To LIGHT A CANDLE

by M. O. Steen Director, Nebraska Game Commission Question is are we to hold our own and even improve fishing and hunting, or to lose out forever?

IT IS FAR better to light one candle than to curse the darkness." So says an old Chinese proverb. It is far better, to be sure, but it is not always the popular thing to do. Some people prefer the darkness. There are times when the candle-lighter gets cursed.

In Nebraska it is especially unpopular to propose an increase in taxation. Unpopular with some people no matter what, and unpopular with the majority unless they decide that the increase is justified. This is true of the proposed permit-fee increases. The majority do not pay these fees, although they do have an equity in the fish and game resources of Nebraska. It is the anglers and hunters who are directly and personally concerned. They pay the permit fees because they harvest the fish and game.

The permit is a taxation device, pure and simple. Its sole purpose is to raise the revenue needed to manage fish and game. It is a tax receipt, not a sales ticket for limit takes of wildlife, as many assume.

If the angler or hunter were buying fish or game with the money paid for a permit, he would get very FEBRUARY, 1963 3   little of either. Consider these examples. The $2 fishing permit would buy a half-dozen average crappie, or two medium-sized bass, or one good walleye. The $2.50 hunting permit might buy three cottontails. With the Upland Bird Stamp added, the $3.50 would buy, at best, only three quail, or two pheasants. It wouldn't buy one grouse. If you doubt this, try buying any or all of the above species at a commercial fish hatchery or game farm. You will do well if you buy anything at the prices quoted.

To LIGHT A CANDLE continued

The Nebraska angler or hunter enjoys one of the biggest bargains in the country. He pays less and gets more than nine-tenths of the nation's sportsmen. That is the situation today. The big question is whether we are to hold our favorable position and improve it whenever possible.

There is no doubt about the fact that we cannot, in the long run, maintain the fishing and hunting we now enjoy on a $2 fishing permit and a $2.50 hunting permit. In short, the question we face is whether, over the years, we will gain or lose ground in the management of Nebraska's fish and game resources.

Public management of wildlife, like any other major activity, has fixed overhead as a primary need. Operations and maintenance costs must be met, come what may. It is imperative that we conduct enough research to maintain accurate information on the status of every species of fish and game in this state. It is equally imperative that we set and enforce fishing and hunting regulations to control man's harvest of each species to safe limits. It is also essential that we operate a few fish hatcheries, promote and develop good habitat, and do other things necessary to hold the line in wildlife management. If we fail in this basic work the fish and game of this state will slowly but surely decline to insignificant levels, if not complete extermination.

Look at the history of American wildlife, especially the history of Nebraska's wildlife. Most fish and game would have been wiped out but for public management. What happened to Nebraska's antelope, deer, and the wild turkey? The deer and the antelope were reduced from great herds to pitiful remnants, and Nebraska's wild turkeys were exterminated altogether.

Is it not true that public management saved the antelope and deer from following the wild turkey into oblivion? Is it not also true that we are once again hunting antelope in Nebraska, have experienced the first state-wide deer season in 55 long years, and held the first wild-turkey season in the Twentieth Century. Why? Because Nebraska sportsmen financed public wildlife management with their permit fees. This is commonly overlooked. Those who denounce public hunting contribute nothing themselves, and conveniently forget that it was the 4 OUTDOOR NEBRASKA   market hunters who decimated game and the sportsmen who restored it.

What is true of the more spectacular species is also true, in a less dramatic way, of nearly all fish and game. Nebraska has more total wildlife resources, and better all-around fishing and hunting today, than at any point in modern times. Moreover, we would have precious little fish and game left if the sportsmen of this state had not financed public-wildlife management this last half-century. The truth is really stranger than fiction, even when it is revealed by the light of a single candle.

To better see the truth, I light another candle. The downward trend in wildlife was reversed only when the annual contributions to public management began to rise significantly. In Nebraska, nearly all important gains have come since the $1 Upland Bird Stamp and the last raise in permit fees went into effect. For the first time in its history, the Game Commission had a small margin above annual operation and maintenance costs. We were able to support scientific wildlife management and to finance capital improvements, and both brought gains in fishing and hunting opportunities. That little extra cash did it all.

I light the third candle. It will not be possible to continue this progress with the income provided by current permit fees. In the long run, we cannot even hold the gains made in recent years. We have reached the end of our rope. We are operating on horse-and-buggy financing in the Jet Age. Ever-rising costs and ever-increasing demands wiped out the small margin we enjoyed. In recent years capital improvements have been possible only because of increased income from nonresident permits, and because we have used operations and maintenance funds to pay capital improvement costs.

Nonresident permit fees are a revenue source but only on a bonus basis; they cannot be relied upon over the years. Adversity will eventually strike. Flooding, drought, disease, or other factors will occur. Production setbacks will come. It is nature's way to impose checks on every species, sooner or later, and we are due. A bad year, a poor pheasant crop, and we must tell the nonresident, "Do not come to Nebraska this year."

Borrowing from operations and maintenance funds is possible only as a temporary expediency, and this possibility is ending. We have reached the stage where we must now make good on the maintenance we have postponed. We are at the end of our revenue rope.

This is the situation we face today. Yet week after week we pass up golden opportunities to improve fishing and hunting; to increase wildlife. We cannot do otherwise. We have no leeway nor reserve. We have to say NO to many opportunities; projects that can be bought for a few cents on the dollar; projects that will be urgently needed in the years ahead and will cost 10 times as much then as now. And the saddest truth of all is that most of these opportunities are the kind that come but once. When we pass them up they are gone forever.

Let me cite just two cases, one in fisheries management and one in game management. Space does not permit me to present more, and certainly not all. I could write a book on the potentials and projects that are going steadily down the drain for lack of capital improvement funds.

By far the most urgent and profitable activity in the entire fisheries management field is the construction of new lakes—the creation of new fish-producing FEBRUARY, 1963 5   areas. Moreover, new lakes provide for many water-oriented sports. In short, there is nothing like building new lakes—nothing in the outdoor-recreation field tops the development of new recreational water.

To LIGHT A CANDLE continued

All over this state watershed districts are launching soil-erosion and water-control developments called watershed projects. By a happy coincidence the majority occur in the exact areas where fisheries and recreational water are most urgently needed. For the cost of the extra rip-rap needed on the dam, or the purchase price of the acreage flooded, or some other small contribution we can, in many cases, insure public access and a relatively stable lake.

There is normally no way in which a watershed district can underwrite these added costs. Moreover, fish and recreation are not their responsibility, even though invariably their desire. The result is that, instead of a fish-producing, recreational lake, we end up with a less costly detention dam that stores flood waters today, and becomes a dry reservoir tomorrow.

