NEBRASKAland

ON A BLEAK October 22, 1961, Mrs. Betty Tepner of Plainview brought a world record to Nebraska. She accomplished the feat by catching an 8-pound, 5-ounce sauger at the mouth of the Niobrara River. Betty's 28-inch champ is the largest sauger ever taken by rod and reel in the world. Her catch is listed in the 1964 World Almanac and is accepted abroad to give the Nebraska angler international re6ognition.

A mild argument with her husband, Marv, indirectly led to Betty's leap to fishing fame. On a womanly whim she changed her usual method of hooking a minnow. Marv, an angling veteran, assured her the set up didn't have a prayer. Twenty minutes later Betty was in the battle of her life.

For almost half an hour she fought the maddened lunker. Twice he stripped more than 70 yards of nylon line from her reel with his rushes. Several times the worried angler thought she had lost her prize when the fish sulked, letting the line go limp. Her heart was in her mouth when the fish made his greatest bid for freedom. The shiny spool of the reel was showing through the thinning coils of nylon before she turned him.

Determined but tired, Betty called on 30 years of fishing experience to help her whip the giant sauger. Her husband finally netted the prize to end the struggle and bring a world record to NEBRASKAland.

Betty didn't know she had a world record, but after measuring and weighing her catch, she knew she had a mighty big sauger. Later, she learned that she had a NEBRASKAland and world record.

Some old-fashioned Nebraska smart is partially responsible for her record catch. Marv designed and 2 OUTDOOR NEBRASKAlond built the piano wire spreader rig that Betty used. Specifically designed for big-river fishing, the gadget holds the bait four to eight inches above the bottom and allows the minnows plenty of action. It was a winner from the first and successfully stood the acid test of her epic battle with the granddaddy of all saugers.

Thanks to western know-how, female stubbornness, and Nebraska's prolific waters, Betty is one of only three women listed in the world records of fish caught by rod and reel. Even more, she put Nebraska on the fishing map to stay. Proudly, the state shares angling honors with such celebrated spots as Great Slave Lake, Canada, and Acapulco, Mexico, as the home of world record fish. That's quite an accomplishment for one woman and a homemade fishing rig.

THE END MAY Vol. 43, No. 5 1965 MAY ROUNDUP 4 LEAVE THE FISH 8 SPEAK UP 10 THE HAYTHORN CLAN Fred Nelson 11 HOUSE FULL OF FUN Elizabeth Huff 14 CHEYENNE SUNDOWN J. Greg Smith 16 A YARD OF ANTLER Roger Sanford 19 NUTTY NORTHERNS Al Micek 22 ARTISTRY IN ARMS 24 PUSHOVER NOT John Weigand 38 THE NEWCOMERS 40 DOG WITH STYLE Gary Grimmond 44 BIRDS OF A FEATHER 48 A FEW FEET OF ROPE Joan Wells 52 OUTDOOR ELSEWHERE 56 NOTES ON NEBRASKA FAUNA Robert Wood 58 THE COVER: "Good guy" sports famed Navy Colt, one of rare beauties in the Charnley Collection. Photo by Lou Ell SELLING NEBRASKAland IS OUR BUSINESS Editor, Dick H. Schoffer Managing Editor, J. Greg Smith Associate Editors: Fred Nelson, Gary Grimmond Photo Section: Gene Hornbeck, Chief; Lou Ell, Charles Armstrong, Gary Kotyza Art: C. G. "Bud" Pritchard, Frank Holub Jay Azimzadeh, Advertising Manager Eastern Advertising Representative: Whiteman Associates, 257 Mamaroneck Ave., Phone 914-698-5130, Mamaroneck, N. Y. Midwestern Advertising Representative: Harley L. Ward, Inc., 360 North Michigan Ave., Chicago 1, III. DIRECTOR: M. O. Steen NEBRASKA GAME, FORESTATION AND PARKS COMMISSION: Louis Findeis, Pawnee City, Chairman; W. N. Neff, Fremont, Vice Chairman; Rex Stotts, Cody; A. H. Story, Plainview; Martin Gable, Scottsbluff; W. C. Kemptar, Ravenna; Donald Kreycik, North Platte. OUTDOOR NEBRASKAland, published monthly by the Nebraska Game, Forestation and Parks Commission, 50 cents per copy. Subscription rates: $3 for one year, $5 for two years. Send subscriptions to OUTDOOR NEBRASKAland, State Capitol, Lincoln, Nebraska 68509. Copyright Nebraska Game, Forestation and Parks Commission, 1965. All rights reserved. Second-class postage paid at Lincoln, Nebraska MAY, 1965 3

MAY Roundup

Ponies to plays, NEBRASKAland erupts with good things to do

APRIL SHOWERS bring May flowers, or so they say. Be that as it may, NEBRASKAland is erupting not only in blossoms, but in a flurry of good things to do.

The ponies, which started running at Grand Island last month, wind up the action there May 5. Then they move on to Ak-Sar-Ben's famed track in Omaha. The flashy thoroughbreds run for the money throughout the month, beginning May 7. The one-mile Ak-Sar-Ben oval will be idle on Sundays and Mondays, but there will be racing on Memorial Day, Monday, May 31. The jaunty speedsters, including many of the nation's finest thoroughbreds, will remain in Omaha through July 5, a total of 42 days of top racing.

