BATTY FOR BATS

Saner men would never have gone so deep, but the eerie cave lured us on by Marvin Tye

ONCE THERE were five. Now only two of us remained to probe the inky blackness that closed in on all sides. My partner, gargantuan Dudley Osborne, led the way as we inched forward through the hip-deep icy water, our flashlight beams stretching eerily ahead.

We were searching for bats a mile from daylight, deep within an abandoned limestone mine in eastern Nebraska. Leon Dappen had already gone under, slipping on the huge cave's treacherous flooded bottom. His dad, Ted, had escorted him back through a series of caverns to the entrance and a waiting car. Photographer Lou Ell had given up, too, choosing to play it safe on high ground while we moved on ahead.

The strain of wading and continuously lifting my feet from the sucking ooze was beginning to take effect, but the urge to see what was at the end of the MAY, 1963 3   last shaft called me on. Dudley was ahead in water that was barely waist deep. It looked safe, so I hurried on to catch up. That was my big mistake. Suddenly I could not touch bottom and my body was chilled by the sudden rush of icy water into my waders. For a moment I thought I might go under for good. It would be impossible to swim with a pair of water-filled waders.

BATTY FOR BATS continued

Fear of such a slip had gnawed at me since we had crawled through the mouth of the narrow cave early that morning. The slick mud floor dropped off sharply from the entrance high on the side of a hill. Less than 100 feet from the opening, the water began.

Once in, Ted, Nebraska's Director of Public Health Education, and his son, Leon, launched their 12-foot canoe. The youth, a 20-year-old junior at Nebraska Wesleyan University, was intrigued by the idea of underground boating. The husky young varsity wrestler is also a biology major, and was anxious to find bats. Lou, Dudley, and I followed them into the water on foot.

As soon as we passed the area lighted by the opening, we saw bats hanging from the walls. "That's what I came for," Dudley said with a big smile. The amiable head of the Game Commission's boating program carried a bamboo pole about 15 feet long. There was no net or gig on the end, and I wondered how he expected to catch a bat with it.

As if reading my thoughts, Dudley pushed the pole up until he touched a sleeping bat. He gave it a gentle nudge and the surprised creature lost his hold and plunged down to the water below. Leon 4 OUTDOOR NEBRASKA   picked it up and placed it inside a net bag, the first of many.

The second bat didn't come as easily. The touch of the pole roused him from his slumber and he began to hiss his defiance. He held tenaciously to his perch and fell only after continuous prodding. Dudley, an amateur naturalist, was having a ball.

"I was afraid they would be awake," Dudley said. "When the weather warms up the bats get restless and start to come out of hibernation."

"Do they ever move around before the hibernation period has ended?" I asked.

"Oh yes, they fly, drink water, mate, and in rare instances, eat. Then they sleep some more."

Leon took the pole for the next one. It was above Dudley's reach, but the canoe added about three feet to the lad's height. The bat began to hiss, flapping his wings, and held to the pole. Leon lowered him and passed the weird-looking critter to his father. The catch spread his wings and I took my first good look at a live bat. The jaws were spread, exposing 38 tiny but wicked-looking teeth. The inside of his mouth was the color of raw beef. The scared bundle of fury seemed to be expressing his hatred for the intruders who had disturbed his sleep.

Now it was my turn, but I was not so sure that I wanted to take it. I tried to push the bat from his hold gently but he wouldn't budge. Finally a hard shove dislodged him and he tumbled into the water. I reached down and grabbed his outstretched wings. Though I was wearing heavy gloves, I was careful to avoid his teeth.

Bats are unique in many ways. The tiny creature in my hand was a living testimony to that fact. Not much larger than a sparrow, his body was covered with a soft brown fur. His (continued on page 28)

MAY, 1963 5

the AIR BOAT CAPER

by Gene Austin We fested the Elkhorn on a trip skeptics said we were crazy to try Our Reader Writes...

RAY OLSON and I looked at the swirling, debris-filled stream. It seemed like a bad dream for boaters, but to us it was a 300-mile challenge down the Elkhorn to the Platte and on to the Missouri and Omaha. Danger lurked at every turn on the unmarked route. Logs, sand bars, and even automobile bodies made it an obstacle course others have found impossible. But then, my predecessors didn't have a high-powered air boat like mine. All said that it couldn't be done, and I was out to prove them wrong.

If my air boat passed this rugged test, it would prove its value in pushing log rafts to market down the Missouri. Although I would not be hauling logs this time, the trip would give me a fish-eye view of the problems I could expect to encounter on future voyages. If things went well, I would be in business.

It was a hot June day in 1961 when partners Ray, Wayne Miller, Jim Stout, and I embarked on the long trip. We wondered now whether our carefully-detailed plans would pan out. Neligh, our home town, was the jumping-off point.

Much preparation had gone into this voyage. We had gathered all possible information about the condition of the river. I flew over the stream and talked to every pilot I knew who had made the same flight. Wayne or Jim would parallel our course in a station wagon at all times while Ray and I were in the boat. The car would contain gas and other needed supplies. It also would serve as a safety factor. If we did not arrive at each check point at a certain time, the driver would organize a search.

We were confident we had just the craft for the journey. It was a 21-foot-long, 6-foot-8-inch-wide craft powered by a 125-horsepower Lycoming aircraft engine. Needing only a half-inch of water, our boat would still have problems in places.

But it was time to go. Wayne and Jim waved goodbye and headed out in the car as soon as I kicked over the powerful motor. The feel of moist air was exhilarating. The trip I had dreamed about so long had finally begun.

I was at the controls running at full speed when a sudden jolt brought me back to reality. The boat had hit a floating log and water began to seep through a narrow opening in the hull. Concerned that the trip would be over before it really got started, I made a quick dive for the damaged area. Examination proved that the leak was not serious, however. The hole was just large enough to wet our feet and make it necessary to bail out the boat each day. Making a vow to keep a sharper lookout for trouble spots, I headed out.

The next 30 miles were a breeze and just when I figured we had it made, Battle Creek bridge came 6 OUTDOOR NEBRASKA   in sight. One look was enough to tell us that our boat would never pass under its low beams.

"What do we do now?" Ray asked.