On file in our offices as I write are 17 watershed projects that call for a grand total of 314 dams to control runoff waters. The plans could be revised if funds were available. We can do nothing about creating new lakes on any of these sites. We can not bring about a change in the plans because we have no capital improvement funds to contribute. Yet the sad truth is that the cost of so doing is around 10 per cent of what it will cost sportsmen to build the same lakes entirely with permit-fee money.

Take a good look at these facts, Mr. Anti-increase Angler, you who declare that $2 a year is all you can contribute. How much do you think $2 will buy today? You contend that a little over one-half cent a day is all Nebraska's fishing is worth, yet you refuse to help make it better. For 10 cents on the dollar you can create fishing right at home, which adds up to reduced travel and other costs, hence more fishing for less total money.

Add up the costs of the fishing tackle you purchase, the gasoline used, the worms and minnows you buy, and all other costs of your fishing activities. Then take another look at the $2 you pay for the management of fish and the improvement of fishing. That $2 is the smallest but most important part of your fishing budget. Even in candlelight it looks skimpy, doesn't it? But take a good, long look at it. Two dollars a year is not skimpy. It's downright miserly.

Despite spectacular gains with some game species, we are hard pressed to hold the line in the important area of farm game. Maintenance of good protective cover on a year-round basis is the biggest problem we face in the management of the pheasant, quail, 6 OUTDOOR NEBRASKA   and cottontail rabbits. These species provide most of our game take and our hunting days afield, hence their management is especially important.

We are constantly passing up opportunities to acquire public-hunting grounds and wildlife-management lands. We do not have income enough to participate in habitat improvement under various soil-conservation and federal farm programs. Under the new national Outdoor Recreation program, this Congress will undoubtedly make acquisition and development funds available to the states on a matching basis. Nebraska cannot compete with states that have capital improvement funding.

Next to me is an offer to sell the state an abandoned railroad right-of-way which runs for many miles through country where we urgently need permanent cover and public-hunting grounds. This acreage can be bought for about one-third the price of other land in that area. It has wonderful cover and is largely grades and cuts, unsuitable for cultivation but ideal for game purposes.

When railroad companies sell abandoned right-of-way in small tracts, the cost of sales negotiations, perfecting titles, and conveying a few acres to each of many buyers, becomes excessive. As a result very little net is realized by the railroad. If we deal, we buy the entire right-of-way, hence excessive costs are eliminated. This puts us in a strong bargaining position. We are able to buy old right-of-ways at very favorable prices—if we can find the money. If we cannot, we lose another opportunity to save farm game.

Take a good look at these facts, Mr. Anti-increase Hunter, you who love your pheasant, quail, and bunny shooting. It's your sport that's at stake, so look carefully. If you see what I see, you will change your mind about hunting permit fees. You will not want to pass up any good chance to protect your sport. Certainly you will not choose to say goodbye forever to opportunities to do so at 30 cents on the dollar.

Incidentally, take inventory of your hunting gear and add up your annual hunting costs. When you do, it will seem silly to argue that you can not afford an extra dollar or two a year to preserve your own sport. The permit fee is insignificant in hunting costs. A box of shotgun shells costs as much today as does your hunting permit.

Last but not least, the flickering candlelight reveals this all-important truth— the only profitable expenditure anglers and hunters make is the money they pay for permits. Nothing else matters much in the long run. The permit fees they pay finance all public management of fish and game. These fees represent about three per cent of total angling and hunting costs, yet are far more important than all other expenditures put together. Public management saved most American wildlife from extermination in the past. It is the only way to save public fishing and hunting for the future.

Shall we gain or lose ground in the years ahead? That is the question, and the only question. The decision is yours, therefore the responsibility is yours. Wildlife management in Nebraska is at the most important crossroads in its history. If you want to gain ground you must tell your senator that you support the permit increases. If you value $1 or $2 a year more than your wildlife, tell him you oppose the permit increases. It's as simple as that.

Shall we gain or lose ground—that is the question. I cannot decide that question. I can only light a candle.

THE END FEBRUARY, 1963 7

NEBRASKAland's Top Guns

All-Americans galore, they put state first in the nation in trapshooting by Bob Morris

IN THE DAYS of the Old West, it wasn't safe for a greenhorn to fool with any of the legendary gunmen. The penalty for losing usually was a trip to Boot Hill. It is much the same today. Instead of a rough pine box, however, anyone foolish enough to tangle with NEBRASKAland's top guns goes away mumbling to himself about western sharpshooters.

Today's NEBRASKAland gun slingers aren't fast-draw artists ready to take on anyone who looks at them wrong. Instead, they are trapshooters — some of the best in the world. They go against the best shooters in the country and come away champions.

Bueford Bailey, Big Springs rancher, is a good example. For the past six years he has been named to the Sports Afield All-America Trap Team. Bailey has over 250 trophies scattered around his home. Almost any time he shows up at a shoot he's sure to 8 OUTDOOR NEBRASKA   bring off most of the honors. This sureshot holds a number of national and international records.

Yet, if any time Bailey started to get a big head about his accomplishments, he could get his clock fixed without even leaving town, even his own home. Bailey's 16-year-old son, Clinton, has been named to the All-America Junior Squad on three occasions. The Big Springs rancher could be even further chastened by his father, Glen, and brother, Wayne. Dayton Dorn, who runs an elevator in town, could take him down another notch. And if this squad couldn't accomplish the job, Bailey's uncle, 63-year-old George Zimmerman, is always ready to step in. All of these shooters live in a sleepy little town of 510 inhabitants in the extreme southeast edge of the panhandle.

But Nebraska's record doesn't stop here. From one end of the state to the other there are plenty of shooters to give NEBRASKAland the trapshooting title of the nation.

Wayne Kennedy of Kimball is another leading trapshooter. Kennedy has been named to the All-America squad on three occasions. Each year he is rated as one of the top shots in the nation.

North of Kimball at Scottsbluff lives Bud June, another perennial All-America choice. He has been named to the team for the past eight years. The 53-year-old tire salesman doesn't have to take a back seat to anyone when it comes to honors.

Eight miles east of Scottsbluff in Gering, Jim McCole, Game Commission conservation officer, can show off his trophies, too. Twice named to the famed All-America team, McCole was runner-up in the annual Grand American Handicap in 1958. That was the year he had the highest average in the nation.

