in the America of tomorrow.

I, for one, am not as pessimistic about the future as some others who have explored this subject in recent years. People have been predicting the imminent end of sport hunting for the last half-century. Still, in many respects, hunting is better today than ever before. The dark spot in the picture is in waterfowl hunting since it depends upon a specialized type of habitat which is under heavy attack from economic and other forces, including the weather; but deer and elk hunting, and many types of upland game shooting, are much better in some places than they have been for some years past.

The major problem of the future will be space in which to hunt, not a shortage of game. Commerical shooting preserves and private and leased hunting areas will assure many of the people of places to hunt for a long time to come. Public shooting grounds will take care of loads of others. Shooting preserves are going to play an even more important role in the future (continued on page 28)

PUBLIC HUNTING IN AMERICA

scheme of things, not only in providing their patrons with places to shoot, but in absorbing hunting pressure that otherwise would be forced upon open lands, especially around metropolitan centers. The states should be doing more, however, to require the highest possible quality and standards for shooting preserves.

There are many reasons to believe that there always will be lots of places to shoot a gun at something other than clay pigeons and paper targets. Basic laws already on the federal statute books provide machinery for coping with some future wildlife problems. The Duck Stamp Act probably has saved several species of waterfowl during the present crisis by providing funds for essential refuges. A 1961 act authorized an advance of $105 million from the U.S. Treasury to buy wetlands for waterfowl. The staggering accomplishments under the previously mentioned Pittman-Robertson Federal Aid Act have been responsible for doubling the range and numbers of several species of wildlife that might otherwise have become museum pieces. The act has provided huntable wildlife in areas where no game populations existed before, and has developed a backlog of information and techniques for the continuance of such work.

Secondly, there have been a number of federal directives and proposals in recent months that, if translated into action, will open much now-closed acreage to public hunting and assure the preservation of wildlife and recreational lands. Some of the recommendations of the Outdoor Recreation Resources Review Commission will help to stimulate more widespread support for the establishing of additional game management areas in all parts of the country. The Departments of Interior and Defense recently agreed to open and develop the land around federal reservoirs for maximum recreation and wildlife production. This new agreement reversed a detrimental policy that was adopted several years ago, and will provide innumerable benefits to the public.

Another sweeping directive from the Pentagon ordered the commanders of all military installations to work out wildlife management and public recreation programs in co-operation with state conservation departments. The new policy almost completel reverses the previous situation, and the sportsmen should make sure it is implemented.

Both the U.S. Forest Service and the Bureau of Land Management, which between them control nearly 400 million acres of the most important and extensive public hunting grounds in the nation, are striving to broaden their recreational programs. Some access roads are being built to distribute hunting pressure and to open inaccessible portions of the lands. Steps also are being taken to secure access rights to the national forests and public domain across intervening private lands. This very thorny problem blocks hunting access to millions of acres of federal lands.

The Secretary of Agriculture made the startling disclosure recently, in announcing a new farm program, that 51 million fewer acres will be needed in crop production by 1980. He urged Congress to authorize new programs to give farmers technical and financial assistance in devoting the acreage to wildlife and recreation. He wants lands now devoted to the wasteful and needless production of surplus crops used to provide 2 products for which there appear unlimited demand—wildlife and recreation.

This thinking, which was unheard of on the national level only 10 years ago, means that we are on a frontier of considerable importance to the hunter and recreationist. Private lands provide most of the upland game and a goodly portion of the big-game hunting opportunity, and if this new agricultural thinking is put into law and implemented, we have the pleasant prospect of getting millions of acres of better-grade wildlife habitat.

Many promising things also are being done on the state level. Nearly all of the conservation departments of the eastern and midwestern states, where the need is most urgent, have initiated programs designed to assure the sportsman of more places to hunt. These programs vary from outright purchase to long-term leasing.