"Maybe it'll clear if we remove the propeller guard," I said. We went to work on the heavy wire frame over the propeller and had it stripped down in a few minutes. Without the guard, our craft cleared the bridge with just inches to spare. Wayne and Jim were waiting for us another mile downstream. Time had shot by so quickly that it was hard to realize that it was time to tie up and head for a good meal and a soft bed. Since we were so close to home, we drove back to Neligh.

"That old river's not so bad," Ray laughed. "We should have taken bets before we left. Then we wouldn't have to work for a month."

The first day had been almost too easy. Maybe the river's challenge had been over-estimated. A blinding rain that pelted us early the next morning washed any such thoughts from our minds. Ray took over the controls and both of us kept a sharp eye peeled for obstacles as we moved downstream at a slower, safer speed.

Our caution paid dividends minutes later when a mean-looking log jam came into view. Ray and I searched frantically for some way to get through. Finally we spotted an inch-deep flow in an old channel off to one side of the main stream. Our craft skimmed over this as easily as an outboard would have passed through Nebraska's deepest lake and we were on our way again. With the rain letting up, our spirits soared.

News of our trip spread up and down the river and by the time we reached Norfolk, a newspaper reporter, photographer, and a few spectators were on hand to greet us. Before we were even out of town, we ran into bridge problems again, this time Norfolk's First Street bridge. By now, Ray and I were getting to be real pros at taking off the propeller guard.

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.

Halfway to Stanton another blinding rain made safe traveling impossible. Ray and I tied the boat to a tree and ate our lunch under a canvas shelter. This deluge dumped 2% inches of rain in just an hour.

The downpour finally slacked up a bit and we tried to blast the motor back to life. Instead of the usual roar, all we could get was a weak sputter. The carburetor was flooded (continued on page 31)

MAY, 1963 7

WATER IN MOTION

It weaves its way into our every scene in restless patterns of nature s beauty 8 OUTDOOR NEBRASKA  

NOTHING ELSE matters quite as much as water. It is the one thing on which all else depends. Water to nourish, water to grow, water to harness, water to sow—in all its moods it weaves its way into every scene.

Now, as the tint of green steals over the prairie to herald the spring, you know all is well for another year. The metronome beat of windshield wipers keep in time with the season. And when the rain is over and the land is cleansed, a far-off rumble rolls over the grasslands to report that the clouds will return again. A meadowlark answers, his cheery song telling of gold at the end of a prairie rainbow.

With summer the lap and slap of a giant reservoir beckons, promising cooling excitement to an outboard with skiers in tow. Down below, huge generators capture the pulse of the river, sending its vitality across the land. Siphons suck at the maze of canals that finger Nebraska, carrying nourishment to thirsty crops stretching confidently toward the sun. Out on the range, the contented slurp of beeves come to water breaks the spell, and only the Platte sneaks underground to escape the heat.

Water's bounty is seen everywhere, the land alive with growing. It's a lazy time, an enjoying time, a waiting time before the harvest. There are fish to take, lakes to swim, camps to set up, and shadowy trails to explore. All because there is water to make it so.

This is NEBRASKAland's priceless heritage, promising water in every shape, water for every need, water at every season. We dare not take it for granted. Nothing else matters quite as much in our scheme of things.

THE END MAY, 1963 9

         

A-O.K.

by Bob Morris I went as a skeptic but came home sold on Two Rivers trout

GUSTING OUT of the south, the April wind picked up my bait as soon as it started toward the intended target. The impaled nightcrawler banked sharply to the right and landed far from where I had aimed. Casting was becoming a nightmare, but I was determined to latch onto a Two Rivers trout.

Only a couple of other anglers were spotted around the recreation area's five-acre put-and-take trout lake, just a sampling of the hundreds who would ply its shores with the advent of warmer weather. I had heard of the fishing here, but frankly had been a little skeptical. Like most trout fishermen, I preferred a stream or remote lake far away from the crowd. But before this windy day was over, Two Rivers would show me a thing or two.

Located 20 miles west of Omaha and a mile south of U.S. 30A,the Game Commission's prime showplace 16 OUTDOOR NEBRASKA   play area offers fishing on six lakes, picnic and camping facilities, swimming, and waterfowl hunting. Lake No. 5 is set aside for trout fishermen, and serves a real need for those who can't always travel west to take on the state's variety of natural trout waters. The lake is stocked almost daily during the season that runs from April 1 through December 1. Last year about 95,000 trout were released with 30,000 anglers latching on to 83,738 beauties.

Area manager Dick Wolkow was on hand to greet me at the park office early that morning. Trout anglers must check with him before hitting the lake. His wife, Pat, entered my name on the books, collected the $1.50 daily fee, and gave me the bright orange tag to wear on my fishing vest. The tag is returned when your day's fishing is done, allowing an accurate count on the fish taken. The fee keeps the lake on a self-sustaining basis.

There were whitecaps on the water as I pulled up to the lake. Quickly getting my spinning gear together, I started at a small cove at the lake's outlet. A nightcrawler harness would give the bait enough weight for proper casting. After a dozen unsuccessful casts there I moved around the northeast shore line where the water was shallow. On the second cast a rainbow took my bait. The silvery beauty boiled out of the water, putting all his weight behind an effort to free himself. Three times more he went skyward and then appeared to give up the fight. Just as I was leading him into the net, however, he made a final bolt, spraying icy driplets into my face.

My next swipe with the net was a winner and the 11-inch rainbow was mine. I was so enthused that I wasn't prepared for the taker that greeted my offering almost before the bait hit the water. With this kind of action, I didn't care whether the wind blew 100 miles an hour.

I was checking my gear when Dick walked up from behind. "Any luck so far?" he asked. I nodded my head toward the creel. "Not bad for a start," he replied. "Most run about that size, although once in a great while one as high as four pounds is brought in."

I cast the nightcrawler out into the wind about 20 feet and let it lay on the bottom. This is a sure-fire method early and late in the season when the water isn't so warm. The secret is to leave the bail open on the spinning reel so there is no pressure on the line when the trout takes the bait. The fish first mouths the offering, pulling it slowly along. Then there is a pause as he swallows it, and a burst of speed when the fish realizes he is hooked. That's the signal to engage the reel and get ready for a fight.