...about Miss Schmadeke NEBRASKAland fishing picks up a full head of steam this month, as do many other outdoor activities. Our hostess, Pat Schmadeke, invites everyone to join in. A daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Lloyd Schmadeke of Lincoln, Pat was named National Campus Queen by Sport Magazine in 1963. A 1961 graduate of Lincoln Southeast High School, she attended the University of Nebraska for two years before transferring to the University of Missouri at Kansas City to complete her degree in dental hygiene. Other honors include being chosen Lincoln Festival Queen, Miss Lincoln in 1964, Miss "E" Week finalist, Rose Queen, and Cornhusker Beauty Queen.

Lights will dim for the final performance of Oliver Goldsmith's "She Stoops to Conquer" on May 1 at Nebraska Wesleyan University in Lincoln. Two weeks later, players at the Lincoln Community Playhouse will don the greasepaint for their production of "The Miser", May 14 through 23.

Meanwhile, outdoor activity is picking up a full head of steam. On May 8 the University of Nebraska will sponsor its All Sports Day in Lincoln. There will be exhibition football and baseball games, and the N.U. track squad will meet the University of Missouri Tigers. Armed Forces Day at Lincoln Air Force Base on May 8 will feature parachutists, air shows, and exhibits of aircraft.

Hunt and Fish AURORA Aurora and the surrounding areas offer unmatched hunting and fishing opportunities. There is excellent pheasant and deer hunting. Platte River and the nearby sand pits are filled with different species of fish for top angling. Include Aurora in your next fishing or hunting trip. For more information contact the AURORA Chamber of Commerce

Broken Bow will hold its "Early Bird Golf Tourney" the second week of the month, and high school rodeo competition will break loose in Crawford on May 30. The state high school track meet is scheduled for Lincoln May 21 and 22. Big Eight Conference schools will visit the University of Nebraska May 14 and 15 for track and golf meets.

MAY, 1965 5   6 OUTDOOR NEBRASKAland

The Nemaha County Saddle Club will hold its annual horse show in Auburn on May 16, with an alternate date of May 23 in the event of rain. An open golf tournament will be held in Franklin May 29 and 30. Square dancers will swing their partners at festivals at Ak-Sar-Ben Coliseum in Omaha on May 1 and at Pershing Auditorium in Lincoln on May 8. The U.S. Volleyball Association will gather in Omaha May 2 through 4 to discuss strategy.

On the last day of April and the first day of May, the state's second largest indoor rodeo will be staged at the University of Nebraska by the N.U. Rodeo Association. Open to all Nebraska college students, this will be the Seventh Annual Collegiate Championship Rodeo. There will be three performances.

Lincoln policemen will have a ball at Pershing Auditorium May 7 and step lively to the music of Dick Wickman. All-Star Wrestling is scheduled for the mats at Pershing on May 4 and 18. The annual Parade of Homes will be held in Lincoln May 30 through June 6.

Other events for which no exact dates were available include: the "Gateway to the West" celebration in Blair, the Miss Columbus Pageant in Columbus, the Midwest Federation Track Championship in Cozad, the Central States Shrine Bowling Tournament in Omaha, and the Junior Golf and Tennis Tournament in Sidney.

NEBRASKAland's great outdoors are preparing for a whole summer packed with fun. Four state parks will open May 15 for the summer. Car racing gets in gear at most tracks across the state, Indian dances at the Boys Training School in Kearney will begin Memorial Day and will be held each Sunday throughout the summer until Labor Day.

So take your pick. There's something for everyone in NEBRASKAland during the merry, merry month of May.

THE END

MAY, 1965 7

SEE THE USA HAHLE'S FISHING CENTER CAFE AND ICE BOAT AND MOTOR RENTAL BOAT GAS—SKI BOATS TACKLE AND BAITS GUIDE SERVICE RED WILLOW RESERVOIR Rfr. #1 McCook, Nebraska Ph. 345-3560

LEAVE THE FISH

If you want to ogle not angle, hatcheries are place to go

FUN, ENJOYMENT, amusement, and a touch of education are sometimes discovered in the most out-of-the-way places in NEBRASKAland. The state's fish hatcheries offer just such unlikely meccas of fun and learning. Throughout the spring and summer, Game Commission hatcheries are open to the public any day of the week, from 8 a.m. to 5 p.m. Last year, for example, over 10,000 people toured the hatch house at Gretna State Hatchery to see how fish go about the day-to-day business of arrival and survival.

April and May are the best months to see the hatching operations of northern pike and walleye at North Platte. Or, in June or July, you can learn how a catfish is "stripped". Here, eggs are taken from the spawners and transferred to mechanical "nurses" at Gretna.

In addition to its other functions, Gretna also serves as the "holding station" for trout scheduled for the put-and-take fishing lake at Two Rivers Recreation Area, near Valley. A comfortable picnic area is right on the grounds at Gretna. The other hatcheries boast excellent outing spots at nearby recreation and wayside areas.