New York, Michigan, and Pennsylvania pioneered this work many years ago and, among them, they acquired millions of acres of land where the sportsman is welcome. It is unfortunate that more states did not follow their lead in acquiring large tracts of tax-delinquent and sub-marginal land when it was available for next to nothing during the depression years. In spite of the handicap of rising land costs, however, many of the states are making excellent progress in this field.

Several states — California, New York, New Hampshire, Vermont, New Jersey, and Wisconsin—are going all-out now on the acquisition of recreational lands. California, since 1947, has allocated $13 million in state parimutuel funds to wildlife projects, including land acquisition for public hunting. New York recently embarked on a far-reaching program of recreational land acquisition financed by a $75 million bond issue. Wisconsin just launched a $50 million program of a similar nature to be financed by the earmarking of a one-cent tax on cigarettes. Pennsylvania's legislature has tentatively approved a $70 million program. Other states are watching with interest, and more programs undoubtedly will follow. Much of this land will be open to hunting, and will be of good quality.

Some states, which have not yet obtained adequate funds for such elaborate programs, have devised other ways of opening new areas to hunters. The posting of safety zones around dwellings, occupied buildings, and working areas on farms has opened much previously closed land to hunting. Surveys have shown that many farmers are more concerned with being relieved of nuisance and hazard 28 OUTDOOR NEBRASKA   problems associated with hunting than in obtaining supplementary incomes, especially on the smaller farms in the eastern states. Special attention usually is given to the lands of co-operating farmers by conservation officers. Massachusetts has employed this system with considerable effect, and a number of states have adopted modifications of the same plan. Nearly the same principle has been developed into a national program by the Izaak Walton League.

Many states also have produced good hunting by various means in areas where little hunting existed before, especially on state forests, state parks, and other public property. In co-operation with state foresters, the game agencies have broken up large blocks of unproductive wildlife cover by bulldozing or controlled burning and have planted the strips to grasses, fruit-producing shrubs, and other wildlife foods. Fire lanes, power lines, and other required clearings have been treated similarly.

Massachusetts does this and has added an interesting frill, borrowed from commercial shooting preserve operators. As a marginal pheasant state, it has been under pressure from organized sportsmen to continue game-farm production, even though studies have proved that, under normal stocking procedures, only one pheasant in each 10 bagged was pen-raised. The game-farm birds now are released during the hunting season on food patches bulldozed and planted on state forests, and the recovery of the birds has been high. This is an imaginative and productive use of resources that heretofore had been wasted. The areas also receive a high degree of successful use by rabbit, quail, grouse, and deer hunters.

These are practices that can be used in other states to provide better hunting and to assure more sportsmen of places to hunt. There are many other methods already being tried by other states that should be adopted elsewhere.

The states and the federal government, however, cannot do the whole job. The sportsman must do a great deal more than merely purchase the required hunting licenses and permits to help himself to better hunting in the future.

One of the most important things that he can do is to make a real effort to understand the basic principles of modern wildlife management. Nearly all of the states are handicapped in attempts to provide better hunting by misguided public sentiment, stemming usually from sportsmen's groups. The public often insists that bounty payments be continued, even though professional wildlife opinion is nearly unanimous in stating that bounties are a waste of funds. The millions of dollars that are spent on bounties could be used profitably for the purchase and development of wildlife lands. Many states still are saddled with costly and wasteful game-farm programs, at a time when the squandered money should be put to better use.

Some state departments also are slow to realize the challenges and opportunities of the 1960's. It is now up to the sportsmen to (continued on page 30)

CENTRAL GUN INC.

ADNEY'S ROD AND GUN

PUBLIC HUNTING IN AMERICA

insist upon the initiation of programs and practices that look to the future of hunting.

Except for the pressures brought to bear on game commissions and state legislatures, many hunting regulations could be liberalized greatly, providing much additional sport for more hunters. Deer are almost universally underharvested, but many states are forced to adhere to rigid buck laws or to have such limited antlerless deer seasons that many animals are wasted through disease and winter starvation. Most states easily could expand their deer seasons, which would distribute hunting pressure over a longer period of time and break up concentrations of hunters that lead to hazardous hunting conditions.