That's just what was happening to my line. About 10 feet snaked through the guides before it stopped and I set the hook. But nothing happened and I began to wonder whether the wind was affecting my reasoning. The fish must have been surprised at the turn of events after what seemed like such an easy meal. But he came to life at last and took off in a line toward the far side of the lake. The drag held him in check, however, and the nearly 200 yards of four-pound-test monofilament gave me plenty of leeway.

Just as quickly the rainbow reversed himself and started back full speed toward me. He was closing the distance faster than I could reel in line. But before I got fouled up, he stopped and lay there while I brought in the slack.

"Dick must have these fish well trained," I thought to myself as I got the last of the free line back on the reel. The battle resumed and the rainbow made two leaps before giving up the fight and coming into the net.

Like many Nebraska trout lakes, Two Rivers has problems of warmth and oxygen not usually found in streams. In the hot summer months there are three distinct "layers" of water in the lake. The upper portion is too warm for trout to survive while the bottom zone lacks sufficient (continued on page 33)

MAY, 1963 17

GUNS OF THE WEST

18 OUTDOOR NEBRASKA   Sodbuster or scout, cowpoke or trapper, whatever your reasons you needed firepower to stay alive by J. Greg Smith

GOD CREATED men, but Sam Colt saw to it that all were equal. With a pair of his six-guns a rawhide could take on all comers. But the man who played it safe didn't stop with a pair of Sam's equalizers. Backing his play were a repeating Winchester, deadly sawed-off shotgun, and maybe a Derringer tucked in his vest just in case. Thus armed, he took on the frontier for 50 lead-slinging years, and when the smoke had cleared at the turn of the century, the West was won.

It's true that every man wasn't a walking arsenal, but it would be hard to single out a citizen foolhardy enough to ply the Plains unarmed. How a man handled his weapons pretty much determined his life span. He had to count on the speed of his hand when the chips were down, both law and order having been left on the other side of the Missouri.

Guns played an important part in winning the West from the time the first mountain man left his moccasined footprint on the western shore of the big river. The muzzle-loading Kentucky rifle was the weapon of choice. It gave way to the shorter, more durable Hawken or Plains rifle, which offered larger caliber capable of knocking down grizzlies, elk, Indians, and other mountain men. At this stage of the game it was questionable whether bow or rifle would come out the winner.

Once these grizzled pathfinders gained a foothold, the exodus began. Mile upon mile of untamed frontier was here for the taking to the man who had enough guts and gun savvy to take on Indians, wilderness, and claim jumpers. Gambler and 49er, Saint and sinner, sodbuster and soldier, they all came this way, kicking off among other things the greatest gun boom yet enjoyed by the nation's arms industry.

None of those who pushed into the frontier would think of going unarmed. Here firepower had the final say in any argument. Anything that threw lead was in demand, and rifles, shotguns, and handguns in every conceivable model and design were produced. What all were trying to come up with was a good weapon that offered lighter weight, greater MAY, 1963 19   firepower punch, and probably most important, rapid firing.

This is where such famed names as Colt, Smith and Wesson, Henry, Remington, Springfield, and Winchester stepped in. Colt first got in the act in 1836 when he produced the first of his repeating handguns. His first Colts varied in size from .28 caliber handguns on up to the Texas models with nine-inch, .40 caliber barrels. Light guns with little stopping power, they were a long way from his famed "Peacemaker" six-gun that became synonymous with the opening of the West years later.

Smith and Wesson helped pioneer the change from percussion caps to metallic cartridges for handguns. Rollin White came up with the idea of boring the cylinder all the way through so the new rimfire cartridges could be loaded from the rear.

The monopoly on cartridge revolvers was held by Smith and Wesson until the patent expired in 1869. It wasn't until that year that they were able to manufacture large caliber revolvers in quantity. Their "American" .44 met with immediate success all over the West. New innovations included a frame that would eject all six cartridges at once plus handling a more reliable center-firing shell. With the expiration of the White patent, Colt jumped into the scene again and by 1873 was considered the gunmaker for the West.

As dramatic was the breakthrough in rifles, the introduction of the metallic cartridge as important as it was with side arms. From the cumbersome muzzle-loaders came the breechloader and from there the repeater. The final touch came when the bullet could be used for six-gun and repeater. All the hide hunters needed a weapon that could pack punch accurately at long range and came up with the Sharps, Remington, and Ballards. These "Big 50's" blasted away at the herds till their barrels were hot, and in the long run, did more to win the Indian wars by wiping out the buffalo than all the battles with the hostiles combined.

The one weapon that captured the imagination of every westerner was the Winchester repeating rifle. Any scout would give his eye teeth to own one of the "Yellow Boys" and probably a few of them did. Armed with the fast-loading, compact repeater a man could take on all comers. Jim Wheately and Ike Fischer proved this in the bloody Fetterman massacre. Though they with the rest of the 80-man command were wiped out, both made the Indians pay dearly for their scalps. The hostiles admitted later that they lost over 50, most of them to the two rapid-firing sharpshooters.

Probably the greatest light cavalrymen the world has ever seen, the Plains Indians gave the army fits for 35 bloody years. Under the leadership of such great chiefs as Crazy Horse, Sitting Bull, Gall, Roman Nose, and Joseph they fought effectively against a better-armed foe. Though sporting a few repeaters and a fair share of ancient flintlocks and muzzle-loaders, they depended upon cruder weapons, trickery, and sheer guts to stand off the foe.

GUNS OF THE WEST continued

Crazy Horse developed a variety of tactics to outwit the army. Decoying was a favorite ruse and paid off handsomely at the Fetterman massacre. Knowing that the troopers' breechloading Springfields would often foul or jam, he would lead the charge, then stop just out of range, hoping that the   over-eager troopers would foul their guns. Some of the Springfields recovered after the Custer massacre were jammed, the troopers spending their last desperate moments trying to clear the action.

Many have wondered why the army chose to stick with the single-shot breechloaders when so many good repeating rifles were on the market. Had Custer's command been thus armed, the Little Big Horn might have had another ending. It's said that the brass turned down the weapon because the troopers had to carry more ammunition. Actually the army stuck with the Springfield clear up to 1892 because it had better ballistics and a simpler action.