The panhandle doesn't hold all the shooting honors, however. Keith Brink, Oakdale, and Charlie Keenen Jr., South Sioux City, were named to the 1962 All-America Junior Team. Mrs. Doris Voss, Omaha, is a member of the All-America Women's Squad. Her husband, John, is another top marksman. Bill Grubbs is the best in the Fremont area. Ray Scheer takes the honors in nearby Arlington. Another top youngster is 12-year-old Jim Columbo, Omaha, one of the rising stars in the shooting game.

As in baseball, averages tell much of the story in trapshooting. Each year the Amateur Trapshooting Association publishes the official national standings based on the number of targets hit in registered shoots. A trapshooter may not remember his wife's birthday or to bring home a loaf of bread but he never forgets his average. The past year may be recalled as one of the hard winters, birth of a child, or a job promotion. But a trapshooter will remember it better as the year his average was over 97 per cent. Better than that, he'll recite it out to the fourth decimal point.

Kennedy recalls such a year. "I had a pretty good season in 1958. I won a number of state titles and my average was .9867. I figured it would be good enough to put me in the top five or six in the nation. It was, in fact it was (continued on page 32)

FEBRUARY, 1963 9

HEADWATER TROUT

by Gene Hornbeck Weather lousy, stream well iced, but fishing great

BUBBLING FORTH from a variety of springs, then etching their way along the base of mammoth hills, the small ribbons of water wed in the remoteness of Cherry County's Sand Hills to spawn the North Loup River. Here, at its headwaters, is a trouter's paradise, a wilderness stream harboring rainbows and browns hungry to take my minnow offering.

Because of its remoteness, the crystal-clear stream remains yet today almost virgin water. Only an occasional angler works his way 30 miles across Sand Hills trails to get to the stream. The trail is tortuous, but the reward, once you top that last hill and look down on its beaver-pond-studded valley, is enough to make you want to come back again and again.

This is the sight that greeted Doug Wragge and me as we stood overlooking the river one cold winter day in January. Low clouds scudded over carrying the threat of snow, as we booted up for my first try on the Loup's headwaters. Winter had come to the hills, Doug's favorite and most productive time for trout fishing.

"The stream has a lot of seepage along its course," Doug said. "This makes walking tough. It isn't unusual to step into a spring hole and go in over your hip boots. In winter the marshy ground freezes and you can walk over the sinkholes."

Both of us were using fly rods and our lines were baited up with lively minnows. Three small split shot added enough weight to get the bait down into the holes. The creek had many undercut banks and plenty of beaver dams.

Fishing upstream, I tried a hole below an old dam. The water funneled through a break in the 10 OUTDOOR NEBRASKA   center, digging a hole deep in the sandy bottom. I drifted the bait through the hole a number of times with no luck and continued upstream past Doug, who was testing a hole on a bend.

Glancing his way, I saw his rod arch for the water as he set the hook in his first fish. A few seconds ticked by as he tried to jockey the fish out of some brush. Then the line went limp.

"Missed him," he called. "It was a rainbow about a foot long. He fooled around with the minnow for a couple of minutes before I felt him run with it."

A half hour whisked by as I explored the watery hide-outs with the minnow. Holes were not as numerous as I had first thought, but the undercut banks looked like they held fish.

Doug had gone ahead, leaving a quarter mile of stream for me to fish. Small beaver ponds put obstacles in my path and with hip boots it was impossible to get to the stream. Finally I cut out and headed up to see how Doug was making out. He, too, had bypassed the ponds and in the process had come up with three rainbows and a brown in the one-foot class. Being blanked, I suggested that we move upstream. I wanted to see more holes and less ponds.

"There are some old dams from here on up but the fishing's better," Doug offered. "The dams below slow the water too much and the ponds are impossible to fish without breast waders. I hooked all of my fish within the last 200 yards and saw quite a few more. Maybe your luck will change."

Hooking on a fresh minnow, I walked 100 yards or so upstream, found a fishy looking hole, and drifted the bait into it. The first drift went untouched as did the second. Then I dropped the minnow along the very edge of the bank and it was swept back deep into the undercut.

Just as I began to retrieve I felt a solid strike as a trout hit the bait. Slacking (continued on next page) FEBRUARY, 1963 11   off on the line just a trifle, I gave him time to get the hook, then snapped the rod tip to hook him. A 10-inch rainbow came bombshelling out of the water. The small fighter skipped across the swirling current like a ballet dancer, then nosed over into his domain again. But the rod and six-pound-test leader were far too much for the little gamester and he was in my creel.

"You finally scored," Doug said as he came by. "I turned one over just below that old dam but couldn't get him to take again."

"This heavy leader doesn't give those small trout much of a chance, does it?" I asked.

"No," he replied, "but the chances of hooking a lunker are good and a two-pound-test leader wouldn't hold a big brown long in these brushy waters."

Fifteen minutes later I was fast to another trout, this time a foot-long brown who dug deep into the hole, fighting his battle on the bottom. Doug yanked a 10-incher unceremoniously from a tangle of brush that had been cut by beaver, then lost two more within five minutes.

The stream became more crooked as we moved upstream, often twisting back and almost meeting itself again. In many places one could fish the creek on two bends without moving. It was in such a place that I took my biggest fish of the day.

I flipped the minnow upstream and let the line sweep into a narrow run below. Completing the drift, I raised the line. Just as the minnow left the water, I saw the flash of a fish. I dropped the minnow five feet ahead of him and let it drift through the run again, but nothing happened.

Thinking the fish wanted his minnow more on the move, I let it drift another five feet and began mending it back over his hiding place. The ruse worked, and a husky rainbow streaked in to take the minnow. I waited just long enough for him to turn back toward his lair and slammed the hook home. The trout felt the sting of the barb and reacted like a rock-salted chicken thief and headed for faraway places.

I clamped down on the slack line going through my fingers, confident that I could stop the rainbow easily. The trout hit the end of the line and whaled into the air for the first time. Changing his tactics, the fish about-faced and zoomed back downstream into his former lounging place. He hung tightly to his watery stronghold for about a minute and then came wobbling feebly to the surface.

"Well, Gene," Doug commented as I creeled the 14-incher, "you have an idea of what one twice his weight can do."

"I'm willing to try one about five pounds right now," I said, grinning, "either brown or rainbow."

Our fishing had been good by any standards, but about two that afternoon it got even better. The fish were beginning to move more, chasing minnows into the shallows. Doug filled his seven-trout limit and I had one to go. Neither of us had raised a big fish and I was in hopes of tying into one before I filled.