Instead of that, ill-advised efforts by both sportsmen and legislators in some states have succeeded in taking the regulatory powers for the opening and closing of seasons away from the fish and game departments and handing the control or veto power to county boards, and you know what happens. County supervisors are not equipped to make the necessary checks, investigations, and determinations, so you get political decisions.

The same problem of underharvest applies to many small-game species in a lot of states, because unrealistic regulations have been adopted by game departments to satisfy overconservative sportsmen. Hunters can do a great deal to provide additional sport. For one thing, they can seek out areas away from the crowds where hunting pressures are light. This requires some effort, but less than most sportsmen seem to realize. On the opening day of the deer season, it is common to see cars lined up almost bumper-to-bumper along woods roads with so-called hunters standing around waiting for the deer to come out. The few who venture a mile or so from the roads rarely see another hunter outside their own party, and they are the ones who usually drag in a deer before dark. A lot of small-game hunters are following the same practice, joining the crowds along the main roads while hunting areas in the back country go almost untapped.

The individual hunter can help to maintain his own sport by conducting himself as a sportsman at all times while on private property. Much posted land is open to the man who asks permission to hunt, and it will remain open to him as long as he conducts himself as a gentleman. He has an obligation to teach his sons the same outdoor manners.

Good sportsmen will go all out to promote programs like the NRA Hunter's Code of Ethics and Shooting Safety programs, and the Hunt America Time program of the Izaak Walton League of America. The success of such projects will have an important bearing on the amount of public hunting that will be available on private lands 5, 10, or 20 years from now. Furthermore, when the time ever comes that millions of hunters are making use of name-and-address cards like those bearing the NRA Code of Ethics, and are identifying themselves to landowners when they ask for permission to hunt, you can begin to quit worrying about the future of public hunting in this country.

The sportsman of the future may have to accept a degree of regimentation that some of us would regard as oppressive today. The same holds for automobile use, daily activities, and community living. It is likely that people will be told when and where they can hunt as well as what and how much they can shoot. Special licenses for specific areas and possibly for prescribed times may become commonplace. Various kinds of special permits already are in use in most western states to regulate hunting on specific herds or to apply more gun pressure on ranges less accessible to the public.

There also may be some extension of restrictions upon who may hunt. Thirty-two states already have adopted the excellent Hunter Safety Training Program of the NRA. Knowledge of proper firearms use and hunter courtesy is going to become a prerequisite to the issuance of licenses to young hunters. New York's Conservation Department is conducting a study to see if the eyesight of hunters has a bearing upon hunting accidents. My own impression is that it is not only the keenness of a hunter's vision, but whether he is the type that shoots at something that he thinks he sees that causes him to kill or wound a fellow hunter.

I feel that hunting is a sport that we shall all be able to enjoy for as long as sportsmen and wildlife administrators can work together to solve mutual problems. Many hunters undoubtedly will have to pay more and travel farther for their sport. The hunting will not be entirely like it is today. Modern outdoor sports are not what many of us knew 30 or 40 years ago. But there will be hunting, and it will be good.

SPEAK UP

"The cover on the August issue of OUTDOOR Nebraska gives me the shivers. The picture is very good but the subject could be misleading. We have new hunters joining us every year. Some of them may get the idea they should wear clothing that blends with the surrounding landscape.

"I have hunted big game for 30 years and have, for the first time, to feel what I was wearing had anything to do with my getting game.

"I hunted two years ago with a man who wore white coveralls. Another man wore a red coat. The man with the coveralls could be recognized as far as you could see him. The one with the red coat could be seen when in the sun, but when he walked into the shadows, the red did not show. At 400 yards he was just a blur. I don't think the color of your clothing will interfere with your hunting success, but it could keep you from getting shot.