Victory at the Little Big Horn was sweet but short-lived for the hostiles, and they were soon herded into reservations. But the West was still as wild as ever; a man's weapon as important as ever. This was the era of the gun fighter, the heyday of the Bill Hickoks, Sam Bass', Billy the Kids, Wyatt Earps, and Tom Horns. By the 1870's killing had developed into a fine art, the men who did it hailed as heroes, no matter what side of the law they were on.

Wild Bill was probably the first of the two-gun men, as deadly with one weapon as the other. Most carried two guns but depended upon the border shift in action, flipping Colts when one was empty. Gun fanning, shooting from the hip, and other Fancy-Dan stuff was hee-hawed by the experienced gunslingers. They figured that it took one bullet to kill so they took their time and aimed the first shot. If you can call a split second time.

A competent gunslinger could get into action in a quarter of a second. Drawing, cocking the hammer, and pulling the trigger was done with blinding speed. Those that hoped to gain still more "time" used the slip-hammer technique. Discarding the trigger, they filed down the hammer to a stub. When they went into action, they fired by pulling down on the hammer with the knuckle joint of the thumb, then released it as it came to full cock. Few actually mastered this technique, however.

Some of the more colorful ladies got into the act, too. Their battleground was usually the gilded second-story rooms, their weapon the Derringer for the "man who had done them wrong." That gamblers used this same weapon didn't help the tinhorns' reputations. Being practical, however, they realized that the tiny killer could be palmed with almost the same dexterity as an ace needed to make a full house a winner.

The West's guns can tell quite a story, a story that can be seen at the State Historical Society in Lincoln and other Nebraska museums. Here are the Winchesters, Colts, Hawkens, and Henrys. Each played a starring role in the winning of the West, handled by such famed Nebraska gun toters as Buffalo Bill, Wild Bill Hickok, Frank North, Sam Bass, and all the others.

The West has calmed down a mite since those days of smoking six-guns and hot lead. We westerners now get our kicks out of seeing the lead fly on TV. Sure, we know that Matt and the Rifleman and the rest are exaggerating a bit, but then it's fun thinking about those wild and wooly yesterdays when NEBRASKAland wasn't quite so tame and a man's life span depended on his deftness with a gun.

THE END

the SAND HILLS TWIST

by Bob Wood District Game Supervisor Part dance and part battle is yearly ritual put on by grouse

IT LOOKED like a combination of the twist and limbo. The dancers wheeled, first one way, then another, stomping their feet in rhythmic steps as they became more frenzied with the action. At first, only a few participated but soon were joined by others until the entire area was a throbbing sea of bedlam. Each performer complemented the other in his act but at the same time seemed detached as if he were alone. The giddy performers kept up the rapid tattoo for over an hour, then finally stopped.

This is a typical Sand Hills scene in the early morning and late afternoon through the spring. Prairie grouse gather at age-old booming grounds to OUTDOOR NEBRASKA   perform their strange mating ritual. It begins with the cocks usually assembling in late March. Much of the early dancing consists of sparring and bluffing, apparently to resolve individual territories, then later, as the hens appear, to attract a mate. The morning activity lasts for two or three hours, the afternoon one or two. Dancing begins to wane by mid-May and ceases a week or two later.

Nebraska, by virtue of its land-use pattern in the Sand Hills, is one of the few states with huntable populations of both prairie chickens and sharp-tailed grouse. The Sand Hills, comprising roughly 20,000 square miles, is devoted mainly to cattle ranching and the extensive grasslands that support this industry are the sole reason grouse are present.

The history of the prairie chicken has been one of a sharp increase in the population with the early settlement of the Sand Hills and widely scattered agricultural attempts, a decrease associated with the drouth years when grass cover was sparse, and, finally, a return to good numbers when the rains came, bringing good stands of native grasses.

There is some difference in the habitat requirements of the two species. Both birds require grasslands in large amounts. A total of 30 per cent of an MAY, 1963 23  

24 OUTDOOR NEBRASKA   area in grass of reasonably good quality is the minimum that will support a continuous population of grouse and only where grass reaches 50 to 75 per cent do the birds become abundant.

The sharptail, which appears to be better adapted to these conditions than the prairie chicken, is found through most of the Sand Hills. The prairie chicken, on the other hand, prefers farming areas and grasslands more nearly resembling tall prairie grass, so are found mainly in the eastern third of the Sand Hills.

The most important factor influencing grouse density is the quality of the grass. Generally, the best populations are found on areas of lightly used or unused grassland. This insures good cover for nesting and brood rearing, the most critical period for both species. Grouse do not renest as regularly as pheasant and quail when disturbed. Therefore it is essential that adequate cover is available to insure initial nesting success. Generally, where proper grazing practices are followed, birds will be found.

It is virtually impossible to obtain a total count of wildlife including grouse due to the difficulty in locating and approaching them. Just as limiting is the large area that must be covered. The usual procedure is to sample a small portion of the population and to expand this figure to the over-all range.

One of the three main phases of grouse studies, the spring display-ground survey, starts around the first of April. Here the number of male birds is counted, showing the trend of the population.

Twenty routes, 20 miles in length, are layed out through the Sand Hills. The general procedure is to start a route 45 minutes before sunrise and make a two-minute listening stop every mile along the route. Prairie chickens can sometimes be heard for a distance of two miles on still mornings while sharptails are seldom heard over a half mile away. Once the listening stops are tabulated, an attempt is made to find each dancing ground and then count the birds.

Brood surveys, conducted during July and August, also provide important information. Two methods are used to determine the average brood size, the approximate peak of the hatching period, and the density of birds per square mile. Random counts provide information from all brood observations obtained during the normal activities. These are used to determine strictly the average brood size. The second source of brood data is obtained from walking linear transects on designated areas. Approximately 350 miles of transects are walked annually. Data obtained includes average flushing distance, brood size, and approximate age of the chicks. From this, a density figure of birds per section is obtained.

During the hunting season, another phase of the grouse program is conducted. This involves the collection of sex and age data from hunters who voluntarily stop at roadside check stations.

Prospects for the grouse's future appear good. Estimates indicate the percentage of grasslands is increasing. With the future pointing to more grass and, in general, better range-management practices being adopted, the population of grouse should increase above the present numbers.