Doug was walking ahead looking over some holes and bends for future reference when he spotted a trout chasing minnows in a small pool just off the channel. I hurried up along the creek and stalked in beside Doug. A small cutoff that had silted in held about four inches of water in a 10-foot pool. I stood still for a couple of seconds and then saw a wake streak across the pool. The minnow skipped along the surface and into the grass edge, escaping the pursuing trout.

I stripped off 10 feet of line and leader and flipped the minnow across the pool, dropping it close to the edge. The retrieve had to simulate a fleeing minnow, so I raised the rod tip and slid the minnow across toward the trout. The bait traveled only a yard when the trout torpedoed after it. Both of us saw the strike and I popped the hook home.

The trout rolled when he felt the barb, showing the red pock-marked sides of a brown. He zipped out of the shallow water into a bend and fought his battle on the bottom. No. 7, a nice 13-incher, went into the creel after a three-minute tussle.

Filled, Doug and I hiked back to the car as sleet dropped from the overcast sky. The road home was a long one, 30 miles of Sand Hills trails and another 60 to Valentine.

The North Loup's headwaters are truly a wilderness. Like the Snake and the Dismal rivers, they offer good trouting to those who want to make the effort to get to them. This requires the services of a Sandhiller.

The network of trails are seemingly endless. Take the wrong fork and you may spend the night in the hills without even seeing a creek. Don't use the family car. A pickup, jeep, or four-wheel-drive vehicle can be your assurance of getting in and out.

Jumping-off-places for the North Loup can either be from the north at Nenzel or the south at Mullen. The Snake is reached from the north through Gordon while the Dismal is located south of Mullen.

There are huge browns in all three of the streams. How large? Old-timers dream of hooking a mossy old 10-pounder. Perhaps it's only a dream, but I think he's there. He'll be caught on a winter day not unlike this one.

THE END 12 OUTDOOR NEBRASKA

Winter in NEBRASKAland

Here each scenic vista takes on the magic of the season, a wonderland of ice and snow   Gene Hornbeck's Anglers at Hat Creek              

Confessions of a COON HUNTER

A first-hand account of what goes on during those moonlit nights when music of hounds is heavenly lure

RUNNING ACROSS the frozen meadow, the two raccoon hunters slipped and slid after the bawling hounds. Dark patches of clouds blotted out the moon and patches of ice made the footing slippery. But nothing could stop the eager pair.

Suddenly, almost if by magic, they were stopped and sent skidding on their backs. The eldest of the two was up in a hurry, bewildered and angry. The younger man just sat there laughing. Joe Divis, Nebraska state fire marshal, is still laughing over the incident 35 years later.

"My uncle, Bill Fanning, and I were chasing our hounds across a meadow near our home in Colon. What we didn't know was that there was a tight strand of barbed wire across the field. Our footing was none too good and we were to the wire before we knew it. The two of us were shot back, like out of a slingshot, for about 30 or 40 feet."

Going back over the years, Divis' memory highlights incidents such as this. Even sitting behind his desk dressed in a conservative blue suit, he looks like an outdoorsman as he goes over blueprints for a school addition.

As often as he can, Divis hurries home, changes his city duds, and is off to the woods with his hounds. He's breaking in two new dogs now and they take a lot of time. Training a hound actually is a lot more work than Divis first indicated.

"Oh, you run a pup with a couple of old dogs for a while," he offered. "After a year, at the most, the 22 OUTDOOR NEBRASKA   pup either knows what's going on and you keep him, or he doesn't and you get rid of him."

Divis looks for a number of qualities that make a top-notch dog. First, he has to be able to tree. That is, track a raccoon, pushing him hard enough to make the critter take to a tree and then hold him there. A raccoon is a lot smarter than a pheasant or quail and you need the kind of dog that can outsmart his very wary foe.

According to Divis, a raccoon will run on railroad tracks because he knows it will throw a dog off his trail. Scent doesn't hold on steel and it takes a smart dog to know he's being fooled and cast around for the raccoon.

When a pack of hounds runs into a blind alley while tracking a raccoon they split up with each dog casting around for the scent. From time to time they let out a bark to let the others know where they are. Then, when one hits the trail, he lets out a signal and the rest join in. There's no way to teach a pup tricks like these. Only by working with older dogs can he learn.

Sometimes, however, Divis starts a young dog out by laying a trail for him to follow by dragging a raccoon hide through a field leading to a woods. The trail goes to a tree where a live raccoon has been tied in one of the low branches. Divis warns that a dog under a year old tires easily and can get discouraged if worked too long at one time.

Although raccoons will usually tree or hole up in a den when pushed by dogs, they sometimes end up in odd places. Some years ago Divis and four of his friends were out with their dogs when their prey decided to take refuge in an abandoned house.

"I never saw so much confusion in my life," he said. "The dogs ran the raccoon through the house until they cornered him in one room. Then the five of us crowded in. The raccoon dove for us with the dogs in pursuit. All of us started kicking and jumping, trying to hit the animal. I'm surprised the house didn't collapse. One of the boys bumped his head against something hanging from the wall and started punching, thinking the raccoon had jumped on his head.

"I don't imagine any of us ever did kick the raccoon by the looks of us afterward. We were all black and blue." Divis rubbed his left leg in remembrance, even though the incident happened years ago.

"Most of the time, though, the raccoon heads for a tree and the hounds start bawling and chopping until we show up," Divis continued"Bawling is somewhat like howling, while chopping is a short bark. I prefer to call the raccoon down, then sack him."

Sacking, for the uninitiated, is grabbing the raccoon by his tail, spinning him around a few times to confuse him, then tossing him in a burlap sack. In this way Divis can use the catch for training his young dogs.

Once you get on to sacking, it's not too dangerous. But Divis remembers the first time he tried 20 years ago. He had a couple of friends holding the sack. Just about the time he would get the raccoon in the sack, the animal would claw his way back out. This went on for almost two hours and many scratches later before he finally got his catch in the bag.

Divis showed a few scars he has picked up over the years and then added, "I'm a lot better at it now and can usually sack a raccoon in a few minutes. Talking about sacking, reminds me of the night I sacked one and put him in the station wagon. We left then and when we came back the animal was sitting in the front seat. I got in and chased that little cuss from one end of the car to the other. He went about everywhere except the glove compartment to get away."

Divis started raccoon hunting while in high school at Colon. Father Denis J. Teahan, parish priest from nearby Clyde, was an avid hunter and fisherman and his enthusiasm spread to the youngsters in the area.