"There are some things that will spook game. Two I am sure of is a gun that has been fired or empty shells. I sometimes hunt with a man that keeps his empty shells to reload and he says he has, never shot a deer under 200 yards. I have never shot one over 200 yards and most of them at about 50 yards or less. The only difference I can see is that my gun and myself are free of powder smoke."—B. D. Lofgreen, Beaver City.

Bow-and-arrow deer hunters wear clothing that blends with their surroundings to get within 25 or 30 yards of their target. Since they are close to the deer, there is little chance that they might accidentally shoot a fellow hunter. The archery season is closed during the rifle season. Your point is well taken regarding wearing clothes that are easily distinguished by other hunters during the rifle season. Most states are currently recommending orange or yellow hunting togs, since they are the most readily identifiable color for hunters. Your other observations are very interesting.—Editor.

"Last May Steve Sutton and I were on a camping-fishing trip on the Elkhorn River near Winslow, Nebraska. When I woke up one morning I looked around and saw two deer approaching our camp. They did not run until I tried to wake sleepy-eyed Steve so he could see them, too. They were about 10 to 15 yards from us when they started to run. What I would like to know is were they coming toward our camp because of curiosity, in search of food, or didn't they care that we were sleeping in their 'living room'?"—Jay Jensen, Omaha.

Deer have long been known for being curious, a trait that has often caused them to end in the deepfreeze—Editor.

LEGEND OF HIRAM SCOTT

civilized life. He still preferred it, but with the odds a little more in his favor. Faced with death, he could only hope that his two companions would chose to gamble and wait for him. A man discovers that he has a lot of living yet to do when faced with the grim spectre of death.

But his two companions wanted no part of the situation. They had stretched their luck when they climbed aboard the bullboat. After a quick conference, they approached Scott and told him that they were going out after game.

That was the last that Scott ever saw of them. He knew that he had been abandoned almost as soon as they pulled out, but he kept quiet. Knifing through the thick webs of delirium that had enveloped him during those days on the boat, he tried to remember the rendezvous site, then swore that somehow he would get there in time.

How long Scott rested no one knows. Where he got the strength to follow the trail east is a mystery. But he did find the strength, and stumbled and crawled and clawed his way to the bluff, miles downstream. It seemed impossible, but a man abandoned to die alone refused to die, at least without putting up a fight.

Legging it out of hostile country in quick order, the two trappers pushed on to the bluffs and then on east until they caught up with Sublette. They reported that Scott had died below Laramie Fork after the accident. Sublette accepted their report at face value, having no reason to suspect otherwise.

The outfit pushed on, making St. Louis late in the fall. There they reported the death of Hiram Scott and three others lost in the Indian raid. Ashley was sorry to hear of the death of his trusted clerk. Scott was second only to Sublette in the 1828 expedition, and had served Ashley well since he answered the advertisement for "enterprising young men" in the Missouri Republican, March 20,1822.

There had been the battle with the Aricara on the upper Missouri in 1823. Then Scott served as a lieutenant, he and the other trappers joining with Colonel Henry Leavenworth's Fort Atkinson command to put down the Indian rebellion. Ashley trusted Scott, making him a clerk to watch over his interests on the 1827-28 expedition after noting his performance on previous outings.

So Scott was written off as dead, forgotten about as soon as the Rocky Mountain Company started to count the receipts from the furs they had brought from the rendezvous on the Green River. But Hiram Scott would not be forgotten.

The next spring Sublette and his men again headed west, pushing up the north side of the Platte for the beaver-laden streams of the high country. Many of the mountaineers remembered the events at Laramie Fork, especially the two who had abandoned Scott. They were in the shadows of the great bluff again, but had no reason to suspect that their secret would be discovered.

Scott would not let the deserters off that easy. One of Sublette's hunters had gone across the river, hoping to bag one of the bighorns that abounded within its slopes. After a day of fruitless hunting, he returned to the river and was ready to cross when he looked to his left and saw the grinning skull staring up at him. It was Scott, at least what was left of him. Sublette and the others knew in an instant that the two men had lied; that they had abandoned the helpless man when he was still alive.