THE END SAND HILLS TWIST continued MAY, 1963

26

NEBRASKAland's Own BOW BIRDING

Keen marksmanship is the key in archery's version of skeet game

DON PENNER stood at the firing line. On his command, the trap was pulled and the yellow-and-red disk soared upward. He raised his weapon, fired, and in moments the target came tumbling down, a hole smack in its center. It was almost like shooting skeet. The challenge for keen marksmanship was here. The only difference was that the disks were made of cardboard, and instead of using a shotgun, Don's weapon was a bow and arrow.

Thanks to a Nebraska manufacturer, archers all over the country are enjoying the popular new sport of "bow birding". Saunders Archery Target Company at Columbus distributes the unique target, a tough 15-inch cardboard disk with a three-dimensional center that rises about six inches above the base. This target that soars like a rising pheasant has sparked nation-wide interest in a new sport.

The bow bird can be used almost anywhere. For back-yard plinking, the handy rig can be thrown by hand. Inexpensive, it offers excellent ways to practice for shots at running game during the hunting season. A growing trend is the use of this economical target for tournament competition. The Prairie Bowmen of Lincoln is one club that has hosted annual bow-bird shoots since 1962. These are usually all-day affairs with firing at more conventional fixed targets as an added attraction.

In competition, the bow bird is thrown by hand or from a trap. Conventional field or target arrows can't be used because of their longer range. Instead, flu flus are used. These are shafts fletched with as many as six feathers. The feathers slow the arrow after a short distance and keep it from sailing off into the next county if the target is missed.

An area the size of a baseball diamond is ideal for bow birding. The archer stands in the batter's box. Facing him on the other side of the plate is the thrower. At the command of pull, the bird is thrown in one of three directions. It is aimed at second base, or to either side of this spot. The archer cannot draw his bow until the target is launched. He may pass up unfavorable shots without penalty.

In competition, six sets of six arrows or 36 are fired. A hit in the center counts 20 points. Any other hit is good for 15. The maximum score is 720. Needless to say, 720's are very, very rare. Birds are collected after each round of six shots. Hits are covered with tape or marked with a grease pencil for identification.

Archers who have tried this sport find it a welcome change from the routine of firing at fixed targets at unchanging distances. The bow bird gives range estimation and timing practice that no other target short of live game can offer. Novelty shoots such as this are becoming more popular as more Nebraskans take up archery each year. With a top-flight source of mats and targets such as Saunders, it's no wonder.

THE END MAY, 1963 27

BATTY for BATS continued

wings are the equivalent of hands in the human body. The bat is the only flying mammal and the only animal that flies with his fingers. Claws on the hind legs are used to cling to the ceiling.

By now, Ted's bagful of bats was chirping like crickets. We were working as a team; I held the light while Dudley dislodged the bats with his pole. Leon would pick them up and put them in the bag that his father held. Lou was busy filming the process.

Behind us we could see a faint light from the entrance. Trying to see ahead was like trying to look through a solid black wall. The thought of sloshing around in the darkness without a light sent a chill along my spine. The bottom ooze sucked at my feet and I began to think about what it would be like to be trapped in the cave's vastness.

"Look! a yellow-bellied bat," Dudley yelled. The thing that he was so excited about was a species of bat that we had not yet collected. Dudley pried it loose and it fell into the waiting canoe. Leon spotted an unusually large bat just out of reach of Dudley's pole and pitched a handful of mud to shake it loose.

"Stop it," Ted yelled. "Throwing that stuff could start a rock slide and bury us in here."

"Chunks of rock as big as a car could fall from the roof," Dudley said.

This wasn't the most pleasant of thoughts as we moved into another room and found a light brown scum covering the water. The pungent odor of decomposing iron filled the air. The water was getting deeper and I could feel the chill through my waders as the water pressed tighter against my legs. With the water now over my hips, I was beginning to wonder how Dudley had ever talked me into such an outing.

Dudley was leading the way. Leon was out of the boat now and was right behind. I was picking my way slowly through the waist-deep water when a sudden splash echoed through the stillness. I shined the light in time to see Dudley help Leon to his feet. He had gone in over his head and was completely soaked. Leon's surprised look faded and he began to laugh.

"I guess I'll have to use that change of clothes I brought along," he said.

"You should do that again for the camera," Lou laughed. "I just missed the best shot of the trip."

Leon wasn't about to co-operate and he and his dad took the canoe and headed back for the entrance. Now there were only three of us left. Dudley, as enthusiastic as ever, again led the way. Still game, Lou and I followed. A short distance ahead, the water ended, the soft mud floor rising sharply from the surface. About 20 feet up there was a narrow opening large enough for two men to stand in. Dudley bounded up the slope like a mountain goat. I hesitated, looking for some spot to get a grip with my hands and feet.

"Just lean forward and walk up," Lou offered.

I eased forward cautiously and joined Dudley in the opening. From here, we could see another passageway ahead, the floor was covered with more water. The shaft ended about 100 feet from the water's edge.

Dudley waded out into the water and I followed. Loaded down with gear and without a flashlight, Lou chose to stay put. I should have followed suit, for a few minutes later I had taken the fatal step and came up soaked. That was enough to wipe out what curiosity I had left to see what was at the end of the cave.

We had been in the cave for four hours and had collected 30 bats with five different species represented. After a change of clothes and a hot meal, I began to think that maybe exploring caves wasn't so bad after all. Dudley said we had the makings of real spelunkers. At this point I couldn't say one way or another. But this first outing would be one I would never forget.

THE END

OUTDOOR NEBRASKA

OUTDOOR ELSEWHERE

Grouse The Hard Way

PENNSYLVANIA ... A deer hunter fell to the ground yelling that he had been shot. At first glance his companions were equally concerned until they saw the cause of his injury. A grouse flew directly at the man, hitting him in the face, breaking his glasses, and causing some bleeding. The grouse lay a few feet away with a broken neck.

Mirrors Save Deer

HOLLAND . . . According to the National Wildlife Federation, here is how the Dutch are preventing deer and other wildlife from meeting death on the highways. Two small metal mirrors are mounted on a slender post. These posts are set across from each other on highway shoulders. As cars approach at night their lights strike the mirrors and reflect the light into the forest at a 90-degree angle. When deer get the flash of light in their eyes they freeze and the accident is prevented.