"Father Teahan was a real outdoorsman. Sometimes he would get so excited when hunting he would step off the bank (continued on page 31)

FEBRUARY, 1963 23

TURKEY WRAP-UP

THE MERRIAM'S wild turkey program in Nebraska has been a success story from the very start. Just four years after this biggest of game birds was introduced, the population mushroomed from 28 wild-trapped birds to over 3,000 Merriam's. And out of the 500 permits that were issued for the state's first turkey hunt in modern times, 281 proud Nebraska hunters came home with their wild game-bird prizes.

This combination of population explosion in ideal habitat with high hunter success is dramatic proof of how sound game management pays off in prime hunting enjoyment. It is a record that should be repeated in years to come, the Merriam's now definitely a part of the Nebraska hunting scene.

Turkeys were originally native to parts of eastern Nebraska, principally along the Missouri and eastern Platte River. However, habitat change, disturbance, and uncontrolled hunting resulted in their elimination by 1915. Earlier releases of pen-reared birds were entirely unsuccessful, and it was not until 1959 that hopes became high for an annual hunt.

With the setting of the season in 1962, turkey hunting in Nebraska became a reality. There were several reasons for an early season. The highest production can be maintained with an ever expanding 24 OUTDOOR NEBRASKA   population, and an early season might support higher population levels. The carrying capacity of portions of the range was being reached, as evidenced by movements of nesting birds to marginal or submarginal sites. An important consideration for Nebraskans was the movement of turkeys to Wyoming through the western extension of the Pine Ridge and into South Dakota via the Hat Creek drainage.

Fantastically successful from the start, gobbler program a real windfall by Karl Menzel Assistant Project Leader, Game

Still other points favored an early hunt. Several instances of crop depredation had been reported. It is hoped that this will be alleviated through removal of excess birds. Many of the less wary and hybrid turkeys (wild-domestic crosses) could be removed, resulting in a more desirable game bird. Finally, several hundred hunters would be provided with considerable recreation with no effect on the status of Merriam's.

Prior to the November 10 to 18 season the turkeys were unwary, with close approaches possible. A few hunters and landowners anticipated a slaughter. Some birds came easy. At one location, efficient engineering of the hunt by the landowner resulted in successful bags for 26 of 26 hunters within a period of a few minutes. After that the birds took the hint and became increasingly difficult to bag. Numerous experiences proved the wild turkey is worthy game and wily enough to tax the wits of the best shots.

Successful hunters were required to check their turkeys with plumage intact at one of three check points. Here various biological and success data were obtained. A total of 281 turkeys of the possible 500 were checked, showing a 56.2 per cent hunter success ratio. Information from a follow-up questionnaire showed that 14.7 per cent of the permittees did not hunt, bringing the success ratio of active hunters to 65.8 per cent.

All birds were examined for information on sex and age at the check stations. The bag included 127 young toms, 79 young hens, 47 old toms, and 28 old hens. Aside from a few adult toms, there was little selectivity in the kill. Since turkeys are polygamous, the removal of 174 toms will have no effect on the population. A kill of 107 hens, about 7 per cent of those available, is relatively insignificant in the overall picture.

The biggest share of the kill occurred during the first three days when 241 turkeys were bagged. Some 170 were taken on opening day alone. Only a small percentage of the successful hunters required over three days to get their bird, indicating that any extension of the season would have little or no effect on the kill. As turkeys become warier in future years, the longer season may be in order.

Check station information shows that about 3,375 pounds of meat were put on the hunters' Thanksgiving tables. James E. Larson walked away with the big-bird honors, his old torn hitting the scales at 26 pounds. Young toms averaged 12.5 pounds while the old fellows rounded out at 17.8 pounds. Young hens averaged 8.7 pounds with the old hens going at 9.5 pounds.

Gordon E. Peterson of Orleans came away with the turkey-beard trophy. His torn sported a lO^-inch beard on its breast. His record will stand until someone tops it in future open seasons. The average for those measured was a little over seven inches.

Nebraska's first turkey season was a success on all counts, so much so, in fact, that hunters can look forward to more liberal hunts in the future. Experience in other turkey-hunting states shows that 40 per cent of the Merriam's population may be taken without effecting future numbers. This is good news to the thousands of unfortunate hunters who weren't lucky enough to get one of the precious first-time permits.

THE END FEBRUARY, 1963 25

WORLD-RECORD WHITETAIL

our reader writes... Behind a tree and only 30 minutes - - that was my date with destiny by Del Austin

EVERYONE KNEW he was there, a phantom buck that for five years eluded every hunter who tried to bag him. Last year he had left his calling card, a gigantic set of nontypical antlers studded with plenty of points. Dan Thomas' discovery of the rack was enough to set every hunter in the Hastings and Grand Island area in search of the prize.

Al Dawson was the first to spot the giant. He had seen the big whitetail for the last five years in the Platte River bottoms south of Shelton but was never able to get close enough for a clean shot. His description of the old buck made the rest of us bow hunters eager to get a crack at the prized whitetail before the rifle season opened.

As I picked up my bow, nocked an arrow, and locked it in place, I thought to myself how crazy a person must be to drive 70 miles after a day's work to hunt for half an hour. But rifle season opened the following Saturday and we all wanted to get a crack at the ancient whitetail. It would only be a matter of time before a well-aimed bullet would find its mark.

I had taken up archery in 1958 at the urging of my friend, Charlie Marlowe of Hastings. When he mentioned that Nebraska had the nation's longest deer bow-hunting season, I decided to give it a try. After participating in several tournaments during the next year, I was ready to go deer hunting. After two unsuccessful seasons, I bagged by first doe in 1961 and was now determined to get a buck, preferably the phantom whitetail.

Charlie and I left Hastings at 4:30 that afternoon and headed for our hunting grounds on the Dan Thomas farm near Shelton. To save time, I drove while he changed clothes, then he drove while I changed. Al, Gene Halloran, and Ken Whitesel were already there. Once we met the boys, I picked out a small but sturdy cottonwood and set up my tree stand. To put me above the deer's normal line of vision, I mounted the rig on the opposite side of the run, about five feet off the ground. By hiding 26 OUTDOOR NEBRASKA   behind the tree, I was not silhouetted against the sky. The stand was wide enough to permit shooting around either side of the tree.

Once on it, I poured buck lure on the platform and as high as I could reach on the tree. This killed my scent. After the twigs had been cleared to assure a clear line of fire, I was ready for anything.

There was no time to adjust the stand, so I was glad that v/e had only a short time to hunt. At least I wouldn't have to stay in this cramped position very long. Time passed slowly and my legs were beginning to get numb. It was almost dark. I hadn't seen even one scampering squirrel. This was beginning to look like another dry run.