It seems impossible that Scott could reach the bluff. Such an effort would have required superhuman strength. But he had done the impossible, his bones grim evidence of one man's will to survive and of other men's treachery. Scott's remains were buried at the bluff, but his grave was unmarked. Neither Sublette nor his men ever divulged the names of the men who abandoned Scott and the two have been lost in the pages of history. Even Scott's story can be written only by putting together bits and pieces from the diaries of emigrants and trappers. Much of his story remains a mystery today and one can really only surmise what happened.

Hiram Scott lives on, however, his grueling crawl one of the great legends of the Old West. The young trapper enjoys his own kind of immortality, the great bluff his monument. Many remember Scotts Bluff National Monument for the millions of emigrants that passed its slopes. The coming of the 32 OUTDOOR NEBRASKA   emigrants marked the end of the mountaineers' wilderness, one era unfolding into another. But Scott, like his monument, has survived all of the eras, his name to become a distinct part of the NEBRASKAland scene.

DO FISH TALK?

of their dorsal spines against a bone, while the miller's thumb (a flat-headed, slimy little fish), similarly rubs a spine against its gill cover. The Indian catfish scrapes its dorsal fin up and down the serrated surface of part of its backbone and makes quite a noise in this way on occasion, when it feels inclined. A similar sound is made when the common sunfish grates its upper throat teeth against the lower.

There are even fish with combined voices of mechanical scrapers and swim-bladder amplifiers. The drumming trigger fish creates a frictional noise with its bones and then broadcasts the sound via its swim bladder. The croaker, so common along the Atlantic coast, probably makes its odd spawning cry in like manner, for even when produced 50 feet below the surface, it can be heard in the air by human beings. There is a possibility, too, that in some of the spiny fish, the sharp grating sounds may be warning notes, intended to frighten off attackers.

Many other fish undoubtedly produce distinctive talk by contractions or vibrations of their swim bladder in a way technicians do not fully understand, any more than at the moment they are still not sure just how dolphins make their clicks and quacks. For no water creatures possess vocal chords with which to talk.

Whales and dolphins and perhaps fish also are suspected of being able to find objects in the dark depths of the ocean. The only known clue to their ability to do so is their sensitivity to waves of ultrasonic frequency, bounced back to their hearing equipment, radar-fashion. Although just how they detect the direction of a sound underwater at any frequency is still undecided.

But this explanation alone does not explain why fish and all mobile water creatures need to make a noise, to talk. Sending out a single continuous pulse for sonic perception is one thing, but 'creating a variety of underwater noises recognizable only to other fish of the same kind is quite another. From experience with captive dolphins and sharks, technicians know that solitary captives tend to be mostly silent, whereas two or three or more confined together become immediately voluble.

Clearly, then, fish talk among themselves, often at perhaps a basic level of communication, but to a rigid pattern that makes sociability in the shoal or group easy, breeding untrammelled by distance, darkness, or solitariness, and life not quite so dull and simple as might be supposed.

SURPLUS CENTER

note son Nebraska fauna ...

PIED-BILLED GREBE

NOW YOU see him and now you don't. He'll disappear before your eyes, and all that remains is a circle of ripples where he silently disappeared beneath the surface of the water. It was a typical maneuver for the little pied-billed grebe, Podilymbus podiceps. Few birds are more at home in the water than this one, hence, the common names "hell diver" and "water witch".

The grebe is an example of an ancient type of bird. He is not a duck, not even a distant relative. Actually, the little hell-diver would be more closely compared to the loon. Of the various American grebes, the pie-billed is the most widely distributed of the clan.

There are many distinguishing features. The feet have flattened lobes on each side of the toes, rather than webbing as in ducks and geese. His legs are positioned so far to the rear of the body that he has to do a balancing act to stand up. The legs are enclosed by skin of the abdomen till only the last joint above the toes is free.