Looking for better used and new outdoor equipment to buy? Check Outdoor Nebraska's classified ads Hes Really Guilty

NEW MEXICO ... A railroad employee who failed to distinguish between a spike buck and a mature buck deer also failed to distinguish between one court and another when brought to trial.

The violator was contacted at a road check and found to have taken an illegal deer. Conservation Officer Alan Robinson cited him to court in Quemade, but on the day of the trial the accused failed to show up. Investigation revealed he had appeared before another justice of the peace where he pleaded guilty and was fined $25 plus court costs of $5. The spike buck was donated to a local school.

Record One-Shot Bag

VANCOUVER . . . Big-game guide Roy Thomson of Bakerville and a hunter were charged by a grizzly. The hunter dropped the bear with one shot. Over a rise Thomson found a freshly killed caribou and black bear. It seems the g izzly had killed the caribou and had been interrupted in his feast by a black bear, which the grizzly then demolished. The hunter very likely created some sort of a record collecting a grizzly, black bear, and caribou with one shot.

MAY, 1963 29

SPEAK UP

Send your questions to "Speak Up", OUTDOOR NEBRASKA, State Capitol, Lincoln 9, Nebr. Bow Questions

"I have just taken up the sport of bow-and-arrow fishing. In talking with some of my friends, I have been told many things, most of which I would like to find out more about. First, can a bow hunter finish a kill on a deer with a gun, and if so what kind? If I hunt deer this year how small a bow can I use? Can I shoot a deer with a 30-pound bow or must I use a larger one? Also, in fishing with a bow must I have a hunting permit? Can I fish in Two Rivers or Fremont Lakes with a bow? Is there a bow season on deer at DeSoto Bend before the gun season? I was told there was not. Can a bow hunter take more than one deer per season?"—Frederick A. Walden, Omaha.

A how hunter after deer must use a long-bow with a pull of at least 40 pounds at a 28-inch draw. Arrows must have a sharp hunting head with blade at least 7/16-inch radius from the center of the arrow shaft, a maximum radius of % inch, and a total cutting edge of at least three inches. The deer archer may not have on his person any type of firearm, and the hag limit is one deer of either sex.

Concerning the DeSoto Bend hunt, this special all-rifle deer season was strictly a management operation to remove surplus deer that existed at that time. To date, the possibility of another hunt has not been determined.

When using a bow and arrow for fishing, the angler must have a fishing license just as if he were using hook and line. Fishing with archery equipment is allowed at Fremont Lakes, but is not permitted at any of the lakes in the Two Rivers area.—Editor.

CLASSIFIED ADVERTISEMENTS 10 cents a word: minimum order $2.50 DOGS AKC OR FDSB registered top hunting and field trial prospects. Permanent shots. English setters, pointers, Brittany spaniels, Labrador retriever, and Chesapeake Bay retriever. Howard Nicks, Box 557, Elm Creek, Nebraska. AKC AND FDSB registered Brittany spaniels. Puppies and older dogs. Sired by top son of Brit's Tic Toe Bobby. Top-producing sire in 1961 national futurity. Natural hunters, loyal pals. C. F. Small, Atkinson, Nebraska. GUNS NEW, USED, AND ANTIQUE GUNS —Weatherby, Browning, Winchester, Ithaca, Colt, Ruger, and many others in stock. Buy, sell or trade. Write us or stop in. Also live bait. Bedlan's Sporting Goods, just off U.S. 136, Fairbury, Nebraska. SPORTSMAN'S OILER: Precision oiling instrument. Wonderful for guns, reels, etc. Dispenses drop at time. Send $1 to Kammith, 748 North 57th Avenue, Omaha, Nebraska. FISHING SNAGGER FISHERMEN—Get down to the bottom. Get the big ones. Try the new Skitter Snagger Rig (2-7/OHks-2-2ozWts) $1.10 ppd. Skitter Products, 205 So. 15th, Norfolk, Nebr. Skitter Weights are made in ten sizes, V2 oz. to 3/d lb. to fit all treble hooks 1/0 thru 14/0. Dealer Inquiries Invited. NEBRASKA HYBRID REDWIGGLERS for breeding or fishing. 1,000—$4.50; 5,000—$20 Postpaid. George Floyd's Hybrid Redwiggler Farm, 1215 Broadway, Mitchell, Nebraska. VACATIONS FARM VACATIONS. Family Rates. May-November. For information, write Mrs. Gerald Snyder, Steel Creek Stock Farm, O'Neill, Nebraska. WE WILL FURNISH board and room along with guide service to pheasant hunters this fall. Live near Butler Dam. Duane Dueland, Route No. 1, McCook, Nebraska. MISCELLANEOUS WANTED: Long-billed curlew hunter's decoy, if anyone has such a decov write to: Albert Simmons, 2350 Overlook Road, Cleveland 6, Ohio. HANDY TO HAVE: The Hungry Sportsman's Fish and Game Cookbook. All fresh-water fish, big game, small game, wildfowl, frogs, turtles, mushrooms, etc. Over 400 recipes. $1 postpaid. Eddie Meier, Box 3030, Scottsdale, Arizona. HUNTING AND FISHING MAPS, Nationwide, Box in any 6x9- (54-square-mile) and a 12xl8-mile area on road map. We will send the smaller of the two available from our files of the most perfect map available, showing streams, lakes, old roads, elevations, trails, etc. We will return to you a map 17x22 inches of your area. $3 prepaid. Hunter-Fish Map Service, 2296 Elstun Road, Department O.N., Cincinnati 30, Ohio. THE SMART SHOPPER~laiows there are bargains galore in OUTDOOR Nebraska's classified pages. Where Are White Caps?

"In the February issue of OUTDOOR Nebraska there is a picture titled, 'Like white-capped waves, the hills rush to break against the ends of the horizon.' Could you tell where this picture was taken? My mother, even though she doesn't do any hunting or fishing, enjoys your magazine as much as I."—Ed Zak, Dorchester.

The picture you speak of is an aerial photograph of the Sand Hills.—Editor.