A trip to the hatchery at North Platte is just one of many sights to see and places to visit in that area. After a look at the fish, a jaunt to nearby Sutherland or Maloney reservoirs provides ample room to wet a line and the chance to take home a creel full of scrappers. The youngsters might also enjoy a side trip to Scouts Rest Ranch, Buffalo Bill Cody's former home, which is now a state historical park.

The Gretna facility is nine miles south of Gretna on State Highway 31 or six miles south of the Gretna Interchange on Interstate 80. It is just a short piece from Two Rivers State Recreation Area, where "put-and-take" trout fishing is available for a small fee.

Devoted mainly to warm-water species, the hatchery at Valentine is smack dab in the middle of some of the state's most scenic country. Located just four miles northeast of the city, the facility has bass, bluegill, Sacramento perch, northern pike, and the experimental white perch. Side trips could include visits to the nearby Nebraska National Forest, the Valentine Migratory Waterfowl Refuge, Niobrara National Game Reserve, or Smith and Snake waterfalls. Sand Hills lakes and those on the Valentine refuge offer plenty of fine fishing.

The Grove Lake Trout Rearing Station is just two miles northeast of Royal on U.S. Highway 20, and there is a nice picnic area a few miles north. The hatchery at Rock Creek is dedicated mainly to trout, but does handle some bass and bluegill. Rock Creek is seven miles north of Parks or 18 miles northwest of Benkelman. Just a few miles away is Rock Creek State Recreation Area and there is plenty of fine angling at nearby Swanson Reservoir.

The federal hatchery in the city park at Crawford is in the center of another NEBR ASK Aland playground. Majestic scenery is all around in the picturesque Pine Ridge and there are fun-filled state parks located at Crawford and nearby Chadron. Just about any recreation whim can be satisfied at the facilities near this hatchery.

Fish can be fun critters, and a hatchery can be interesting and informative as well. For those who would like to look a fish in the eye, an excellent 8 OUTDOOR NEBRASKAland aquarium is open throughout the spring and summer at Gretna.

Where ever you decide to go, you'll have an opportunity to see for yourself some of the projects and efforts undertaken by the Game Commission to make sport angling in NEBRASKAland among the best in the nation. But don't try to take home any samples.

Groups should make advance arrangements with the hatchery superintendent to insure the availability of a guide. Visitors are always welcome at any of these hatcheries, and now is the time for a visit. In winter, unfortunately almost all that is visible are iced-over ponds. Cameras are always welcome.

THE END MAY, 1965 9

FRONTIER RESORT LAKE MALONEY on U.S. Highway 83 South of North Platte Cabins-Boats-Motors-Cafe Write for reservations Route 4, North Platte, Nebr. COLLINS (Ra&oAt on Beautiful Johnson Lake . . . Lakefronf cabins - Fishing fackle • Boats & motors • Free boat ramp - Fishing • Modern trailer court - Swimming • Cafe and ice - Boating & skiing ■ Gas and oil -9 hole golf course just around the corner - Live and frozen bait. WRITE FOR FREE BROCHURE or phone reservations 785-2298 Elwood, Nebraska

SPEAK UP

BARKING FROGS

—"I like frog legs and usually shoot them with a .22 rifle, but often lose a body-shot frog. Recently, I heard that the best way to shoot frogs is to shoot under them. The impact of the bullet stuns the croakers and they do not make that last involuntary hop that so often happens when they are hit.

"Just thought I would pass the tip along and perhaps you can use it in OUTDOOR NEBRASKAland."—Raymond Spier, Pawnee City.

LIKES US

—"I am an enjoyable subscriber to your magazine, being born in Ulysses, Nebraska in 1897 and lived there until 1939. I traveled a lot in Nebraska and still make 5 or 6 trips a year there.

"Will you please inform Miss Huff that Highway 281 does not go through York, instead it is 81. She only missed by 44 miles, but that isn't bad for someone who doesn't know Nebraska. Highway 81 enters Nebraska at Chester and goes nearly due north to Yankton, South Dakota.

"I put in many hard winters in Nebraska; saw temperatures down to 34 below with snow 4 feet deep on the level. I hauled baled hay from Chambers to Inman, leaving one day and back the next, using four horses abreast and then had to walk most of the way to keep warm.

"Not to brag any but I think you have one of the finest and most interesting state magazines in the nation. It is the first thing I read when the mail comes and I wouldn't think of missing one of the issues.

"This time I'll forgive Miss Huff. Her story on York was interesting and please write more."—George L. Masters, Oklahoma City, Oklahoma.

Miss Huff has just started walking Highway 81 to Yankton.—Editor.

NOT FOR HIM

—"Am writing this in regards to your NEBRASKAland magazine. As I have almost always been a yearly subscriber to Outdoor Nebraska, I always like to read it, up till now.

"Personally, as for myself, I would prefer more boating, fishing, and hunting and not all this corruption, such as the life story of Johnny Carson and the artistic flower paintings like you have in the February magazine.

"Now don't get me wrong, I do like flowers and stories like Johnny Carson, but not in this magazine. I was very much shocked when I came to the flower paintings. This to me looked like some company's seed catalogue.