I was about to light a cigarette when I heard a loud crashing sound in the brush. The largest whitetail buck I had ever seen appeared from the willows and headed for the trail. As he approached, he turned and headed in the opposite direction. Then he turned and came my way, just as though he was looking for me. My heart was up in my throat. My knees began to shake, so I pushed one against the tree to steady myself to keep from falling off the portable stand.

There were all those mistakes that could goof up this shot of a lifetime. I checked my fingers to see if the arrow was in the right place. I raised the knuckle of my forefinger on my bow hand to be sure the shaky arrow didn't slip off the feather rest. Then I started my draw.

OUTDOOR Nebraska proudly presents the stories of its readers themselves. Here is the opportunity so many have requested—a chance to tell their own outdoor tales. Hunting trips, the "big fish that got away", unforgettable characters, outdoor impressions—all have a place here. If you have a story to tell, jot it down and send it to Editor, OUTDOOR Nebraska, State Capitol, Lincoln 9. Send photographs, too, if any are available.

By this time the old boy was about 20 yards out, standing almost broadside to me as if to say, "Well here I am. What are you going to do about it?" I pulled my 45-pound bow to full draw, took careful aim, and let fly. The razor-head tipped shaft flashed straight to the mark. The buck did an about-face and plowed through the brush about 40 yards down the trail. He sounded like a bulldozer as he crashed through the dense foliage. I heard him stop and then walk on through the dry leaves.

Maybe the shot was bad. I didn't get a smooth release. The arrow slapped against the bow and made quite a noise. It looked like a perfect hit behind the front leg, but I couldn't be sure. It was so quiet I could hear every little rustle in the leaves and each coyote howling in the distance as darkness set in.

Numbly crawling down from the stand, I began looking for my arrow or a blood trail. Finding neither, I went for help. Once together, Al went down the trail to check for blood signs while the rest of us looked for the arrow. Finally Charlie spotted some blood and the search began.

We followed a good blood trail for 40 yards, and found two thirds of my arrow in the brush. There had been at least 10 inches of penetration. If it was in the right spot, I would soon find my kill. About 30 yards farther on, the blood stopped except for a small spot here and there. After trailing by flashlight for three hours, we came to a dead end. We found two patches of blood at this point, but there were a number of trails and we could find no sign on any of them. Our lights were (continued on page 32)

FEBRUARY, 1963 27

ARMFUL OF HOUSE

by Lou Ell Easy-to-make plastic shelter spells difference between comfort and cold

THE WINTRY wind, its edges honed sharp against the ice, breaks the fever of many a hard-water fisherman long before the medicine of an adequate catch can do its job. Here's a simple ice-fishing shelter that lets you keep on angling while your less fortunate comrades are forced to shore and a warm fireside.

Made of plastic, this handy rig can be rolled up and carried under your arm. If it is made of clear polyethylene, sun will come through to help keep you warm. But black polyethylene has its value, too. With it blocking out the light, you can see down into the fishing hole and tell if anything is moving. You'll need to decide which of these advantages is more important. The materials cost less than $10, even if you must buy everything. With normal care, the shelter will prove very durable and a real asset on your fishing trips.

Material and Price List 4 —1 Vz" x 5' oak closet poles $2.80 2—1" x 2" x 8' clear lumber for cross braces 1.15 1 —i" x 1" x 5' clear lumber for front closure .50 8 —Va" x 4" machine bolts 0/4" iron rod will work) .22 1 —Yt," x 2V2" machine bolt, with washers and wing nut10 2V—polyethylene sheeting, 6' wide 4.64 Plastic wood, nails, miscellaneous .25 Total $9.66

Now to making the shelter. First cut the heads off the eight machine bolts, and sharpen four of the shanks to a point with a good file. Bore a ^-inch hole in each end of the closet poles, pack the cavities with plastic wood, and turn the headless bolts into them, one sharp and one blunt bolt to each pole. Allow 2% inches of each bolt to protrude from the pole.

Cut four feet off one end of the polyethylene footage and lay it aside. This piece will be used for sleeves and the shelter roof.

Cover a piece of smooth scrap lumber, one-inch thick by four feet long, with heavyweight aluminum 28 OUTDOOR NEBRASKA   foil. Tack this board, foil-covered edge up, to the end of your workbench.

Fold a two-inch hem into one edge of the plastic sheeting the full length of the 17-foot strip, fastening it here and there with a piece of Scotch tape. Lay the hem on the edge of the foil-covered board, and place another strip of foil on top of it. Then, with the wife's electric iron set at low "silk" heat, weld the hem. Let the seam cool thoroughly before you peel off the top foil and move to the next section. The reinforced hem is the bottom of the shelter wall.

Now weld a sleeve in one end of the strip to contain a closet pole. Roll the plastic around the pole, and add an extra inch for the welding. Make certain the pocket is big enough to receive the pole without forcing.

Weld the clear lumber strip into the opposite end of the plastic strip. Stretch the plastic out to full length and space the remaining three closet poles equidistantly along it. Mark their positions and form sleeves to contain them from strips of the small plastic piece. Weld the sleeves in with the electric iron.

Make an "X"-shaped brace from the two eight-foot strips of lumber by fastening them at the center other three sleeves. Form X brace, fix door, and head for ice with the V4-inch bolt and wing nut. Bore a %-inch hole through both sticks, two inches from one end.

At this point, set the shelter up on the lawn. Jam the pointed ends of the corner poles into the ground to form a square, and slip the top cross brace with the two holes over the back pins. Adjust the front corners until the shelter sets smoothly, and the front closure is just long enough for the one-by-one to cover the corner pole. Then bore holes for the front corner brace.

Four inches from either end of the one-by-one strip, bore nail-sized holes through the strip and into the corner pole. Drive a nail into each hole in the corner pole, and cut off the heads. The one-by-one strip now slips over these to form the closure.

There is 10 inches of excess plastic all around the top of the shelter. Fold this in and miter the corners. Use the rest of the small piece of plastic for the top of the shelter, and weld the covering in. Pack in some rope for windy days, tieing the rig down from the corners.

The work is done. Grab your gear and head for the hard water. You'll be the most protected fisherman on the ice.

THE END FEBRUARY, 1963 29

SUTHERLAND

by Marvine Tye Man-made Tri-County lake is proof of pudding that outdoor sport future depends on public land

THE FIRST rays of the sun cast an eerie light upon the fog-shrouded waters. A hunter and his dog listen to the call of wild ducks coming in. Now the birds are in sight, a small band of about 12 mallards. The man takes careful aim at the lead duck, fires, and in moments his Labrador drops the migrant at his master's feet.