Two Books on Way

"I think OUTDOOR Nebraska is one of the finest outdoor magazines ever written. I have been getting it for about two years and file every copy for future reference.

"Why don't you publish a magazine that gives the different species of fish and where they can be found in Nebraska, pictures of fish, best baits, and records?"—Gary Coates, Benedict.

The Game Commission is now in the process of doing two publications—"History of Nebraska Fish Resources" and "Where To Fish In NEBRASKAland." They will be available by June 1, 1963. Each month OUTDOOR Nebraska has articles giving up-to-date information on the latest fishing information. —Editor.

His Raft Leaks

"I have a problem that possibly someone might be able to solve. I have a two-man rubber raft that has deteriorated to the point that it leaks air out of the chambers. Not just one leak, but rather it is completely covered with small pin holes. I have tried to find something with which I could recoat it, a rubber substance that would seal the leaks yet retain its flexibility. So far I have had no luck in finding such a product.

"If anyone knows of something that would do the job I would certainly appreciate hearing from them. I surely enjoy reading OUTDOOR Nebraska every month and I think you are doing a splendid job. Keep up the good work."—Ray Dawson, SI. Edward.

Fight For Right

"I live in Riverside Park about 3 miles southeast of Central City. Recently 12 turkeys crossed the Platte River from the south to the north bank. Apparently they are all in good condition. I guess the sub-zero temperatures didn't bother them too much.

"I favor Mr. Steen's entire program. Stay in the buggy. We need a man who will fight for what he knows is right. I have hunted and fished in Nebraska for 60 years."—Ivan Davis, Central City.

Thank you very much for your encouraging words. I don't mind fighting for the things I believe right, but it helps a lot to know that there are others in my corner. The Rio Grande turkeys seem to be doing fine. If they should do as well as the Merriam's did in the Pine Ridge country, we will really be in the turkey business in Nebraska.—M. O. Steen, Director.

Let's Light More

"I think your article, 'To Light A Candle,' by Mr. Steen is really heading in the right direction, only let's light a lot of them. With all the opportunities we have of improving our hunting and fishing, I think every sportsman would be happy to spend at least $5 for a season of hunting or fishing. Let's get together and push Nebraska. I really enjoy reading OUTDOOR Nebraska."—O. G. Hashberger, Schuyler.

Pics For Calendar

"With all the wonderful photographs you run each month in OUTDOOR Nebraska I feel it would be a good idea to put out a calender each year with the best pictures. The unusual pictures of ice formations in the February issue were tops. I think OUTDOOR Nebraska is tops."—J. G., Gering.

A Wildlife Career

"I am 18 years-old and graduating from high school. I am interested in the U S Fish and Wildlife Service and wish to know how one becomes a part of it. Also, is a college education required in this work*? I would like to know if there are any summer jobs available. Thank you very much " —Larry Galawav, Fremont.

Full information on positions with the U S Fish and Wildlife Service can be obtained by writing: Chuck Griffith, U. S. Fish and Wildlife Service, 1006 Lake, Minneapolis, Minnesota.—Editor.

30 OUTDOOR NEBRASKA

THE AIR BOAT CAPER

(continued from page 7)

with water. The exhaust pipe blew its fumes straight up. During a heavy rain, the pipe funnels the water right down into the motor. You can bet that the next air boat I build is not going to have a down-draft carburetor like this one.

After a lot of effort, Ray and I were able to make the motor operate on one cylinder. Everything was fine until we hit another log jam downstream. There was no way to get around this one. It looked as if the river had us licked.

We were near Stanton, so we spent the night in the local hotel. Through the night rain pelted the streets. My spirits were lower at that moment than they had been for a long time. To be beaten after coming so far was hard to take. I was about to call it quits next morning until Ray made a mighty important discovery.

"Look," he yelled from the riverbank. "The rain has raised the water level. We can get through."

"And we wanted it to stop last night," I laughed.

Once dry, we headed downstream again. Both of us were in a good mood, traveling full speed ahead when we rounded a bend and almost collided with a hot-rod Ford. Ray looked as if he had seen a ghost.

"Those cars were put in to act as levies," I yelled, trying to drown out the motor's roar. "The river eroded the bank behind them and dumped the whole mess into the water."

The line of old car bodies stretched from Stanton to Nickerson. Some lay almost against the bank, others in mid-stream. Navigating the man-made automobile graveyard at high speed proved to be the most hazardous part of the trip. Nickerson was our port of call that night. There was no place to stay, so we curled up inside the station wagon.

Jim decided that he would ride with me up the Missouri while Ray took the car. Having business there, Wayne had already gone ahead to meet us in Omaha. We found the mighty river full of debris. Its swollen waters were filled with tree trunks, fence posts, bridge pilings, and broken branches. We ran the boat at half-speed and bounced from one pile of debris to the next.

A small crowd met us in Omaha. With our goal realized, I felt a glow of pride. I had proved my point in an air boat that I had built myself.

We felt that the trip had proved the potential of air boats, both for commercial and pleasure use in Nebraska. Investigation of the market for cottonwood logs turned up an outlet south of St. Louis. The logs would have to be moved by rafting. Tugs can't handle large rafts, but I proved that air boats could. More than that, the four of us played a part in opening up hundreds of miles of stream by showing what an air boat can do on such shallow waters. Any way you look at it, our four-day adventure was more than worth the effort.

THE END MAY, 1963 31

WHERE TO GO IN NEBRASKAland

Patterson Harbor Resort Republican City, Nebraska Hank & Agg's Cabins Modern sleeping units Modern housekeeping units For reservations write to: Hank's and Agg's Cabins Republican City, Nebraska Cramer's Dock Cafe Bait & Tackle Boat Ramp Trailer Court Motors Boat Rental COLLINS Jk&joJiL On Johnson Lake Cabins Boats Cafe On Highway 283 Elwood, Nebraska LAKE MALONEY on U.S. Highway 83 South of North Platte Cabins-Boats-Motors-Cafe Write for reservations Route 4, North Platte, Nebr. 32 OUTDOOR NEBRASKA

A-O.K

(continued from page 17)

oxygen. In between there is a narrow band with a temperature range of 60 to 70°. This is where, with few exceptions, the trout will be found. During late June, July, August, and early September at the trout lake the upper 4 feet or so will be too warm, the water below 10 feet lacking sufficient oxygen, and the "fishy" part of the lake a narrow band of water somewhere from 4 to 10 feet in depth in between.