"Now for my part you can drop this NEBRASKAland and go back to the good old original Outdoor Nebraska."—Erwin Molthan, Grafton.

The flowers are not paintings. They are color photographs taken by OUTDOOR NEBRASKAland photographers in various parts of the state. The Carson story is part of the magazine's continuing effort to cover all phases of the state scene, including its great moments and great people.—Editor.

FISH WORMS

—"I would like to see an article about the worms found in the flesh of some Nebraska panfish. Where do these worms originate? Why are there more as ponds grow older? Is there any way to avoid the fish having these? We find them in bluegills and in some bass and crappies."—Mrs. Harold Schultz, Naper.

During the process of evolution these parasites evolved much as other life forms. In Nebraska the two most common parasites that infest the flesh of fish are the yellow grub and the black grub. The adult fluke (flatworm) lives in the throat and digestive system of certain fish-eating birds.

The flatworm lays eggs, these escape into the water as the birds feed, the eggs hatch, yielding tiny motile animal which swim about and burrow into snails where they pass through development. They burrow out of the snail, swim and then burrow into a fish for further development in this host. After development they remain inactive in a resistant case until the fish host is eaten by a bird. The parasite then reaches adulthood in the bird.

Some intermediate stages of tapeworm are also found in fish flesh. Here the intermediate host is often a tiny non-parasitic animal that lives in the water.

It takes time for many life forms to be introduced and complete their life cycles after being introduced to new waters; so parasitism is more apt to occur principally in older waters. There is no way to avoid catching parasitized fish because all fish are parasitized to an extent.

In Nebraska, the common parasites of fish will not affect the human being; however, it is always wise to cook all meat thoroughly.—Editor.

LETTER FROM HOME

—"For the last 2\'2 years I have been sending our OUTDOOR NEBRASKAland to our son in England. When he finishes each issue he passes it around to all the Nebraska boys. They say it is almost as good as a letter from home.

"These homesick boys sure wear the magazine out and enjoy it more than we can ever know. My other son soon will be getting his subscription too."—Mrs. Albert Katz, Amherst.

SCALPED—Glenn Finn of Arthur found a real believe-it-or-not recently. An ardent coyote hunter, he shot and killed a coyote that had been previously scalped and apparently left for dead. The animal's ears were missing and the forehead scalp was missing completely. Glenn surmises that someone shot or caught the critter, scalped him and left him for dead. He has hunted coyotes for years but has never come across a situation like this before. Last year, he killed 64 coyotes.—W. H. Dorris, Arthur.

COYOTE CHAMPION

—"Have been getting OUTDOOR NEBRASKAland for several years now and I must say I like it very much. Having been born in Nebraska and raised on a ranch near Valentine, I have hunted and fished on the lakes south of Valentine. I also hunted and trapped coyotes but after reading the article of 'TALLY HO' in your March issue I think it is one of the most despicable stories I have ever read.

"These men that shoot a coyote after he has been run ragged by an airplane then forced out into the open and into a truck loaded with big, burly he-men who have to stow up on eggs and hash browns, paid for by the club yet. Some 20 for one coyote, but they were real lucky and got three—boy, that takes guts, but to me, if I shot like these fellows it would take more guts to face a camera with a smirking smile like they did.

"If these men are sportsmen, deliver them from me forever. Amen.

"Keep the magazine coming, I like even with articles like 'TALLY HO'. It shows how low a man can get."—Gordon C. Wendorf, Sumner, Washington.

BOOKKEEPER

—"I do a lot of hunting and fishing and have kept a record of my kill of game animals and birds for 1963 and 1964. I thought you might want to publish it in OUTDOOR NEBRASKAland to show people what good hunting Nebraska offers.

"Here is my record: 1963 1964 Pheasants ..109 Pheasants ....51 Ducks ..46 Ducks 57 Quail ..37 Quail ..29 Deer .1 Deer .1 Prairie Prairie Chickens ..17 Chickens ..23 Grouse ..3 Grouse ..0 Antelope ...1 Tommy Palmer, Brady, Nebraska NOVEL IDEA

—"Have meant to let you know long ago that we appreciate receiving the monthly copy of OUTDOOR NEBRASKAland. We anticipate the arrival of each month's copy, and it passes through several peoples' hands after its arrival.

"The stories are great as well as the pictures. We all enjoy the quiz which appears as a feature each month. The December issue with the calendar included for the year was certainly novel and put to good use.

"Thank you again and keep up the good work."—T. E. Aldrich, Manager, Geneva Free Press, Geneva, Ohio.

10 OUTDOOR NEBRASKAland

the HAYTHORN Clan

by Fred Nelson Four generations have proudly blazed 7-Bar-4 brand on white-faced cattle

WEAK FROM hunger, the 15 year-old stowaway reached a decision. It was better to face the captain than starve. Harry Haythorn, late of England, crawled out of his hiding place in the rank hold of the cattle boat and approached the quarterdeck. The interview between skipper and scared kid was brief and violent. Ordered to help the cook or swim, Harry allowed that he was a poor swimmer and headed for the galley. When the ship docked at an eastern port to unload her cargo of Hereford bulls, young Haythorn was unceremoniously dumped on shore.