This hunting scene is typical of many that take place each fall at Sutherland Reservoir. The special-use area, located six miles southwest of Sutherland just off Nebraska Highway 25, offers year-round sport to the outdoorsman. During the late fall, ducks flock to the big reservoir's warm waters. As many as 300,000 mallards can sometimes be seen on the 3,017-acre lake when the Sand Hills lakes begin to freeze over. Sutherland's water is used for irrigation and generating electrical power. A constant flow keeps it warm.

In February the lake's appearance changes. A thick layer of ice crusts the surface and it's time for hard-water fishing. The man who cuts a hole through the ice usually finds hot fishing for perch. These fish generally feed more eagerly during the winter than at any other time of the year and many an angler has brought home full creels.

The lake also harbors other species of game fish. Largemouth bass, crappie, white bass, walleye, and channel catfish are all taken. White bass activity hits its peak in May and channel catfish angling is best from July to early fall. This is the kind of varied action that makes the area popular.

Many family groups use the picnic and camping facilities during the warmer months. There are two of these areas at the inlet and outlet canals. Drinking water, toilet facilities, fireplaces with wood, and picnic tables are available. Boaters and fishermen may use either motor-driven craft or rowboats. Fishing is generally concentrated where the canal and lake waters meet.

Sutherland is fed by a canal from Lake McConaughy. Completion of Big Mac in 1940 marked the beginning of the Tri-County Power and Irrigation 30 OUTDOOR NEBRASKA   System. Sutherland is the second reservoir along the Platte's chain-of-lakes system.

Campers may pitch their tents or park their trailers at the reservoir. Although conventional tents and trailers are popular, new types are often seen. Camper bodies mounted on pickup trucks can be used here.

Sutherland is a good base camp for hunters. In addition to waterfowl, good pheasant hunting can be had in nearby fields. The small-game enthusiast can also find good cottontail shooting. And Sutherland provides its share of targets during the deer season.

After the day's hunting or fishing, the campers can prepare their evening meals over fires at the picnic areas. Tables are furnished by the Game Commission. Nonfishing members of the party may swim or skin dive. There are no lifeguards, so all necessary precautions must be taken.

Hunting, fishing, camping, boating or picnicking, Sutherland has it all. If you're looking for a new spot for outdoor recreation, give it a try.

THE END

COON HUNTER

(continued from page 23)

into a stream. He would run through the woods with just one thought in mind, keeping up with the dogs. Anywhere from 10 to 12 of us would go out.

Raccoon hunting is a family affair in the Divis household. His five children, sons Ronny, 13, Jimmy, 11, and Richard, 8, go along with him at every opportunity. So do daughters, Ramona, 7, and Gayle, 5.

Richard, who has been going with his dad since he was four, shot his first raccoon just a few weeks ago. On his first outings he couldn't keep up with the rest of the clan and Divis would end up lugging him on his back.

Following the hounds is an obsession with Divis. He makes no bones about it. He gets a faraway look in his eyes even talking about the sport. Divis tells of the time he was training a young dog. After a few hours he put the pup back in the car and went off with his older hounds. The raccoons were moving and it wasn't long before the dogs were bawling. Returning to the car later, he found the pup had just about demolished the car in his efforts to get out and join the chase. The pup had torn the back seat to shreads and fought his way into the trunk.

"I didn't blame him one bit," said Divis, with that look in his eye. "If someone locked me in a car with the dogs singing away in the fields, I would have done the same."

THE END

TOP GUNS

(continued from page 9)

the third best nationally. The only trouble was that it was the year Jim McCole led the nation with .9892, and June was second with .9886. Bueford Bailey was fourth with .9866."

It was also the year that Kennedy, Bailey, and June were named to the first All-America team and McCole and Bill Nelson, then living in Brady, were on the second team. According to McCole, Jimmy Robinson, who selects the All-America team, wanted to name all five to the first squad but said there would be too many complaints from the rest of the country if he did.

These averages aren't something compiled over selected meets. Every registered meet in the country is counted and a trapshooter isn't even included in the book unless he has shot at a minimum of 2,500 targets. For example, Bueford Bailey shot at 3,800 singles targets throughout the country in 1962, missing only 37 for a .9902 average. This will place him among the top two or three in the nation.

Since he started shooting in 1938, Bailey has shot at 60,000 targets in registered shoots throughout the nation. These include singles and doubles. In that time he has won about 250 trophies and more titles than he can remember. He competed for three years as a junior, then dropped out of competition in 1942 and didn't take up shooting again until 1955.

In 1955 Bailey won a number of small shoots before hitting the jack pot the following season. In 1956 he had the highest average in the nation, .9844 on 5,650 targets. Bailey won just about everything in sight, including a new car. A steady succession of championships came his way in 1957, including second place in the Grand American in the doubles in a shoot-off.

Bailey had another banner year in 1958, winning four championships in the Texas State Championship, and the singles and doubles in Colorado. In the doubles Bailey broke 100 straight to become the fourteenth trapshooter in the world to accomplish this feat in a registered shoot. He set another mark in the Grand American by winning the singles in a shoot-off with John Sternberger of Dayton, Ohio. The showdown lasted two hours.

"We had tied for the championship with 100 straight," said Bailey. "Then we went into the shootoff and fired 300 more perfect targets without breaking the tie. It went down in the records as the longest shoot-off lasting one day. Finally, they ended by giving the title to both of us."

In 1959 Bailey won two of the three singles titles at the Golden West Grand American at Reno and lost the other in a shoot-off. He holds the record there of breaking 977 of 1,000 singles targets over a two-year period.

This past season was a busy one for Bailey. He started out in Wyoming, winning four titles, then moved on to the Nebraska State Championship where he won both doubles titles, singles, high overall, and high all-around. Next came the Colorado meet where he won the high all-around and was runner-up in the singles, losing to Bill Finley, Grand Island, in a shoot-off. Back in Wyoming he won the singles, doubles, high over-all, and high all-around. At the Grand American, Bailey took top honors in a singles event.

"Some of these get a little fuzzy with time," said Bailey. "It's hard to remember the events you win."

A look in the record book comes up with a number of surprising statistics showing Bailey's prowess. On 106 different occasions he has broken 100 straight in a 100-bird program. He has blasted 200 targets in 20 different occasions in 200-bird programs. He has broken 178 straight doubles, missing the world record held by Dan Orlich of Reno, Nevada, by one. In 1962 Bailey broke 832 straight singles targets in a row, a feat bettered by only three shooters in the world.

But there is hope for the rest of us. Bailey missed a pheasant during the past season. "Yes, I have to admit it. I shot at that rooster twice and missed him both times." This could mean that Nebraska not only has the best shooters in the nation, but the toughest pheasants as well.