Information on the proper depth to fish is available at the area office throughout the season. Two methods can be used to utilize this system. Either the fisherman can still fish, using a bobber set to the correct depth, or cast out live bait and retrieve it slowly until the hot spot is found.

But this was spring and the trout were to be found at almost any depth. I kept working my way along the windy east shore, stopping finally at another cove. With the wind at my back, casting would be easier. The water was shielded by the high bank and almost calm.

My bait rode the wind to a fishy-looking spot. Retrieving slowly, I found I was getting nibbles but no solid strikes. Speeding up didn't work either so I cast out, letting the bait sink slowly to the bottom, and then bringing it back in gentle twitches. After a dozen casts, I still had no takers.

On what seemed like the hundredth retrieve there was a sharp movement on the line. Then it went limp. My natural inclination was to reel in monofiliment but I waited, then gave the line a slight twitch. Two more gentle tugs and I had my fish. He flopped to the surface twice, but because of the shallow water he wasn't able to put up too much of a fight. He went 12 inches, though, the largest of the day.

With the wind getting ornerier than ever, I decided to call it quits and head for home. As far as I was concerned, Two Rivers fee fishing was A-O.K. Within an hour I would be home and in no time have three rainbows cooking to a golden-brown in the frying pan. That's hard to beat in any fishing league.

THE END MAY, 1963 33

notes son Nebraska fauna...

GRASS PICKEREL

OFTEN MISTAKEN for a northern pike, the grass pickerel, Esox americanus vermiculaius, closely resembles his larger cousin in many respects. The species is also known as mud pickerel grass pike, and mud pike.

When comparing an adult grass pickerel and juvenile northern pike, the most notable difference is in the robust shape, darker color, and the dark 34 OUTDOOR NEBRASKA   bars on the flanks of the pickerel. Other characteristics such as scale arrangement, submandibular pore counts, and snout length separate the two members of the pike family.

Long and slender with a duck-like snout, this predacious feeder is often mistaken for his larger and better-known cousin by D. B. McCarraher Senior Fisheries Manager

The color of the grass pickerel is green to olive-brown above, with dark-colored over-markings or bars on the sides and light beneath. Like all of the other pike, his snout resembles a duck bill when viewed from the top. The body is long and slender, like the northern and muskellunge. Both the cheeks and the gill coverings on the head are fully covered with scales.

His branchiostegal rays, the slender bones lying in a membrane just below the gill cover, number 11 to 13 and there are only four mandibular pores, or small holes along the lower side of each of the lower jaw bones. There are about 105 scales along the lateral line and 12 rays in the dorsal fin.

Grass pickerel distribution is primarily throughout the Mississippi River drainage with scattered populations throughout the western states. In Nebraska the greatest numbers are found in the Elkhorn River drainage, particularly in Rock and Holt counties. Relict populations have also been recorded in Sand Hill lakes in Brown and Cherry counties.

The largest populations inhabit clear, densely vegetated waters or low-gradient streams, springs, marshes, oxbows, overflows and pothole ponds, and inland lakes whose bottoms are composed chiefly of organic debris. Because of his tendency to migrate, occasional specimens are found in such unfavorable conditions as muddy waters flowing over silted bottoms. This gives rise to the general misconception that pickerel are tolerant to turbid waters and clay-silt bottoms, and to his colloquial name of mud pickerel.

Pickerel seldom reach lengths exceeding 13 inches with most being around 8 to 10. It is the larger fish that are most often mistaken by anglers as young northerns.

Northern pike and grass pickerel appear to thrive in the same habitat. Both have early spring spawning dates with the result that natural hybridization occurs between the species. The first recorded pike-grass pickerel hybrid in North America was taken from Watts Lake in Cherry County during the winter of 1958.

Spawning takes place over soft bottoms away from any current. The eggs are adhesive and stick to bottom materials. They are deserted as soon as they are laid. A week or two later, depending on the water temperature, they hatch into young which in another fortnight embark on their predacious and often cannibalistic lives. Young pickerel grow about three inches the first year with growth often better in lakes than in streams. Maturity may occur at four inches or at least two years of age.

The diet of the pickerel also corresponds to that of the pike, shifting from insects early in life to one almost completely of fish after the first year. A vigorous feeder, he will consume other fish up to half his own length.

Anglers periodically catch grass pickerel while fishing for pike in the Elkhorn and Calamus rivers. The larger fish make good eating and taste similar to the highly-prized pike. Small frogs, minnows, worms, and artificial lures are effective baits. What he lacks in size, the pickerel makes up for in scrappiness.

Lately interest has been shown for using this fish in home aquariums. An abundance of suitable food organisms must be made available if the pickerel is to survive under captivity. Female grass pickerel can be stripped of their eggs and these reared artificially. Many years ago some states reared this species for stocking.

The diminutive grass pickerel has little place in the fisheries management picture and scant economic value to the angler. To the Nebraska naturalist and conservationist he remains an interesting fish adapted to a variety of sites. In his own small way he is a substantial predator in waters where the predator-prey fish relationship contrives to give nature a balanced environment.

THE END MAY, 1963 35

WHERE THERE'S SMOKE

...there's sure to be fire with this slick tepee rig by Lou Ell

THERE ARE many types of campfires, some used for cooking, some for heating, and some are the sit-around variety. All depend on a good fire lay to get them going.

One of the best fire lays is the "tepee". To make it, first clear the area of dead leaves, grass, and duff. Go right down to mineral soil in the pit area. Scoop out a small trench, about as wide as your hand, three or four inches deep and, a little over a foot long. In the middle, place a big wad of dry tinder, such as shredded bark, weed tops, or dead grass.

Stack pencil-sized kindling sticks and smaller twigs around the tinder, tepee fashion. Leave an opening on the upwind side so you can slip a lighted match into the tinder ball. Around the kindling, stand thumb-sized sticks, and follow these with heavier split wood, still following the tepee pattern. Now, touch a lighted match to the tinder ball, and watch the flames leap into the dry sticks. In a minute the tepee is a solid cone of fire.

THE END