Broke, still hungry, and wearing all he owned on his back, Harry faced a bleak future in 1876. Forty years   later, he would stand at the window of his elaborate ranch house and gaze over 50,000 acres of prime NEBRASKAland range blossoming with hundreds of blocky whitefaces and know it was all his.

the HAYTHORN Clan

A Texas rancher who had bought the shipment of Hereford bulls took pity on the stranded youngster. His cook also needed a helper. Harry walloped pots and pans and learned the cowboy's trade on the side. Within five years he was ramrodding the rough-and-ready Texas hands on his benefactor's spread.

Five times he bossed the long drive up the Texas Trail to Ogallala and the last time stayed over. The sin bins of the wide open Cowboy Capital held no charms to the serious Englishman. He risked his poke on a livery stable and prospered. Raising beeves was in his blood, however, and he was soon eying a promising little spread south of Arthur. Harry sold the livery and bought the ranch with short cash and long faith.

P. A. Yeast was the cattle baron of the day in central Nebraska. He needed a foreman and Harry hired out, taking most of his pay in calves at $10 a head. Mrs. Haythorn cooked for the spread and received 25 cents a day if there were 10 hands, nothing if less than 10 showed up.

A soddy went up on the Haythorn 7-Bar-4 and soon Mrs. Haythorn and the boys, Harry Jr., and Walter, were running the spread while Harry stayed on with OUTDOOR NEBRASKAIond Yeast. The dynamic Englishman gave his boss a full day and then worked the moon out of the sky on his new ranch. It wasn't long before he was on his own with a growing herd of beeves.

The Haythorn Ranch is one of the few in NEBRASKAland to remain in the same family for four generations. Old Harry retired and turned the spread over to his sons. Young Harry split off and bought a place up Maxwell way, but Walter held on to the home place. He increased the size, bought more stock, and branched into the land business before he passed the ranch on to his; son, Waldo. Now, Craig Haythorn is ready to pick up the reins when Waldo calls it a career.

Over the years, the Haythorns have had some hairy experiences, but two blizzards, 18 years apart, were the gravest threats to the ranch. The first in 1913 wiped out most of the stock. Old Harry regrouped and rode out the disaster.

Walter recalls the 1913 ordeal like it was yesterday: "It was March 13, 1913. The day began with a cold rain and our stock was soaked. That night it started to snow and blow and the thermometer hit 25° below. It howled around here for three days so hard you couldn't see five feet. Fifty-foot drifts piled up in the gulleys and pockets in the hills and literally smothered hundreds of critters. Some of them had ice and snow as big as washtubs balled around their heads when we found them.

"I don't know how many head perished, but after the storm a crew of skinners came through and pelted the carcasses for 35* cents a head. We sold the hides in Ogallala and had enough cash to buy a new Model T. It hit us at calving time and I remember the hands picking up dead beef critters in a wagon that held 54 bodies. Every time they went out they filled the wagon and they went out a lot."

Walter's personal trial came in 1931 when he was in charge of the ranch. A howling norther roared into the Sand Hills in mid-January. Before it blew out, 800 prime beeves lay dead on the Haythorn spread. Other ranchers wrere equally hard hit. Some never recovered but Walter did some tall financing and bought 700 head to replace his loss.

The white killer almost finished Walter for good. Concerned about some prize steers, he rode out to cut the fence and give the beeves a chance to drift with the wind. He was too late. The critters had piled into the fence and were trampling each other in their blind agony. A few of the stronger ones climbed over the carcasses, made it over the fence, and smashed the wire into the snow.

Confused by the swirling fury of the storm, Walter lost his directions until his horse blundered into the fence. The rancher knew he had to follow the wire or die. Urging his horse tight to the fence he slid his foot along the top strand, blindly following the wire and hoping the storm would slack enough to let him get his bearings. Post by post, gate by gate he inched along until he came to a familiar gate below the ranch house. He risked a straight cut to the house and barely made it. It took him more than 90 minutes to travel less than a mile.

"My overshoe was ripped to pieces and my boot was almost cut in two by the barbs," he recalled. "My horse's shoulder was a bloody mess from hitting the fence but we made it."

The ranch was almost devastated by the storm. Dead cattle were everywhere, (continued on page 54)

MAY, 1965 13

HOUSE FULL OF FUN

Meet nature on your own terms with a snug little "box on wheels' by Elizabeth Huff

MAN IS A complex critter. Some might even go so far as to say he's daffy. He goes to great expense to build himself a castle and surround his family with all the comforts of the Space Age. But no sooner is he finished than he does a complete about face and gets the bug to "rough it" in the great outdoors.

Most everyone has succumbed to the urge to return to nature. Unlike the hardy woodsmen, however, they have had the good sense to bring along all the comforts of home, a feat that is accomplished with the little "box on wheels" known as a house trailer. This way of taking the indoors outdoors has taken the country by storm.