Pied-bills are about teal-size but appear somewhat smaller since there is no visible tail. The feathers are silky, compact, and hair-like. The 34 OUTDOOR NEBRASKA   large head seems to be out of proportion with a heavy, short, white bill that has a black band around it during the breeding season. The over-all color is blackish-brown with white under parts.

During the early years of this century, breast feathers of these birds were used to adorn ladies' hats, and hunters killed large numbers. The grebe is now protected by federal law, but has no special economic importance. Though some claim the flesh is palatable, the bird has no importance as a game bird. His fish-eating habits are not detrimental to fish.

Grebes range from Canada to northern South America. They are migratory from the northern parts where waters freeze over during the winter months. Hell-divers are common nesters throughout Nebraska in suitable lakes and marshes. The first spring arrivals usually appear here around the first of April with migration to warmer climes taking place in October.

Courtship consists of the male and female swimming toward each other with head and neck held erect. The male pursues the female in short splashy dashes. Nesting material is picked up and dropped after it is flashed around. Both follow this ritual, turning and pivoting in each others presence. Eventually two nests are usually made, but neither has any intention of incubating or using the first.

Nesting areas consist of waters with bulrushes or other aquatic plants that grow above the water. The nest is on the water and may or may not be anchored to the bottom, two feet or so below. It is constructed by pulling together floating dead vegetation. The completed structure is a floating sodden mass of aquatic plants, about 15 inches across. The rim rides two or three inches above the water with a depression or cup in the middle. Five or six eggs (sometimes as many as nine) are deposited in the soggy nest. They are a dull white without spots and soon become discolored from the wet vegetation. Both male and female help with the incubation as well as caring for the young. If an intruder causes the adult to leave his incubating chores, he pauses long enough to cover the eggs with material from the rim of the nest, then slides off the edge and disappears in the water with scarcely a ripple. He'll reappear in the vegetation several feet away.

When hatched, the little grebes take to the water as soon as they are dry. They can immediately swim and dive. The young are curiously marked with irregular dark and light streaks and a spot of bright orange red on the head. They will occasionally climb aboard the parent's back for a free ride, sometimes willingly given. If still riding when no longer wanted, the parent shakes the offspring off and swims along her way.

Food consists largely of animal matter, chiefly small fish and aquatic insects. Crayfish, molluscs, and a small amount of vegetation are all utilized. Amazingly their stomachs always seem to contain quantities of their own body feathers. Feathers are also fed to the young and seem to play an important part in the grebe's diet.

The pied-bill is a shy bird, remarkably adept at diving and submerging to the point where only the bill and eye are visible above the water. He can remain in this nearly submerged position for long periods while an intruder remains close by. His enemies include mink, fish, frogs, snakes, muskrats, and birds of prey. As a diver, the grebe has few equals in the bird world. The quickness of his actions is illustrated by his ability to dive after the discharge of a shotgun and be underwater before the shot reaches him.

Although the grebe excells in the water, his abilities in flight are wanting. Flight is weak and wobbly and one wonders whether the bird will stay airborne. His feet trail behind and serve as a rudder, as the tail would in another bird. He has as much difficulty on land, sometimes progressing on his stomach like a seal.

To those who have stood beside the marsh in early summer, and heard the vast variety of calls and noises coming from the many and varied species hidden by the vegetation, the loud calling of the grebe is an attention-getter. It is a loud, vibrant, striking cow-cow-cow-cow-cow-cow wh-cow win that commands one to listen. His loud call, swimming and diving abilities, and physical make-up make him an interesting part of the state scene.

the HORN RACK

How often have you admired the Old West gun racks seen in expensive collections? You can display your gun in this same attractive setting at a fraction of the cost you might imagine. The most important item, the horns, can be had for the asking at most packing houses. Once the horns are boiled to remove the core, they can be shined to a glistening finish. The wooden plugs that will be used to fasten the horns to the backing come next. A liberal application of glue is important to insure a solid fit. Lay the guns out on the floor to mark the position of the horns on the backing. Once in place, you're ready to display your guns.