THE END

RECORD WHITETAIL

(continued from page 27)

getting weak, so we decided to return in the morning. I marked the spot with my handkerchief.

Al, Dan, and I were out early the next day. A heavy mist and light shower had fallen during the night and we were afraid the trail would be washed away. Al went down the main trail while Dan and I circled to the side. I soon found a patch of blood in some tall weeds. The trail began to pick up and so did my morale. I slipped cautiously on through the brush until I came to an opening bordered by a clump of small willows. There was my buck.

My arrow had missed the vital heart-lung area and sliced through the liver. If it had been only a bit forward, the deer would never have come so far. Each sportsman is obligated to try for the vital area, and if he wounds the animal, down him as soon as possible after the hit.

The Pope and Young Club keeps records of the largest North American big game taken by bow hunters. The deer's antlers are measured with points given for antler spread, length of each point more than one-inch long, girth, and so on. These are added up for the final score with official measuring taking place 60 days after the kill. The present record for nontypical whitetail deer is 186 2/8 points. My buck's unofficial score is 280Vs. If it becomes official, I'll have a world record.

This had been my shortest big-game hunt, a crazy 30-minute wait after a 35-mile drive. I hadn't expected to down the phantom but I did, a strange bit of luck that will last me a lifetime.

THE END 32 OUTDOOR NEBRASKA

SPEAK UP

Send your questions to "Speak Up", OUTDOOR NEBRASKA, State Capitol, Lincoln 9, Nebr. Ever a Booster

"Just thought I would drop you a line with my renewal for OUTDOOR Nebraska, and let you know what an old Nebraskan thinks of your magazine. My brother, Harold Powell, sent me a subscription for Christmas last year and I can hardly wait for each issue.

"I take other sports magazines but they go unopened until I have finished reading the latest issue of OUTDOOR Nebraska. Being a Nebraskan by birth, born at Blue Springs, I have a very warm place in my heart for the state. It is very interesting to note all the recreational facilities that are available. I think it is really swell.

"I am enclosing a check for a subscription to the magazine for a friend who is also an old-time Nebraskan. Keep up the good work. I'm learning more about the dear old state than I knew when I was living there." Thomas H. Powell, Santa Monica, California.

Record Deer

"In the September issue of OUTDOOR Nebraska you have an article about a man killing a deer that ranked high in the Boone and Crockett standings.

"Last year I was lucky enough to kill one that weighed 260 pounds hog-dressed. From the picture of Mr. Johnson's deer, it looks about the same as mine, although I could be wrong. I thought mine would be of some value as far as the Boone and Crockett ratings go. What or how do I go about getting mine measured? Also, are there any records of the size and place where killed that are up to date?"—Rod Harrington, Laurel.

Congratulations on your fine deer. The Game Commission is always interested in hearing of possible Boone and Crockett records taken in Nebraska. You can contact Bob Havel, district game supervisor, Norfolk, and arrange with him to have your trophy measured. An up-to-date record of trophies taken in the United States and Canada is contained in "Records of North America Big Game". This book may be purchased through most book dealers and also is on file at most public libraries.—Editor.

Discover NEBRASKAland

in OUTDOOR Nebraska X For 12 big issues Name- Add ress. City. .State. □ One-year subscription □ Three-year subscription $2 for 12 issues $5 for 36 issues (Clip and mail to OUTDOOR Nebraska, State Capitol, Lincoln)

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notes on Nebraska fauna..

SHOVELNOSE STURGEON

34 OUTDOOR NEBRASKA   This hold-over from prehistoric era has armor-plated sides, whiskers, shovel for a nose, cartilage bones, and a switch for a tail by Bob Thomas Area Fishery Manager

THE STURGEON family is primitive in character and includes many of the largest fresh-water fish in the world. Six species are found in North America. A smaller member of the family, the shovelnose, Scaphirhycus plalorynchus, lives in the Missouri River and may ascend the lower reaches of tributary streams. His historical range in North America reaches from Hudson Bay southward through the Mississippi and Missouri river watersheds.

Five rows of armor-like bony plates which partly cover the body easily distinguish the shovelnose. The mouth, bordered by four fleshy barbels or whiskers, is located beneath the long flattened or shovel-shaped snout. The internal skeleton is chiefly made up of cartilage. Another distinguishing characteristic is the slender upturned tail. Older shovelnose may have a long, thread-like extension on the upper tail fin, giving rise to the name of switchtail. Other common names are sand sturgeon, flathead sturgeon, hackleback, river sturgeon, Mississippi sturgeon, and brown sturgeon.

Spawning begins here in April and extends through May when shovelnose migrate upstream. Since studies of this species have been limited, little is known about the type of area used or the behavior of the shovelnose during spawning.

Only limited information is available concerning age and growth. The sturgeon reaches a weight of six to eight pounds, although one to two-pound specimens are more usually taken. A 31-inch fish will weigh about six pounds.

Water with a current and a sand and gravel bottom is preferred. Food is generally made up of a great number of the organisms associated with the river bottom. The hard shovel beak is used to stir up the bottom material while the sucker-like mouth, which can be protruded downward, gathers in the food. Insect larvae, worms, small mollusks, snails, crayfish, an occasional minnow, algae, and other vegetable material are utilized.

Fishermen find the shovelnose is fairly easy to catch on hook and line during the spring run. At this time worms, minnows, and cut chubs are used. Missouri River fishermen sometimes set out trotlines. Usually, however, anglers make no special effort to catch this species and only an occasional one is brought in while fishing for other fish.

Most shovelnose are harvested throughout their range by commercial fishermen using trammel nets. Very few were taken by Nebraska commercial fishermen prior to putting the shovelnose on the game list in 1957. Some 1,000 pounds were taken from the Missouri River in 1956. This figure probably included a high proportion of the pallid sturgeon.

Before 1870 sturgeon was considered a nuisance and was ruthlessly destroyed. Soon after the value of the roe for caviar and the profit in handling hog-dressed fish for smoking were first appreciated. The shovelnose is now one of the most esteemed of smoke-fish products in the southern part of the fish's range. The shovelnose is dressed for smoking by removing the entrails but leaving the skin and scales. The flesh is also delicious when prepared by deep-fat frying or broiling.

Though seldom utilized, the shovelnose offers sport and gourmet-style eating to those who have discovered the species. State anglers who like trying new outdoor experiences should investigate this age-old fish of the Missouri.

THE END FEBRUARY, 1963 35

GUN CARE HOW-TO

Now it's time to get your shotgun in shape for future hunts