Once you're bitten by the trailering bug, there's no escaping it. The urge to commune sneaks up on you 14 OUTDOOR NEBRASKAland . . . slowly at first. It's just a fleeting thought. Then, it's a nagging, unsatisfied yen, and suddenly you're hooked.

Now that you have made the big decision, you go see Omar, the friendly neighborhood tent and trailer man. Omar, naturally, will have "just the right rig" for you and yours to challenge nature on YOUR own terms. With the big plunge, you become a hero to your family. The kids love you, Fido loves you. Maybe even Mom will love you, especially if you made sure she can cook on a real stove and not on a Bunsen burner. But, of course, you thought of that. That little trailer is equipped with everything but a spare lace for Junior's shoes.

You are now a member of the club, that hurly-burly hunk of humanity that every summer heads for the country byways for a confrontation with sweet old Mother Nature. But before you can take off on your own little junkets, you must make sure all is in readiness.

First you check the hitch. After all, you wouldn't want to lose that little rig on its maiden voyage. Next come the butane tanks. Mother would be most unhappy to get out in the "wilderness", only to find you are out of gas and she has to cook over a campfire anyway. When you own, rent, borrow, or steal a trailer, campfires are for sitting along side of, not for cooking.

Don't forget the tires. You are in for quite an experience if you have to change a flat on that little box out on the open road. And you must install an outside rear vision mirror on the car. Not only is it required, but you wouldn't want to back your cute little rig into a tree or worse.

Meanwhile, Mom can provision the outfit. She can stow away all those "vittles", sheets, blankets, wash basins, pots, pans, clothes, towels, soap, etc., etc., etc. Just about the time she has everything neatly jammed away, you remember that big pile of fishing gear. About now the kids drag out all those "things" that they "just absolutely cannot live without." By this time, you have transferred nearly all your earthly possessions to your portable home, which is now heavily sagging on its springs.

You're almost ready. You've already decided on a spot, naturally. But, you might as well study the map a little more. You've got more than enough time while your spouse checks the windows, unplugs the coffee pot, turns out the lights, herds the kids and Fido outside, and locks the door. You cram the kids into the back seat with the excess gear, and Fido clamors over everyone to claim his favorite spot by the window.

Pause now for a mental review. Do you have everything? Fido's leash? Clean socks? The barbecue grill? The kids . . . ? Of course, they're already bouncing in anticipation and demanding to know when you will get there, but you haven't even left the driveway yet. You holler at the kids and resume your mental rundown or is it breakdown? No matter, you're ready to go at long last.

You touch the starter, and the car strains forward, tugging its unfamiliar burden along behind. You glide into the street with your Twentieth Century covered wagon, leaving your cares behind you. You're off to meet the great, big, wide, wonderful world.

Strange at first, you soon get the feel of this towing business. The whole family is imbued with a spirit of adventure. It's contagious. All your friends were right. This IS the life! Your first trip with your own trailer is off to a flying start. Minutes and miles slip by. Soon you're at the turn off to the picturesque little recreation area you've driven by a (continued on page 55)

MAY, 1965 15

CHEYENNE SUNDOWN

DEATH LURKED in the shadows of the Cheyenne lodges and the women keened for all those who had died so far from home. This Indian Territory was truly a Godless land where little children died of starvation and brave warriors were shaken into helplessness by the dreaded yellow sickness.

Just a year ago, 1878 by the white man's calendar, over 1,000 of these proud Northern Cheyennes had been herded out of Fort Robinson and sent south to Indian Territory. They had agreed to the move only after the white officers promised they could return if they did not like their new home. But the promise was never kept and now only 278 men, women, and children were left to answer their chiefs' call to flee to the land of their ancestors, 1,500 miles away.

Between them and their dream was a sea of whites. Telegraph wires laced their old buffalo-hunting country, ready to report their every move. Three railroads blocked their path, each capable of rushing troops to any trouble spot. Over 10,000 troops could be mustered, more than enough to whip down 100 warriors who had long since been stripped of most of their weapons. Such were the odds stacked up against the Cheyennes.

by J. Greg Smith

A cold September moon shown down on their escape, lighting their lodges to the alert eyes of the soldiers stationed everywhere about them. But they went, running from shadow to shadow, the mothers pinching the noses of their children to keep them from crying. Lodges to protect the tribe from the cold winter nights ahead were abandoned. The precious food and clothing that would sustain them were left behind, too. Even the special things that had meaning to the Cheyennes for generations remained inside the lodges. Nothing could slow down their run to the Yellowstone River country.

The future of the Northern Cheyennes depended on two old-man chiefs, Little Wolf and Dull Knife. Placed 16 OUTDOOR NEBRASKAland on their shoulders was the awful responsibility of leading their people up an almost impossible trail, a feat that if accomplished, would have few equals in the annals of man.

Once the Cheyennes had slipped by the watchful eyes of the troopers guarding them, they spread out over the prairie like frightened quail. So silent was their flight that their guards did not miss them till the next morning. By that time, the Cheyennes were well on their way. Soldiers from Fort Reno had picked up their trail but had to call for fresh cavalry as the Indians were moving fast. Scouts spotted the remains of played-out horses, the precious meat stripped from the bones by the Cheyennes before moving on.

By the first afternoon the fleeing tribe had covered 30 miles, but the troopers were now close behind those escaping on foot. When the women and children could run no more, they flattened themselves to the ground, MAY, 1965   using even the smallest depression to hide from the enemy. But then they were up and running again. It would be this way all the way to the Yellowstone, the people always running and looking back, hoping that they had not been spotted.

News of the escape flashed across the plains. As the Cheyennes neared Kansas, General John Pope's troops were ready to take up the chase. Cowboys were recruited at Dodge City, eager to join the troopers in taking hostile scalps. Way up on the Platte, more troops were mustered and rushed out to likely Cheyenne crossing spots.

But the Platte was far away. Each time the Cheyennes could run no farther they made a stand against the pursuing troops. On September 13 and 14 they fought at Turkey Springs, only to slip away again in the night after the people wTere rested. The cavalry made contact again the 16th on the Kansas border and made a running fight all the way to the Arkansas River. Again the Cheyennes eluded the massing army of civilians and soldiers. Troopers from Forts Wallace and Hays moved out on the Kansas Pacific to block their path, but could not snare them.

As the Cheyennes moved into northern Kansas, Dull Knife and Little Wolf cautioned the young braves to avoid killing civilians in their horse-stealing expeditions. But the warriors could not be restrained from revenging all the old massacres at the hands of the whites. The Sappa and Beaver ran red with the blood of helpless homesteaders and ranchers. The chiefs grudgingly accepted the revengings, but insisted that the killing come to an end when they reached the Platte. The Cheyennes had been treated well in Nebraska and there was no reason for more slaughter.

The nation was shocked by the Kansas killings and demanded that the Cheyennes be cut down before they reached the Platte. Troops had been moved in on the Union Pacific from throughout the frontier to block their path, but the Cheyennes crossed the broad river near Ogallala October 4 without incident.

Once safely by this seemingly impassable barrier, Dull Knife called a powwow with Little Wolf. He remembered the promises of Fort Robinson's officers and was eager to return to the post. Little Wolf had long since tired of the white man's promises and argued that the Cheyennes should spread out into the wilderness of the Sand Hills. There they could hide until the people became rested before moving on north again.

CHEYENNE SUNDOWN continued

When it became obvious that neither chief would alter his course, the fleeing tribe separated. Dull Knife headed northwest to the fort, 149 Cheyennes following him. The rest took up Little Wolf's path deep into the heart of the Sand Hills. It was a sad parting. The people had covered 600 bloody miles together, outsmarted the best the military could throw at them, and even now had 24 companies of bluecoats running in circles. Splitting the tribe could only bring bad luck to the Cheyennes.

Ill fortune struck Dull Knife's band soon after leaving the Platte. He had made his way up to Chadron Creek when a howling blizzard struck out of the north. On October 23, troopers from Fort Robinson spotted the Cheyennes mired in the deep drifts and in no time had the helpless Indians surrounded. The old chief had sent out emissaries to the Red Cloud and Spotted Tail reservations with the hope of slipping in among their Sioux allies unnoticed. The army high command had anticipated such a move, however, and had surrounded both agencies with a string of troopers.

Dull Knife insisted that his people had done no wrong, that they had returned only because the soldier chiefs said that they could. Though sympathetic, the officer insisted that they turn over all their arms and horses, then loaded the beaten people into wagons and hauled them into Fort Robinson.

Little Wolf heard of the capture from his hideout in Lost Chokecherry Valley deep in the Sand Hills. Those that had followed him had eluded the soldiers and were now gaining strength after the long ordeal. They built lean-tos and when a great herd of elk moved through the wilderness valley they laid in a healthy store of meat and hides. The people had not been stronger or happier since the days before they had been driven to the hated south country. Scouts kept a sharp eye out for troop movements, and though many cavalry units moved nearby, (continued on page 47)

YARD OF ANTLER

by Roger Sanford My first hunt is nearly doomed by dreams of trophy buck in my sights

EVEN AS THE sights of my .243 zeroed on the shoulder of the doe and my finger tightened on the trigger, I knew I would never complete the shot. The fact that I would go back to high school the next morning without having filled my deer license was suddenly unimportant. In a split second of decision, I'd regained something I'd almost lost forever.

There was nothing tangible to prevent my firing. The doe stood statue still. She was legal game and the sun had just dropped behind the jagged silhouette of the MAY, 1965   ponderosa strung across the crest of the Pine Ridge. Don Berlie, lying beside me and whispering encouragement, shot me a perplexed, questioning glance. He wanted my first deer hunt to be a success as badly as I did, and he couldn't understand why I shook my head and said I wouldn't shoot the deer.

YARD OF ANTLER continued

I led the way back to where "Kelly" and "Apache," our Morgan horses, were ground tied in a clump of pines. Ron Sherman, who was back in camp, would likely call me seven kinds of a fool.

For months I'd planned and dreamed. During our summer jobs wrangling horses for Don at Camp Norwesca near Chadron, both Ron and I talked of a first deer hunt. Both of us would turn 16 just before deer season opened in the fall. Don, who's a second father to us and an accomplished deer hunter and guide, heard us talking and immediately offered to take us into his favorite deer country and help us all he could.

If all my school days were like the Friday before the deer season opened, I would never keep my place on the honor roll. Somehow, visions of a buck with a yard-wide rack kept getting mixed up in my English theme, and I calculated shooting range instead of percentages in math.

Ron's old jalopy covered the six miles to the hunting camp southeast of Chadron in quick order. The camp was on private land, with miles of open hunting range in the Nebraska National Forest adjoining it. Our saddle horses cropped the dry grass behind the tent. Inside, Don clattered stew and coffee pots as he prepared supper on the gas stove.

I watched the sun disappear and the canyon blackened with night. The stars popped out one by one. The cold November breeze felt its way along the ragged ridges. The whitetails and mule deer that walked the trails under the sheltering ponderosa could not know OUTDOOR NEBRASKAIond that a half hour before the next sunrise, buck, doe, or fawn would become a legal target.

I didn't intend to go back to Chadron unable to say I'd got a deer the first time I ever hunted one. I was determined my license would be filled. Again the vision of a big buck over my sights came into my mind, only to vanish abruptly when Don's voice called me to supper.

"No noise in the morning," Don cautioned us after chow. "We're already in our hunting grounds. If we're quiet, we could take our first deer right outside the tent. We'll hunt the ridges and hogbacks close to camp on foot in the mornings, then range farther out on the horses in the afternoons."

"You mean we climb the boondocks under our own power?" Ron asked.

"You're hunting as a sportsman should," Don answered, "not like a meat-chasing road runner. Those guys won't know it, but they'll start the deer moving up the valleys toward us. From the high points, we can spot the herds and pick our targets when they pass below."

Don finished draining his coffee cup. To him, the isolation of a camp out was over half the fun of hunting. He figured there were a lot of less expensive ways to acquire meat if it was all there was to hunting.

He pulled some squares of bright yellow cloth from his jacket pocket and tossed one to each of us.

"That's safety insurance," he said. "Wear it like a neckerchief. Remember, deer hunting is no foot race. Stop and look a lot. Take time for a clean, killing shot. We've got the whole weekend."

Later, as we lay in our sleeping bags, Ron and I whispered of the possibilities for tomorrow, filling ourselves with nervous anticipation. We choked back our laughter when Don, in the opposite corner of the tent, began snoring. I don't know when his snoring stopped, but it seemed like two weeks later that his voice urged us out of bed.

The eastern sky was a flare of sunrise gold as Ron and I climbed the hill behind camp and headed west. From Bordeaux Road, a mile to the northeast, three sharp shots announced that the pickup-truck hunters were on the move.

We moved slowly through the trees topping the first ridge, scanning the tiny side canyons and larger approach routes below. The cannonading of distant rifles increased. Across the canyon we glimpsed Don working a deer trail just below the sky line.

Movement in the trees set my heart to pounding. Ron froze against a tree. I dropped to my knees behind some brush. My partner had his sights on the movement when the doe and her two fawns sauntered through a patch of sunlight. He lowered his gun, figuring he could shoot a dry doe, but not one with fawns.

During the next hour we prowled the hogbacks, spotting several groups of does and fawns, both whitetail and mule deer. All were too far away or moving too fast to risk a shot, but twice I found myself tight with anxiety and beading in.

We were in the center of a clearing when that changed. Six mule deer had spotted us. They were under some trees 75 yards away. Both of us kneeled slowly. The deer held as our rifles came up together. The sunlight shined off my front sight and left a blind spot in my eye just as it found a fat, dry doe. Ron's rifle cracked and a dun-gray form toppled out of the shadows and slid down the (continued on page 51)

MAY, 1965 21

NUTTY NORTHERNS

Those hungry Boettcher Lake pike went for our lures just like hoppers in a turnip patch

MY WIFE, Mary Ann, claims those northerns just went "nuts", and despite my masculine striving to look at events in calmer terms, I'm forced to agree. It all happened on an early fall fishing trip on Boettcher lake, a small Sand Hills hot spot some 20 miles south of Atkinson.

Those northern pike started hitting like starved coyotes in a field full of cottontails. Out of six casts we creeled five and before the craze would subside an even dozen of the long-nosed scrappers plus one bass would be tucked in our ice chest. To really know what brought on this sudden flurry of lunkers one would have to be on speaking terms with the northerns. All I can say is that a drizzle was going, and despite the discomfort, my wife and I were tied up in the most exciting fishing adventure of our lives.

Our week-end fishing trip started out as most. This was a beautiful time of year, the golden cottonwoods and brilliant sumac seemed to be inviting us northward from our home at Farwell. It was a perfect day, but low, dark clouds were already banking gently in the north. A sudden change in the wind from southwest to north could mean only one thing, cooler weather and the possibility of rain.

by Al Micek

Three grouse flushed suddenly as we headed deeper into the Sand Hills on State Highway 11. Past Swan Lake a few antelope were standing right in the middle of the road. At first, they seemed to resent our intrusion. After trotting off they turned, giving us a more thorough look at a safer distance.

"There's Boettcher Lake," my wife exclaimed, getting her rod ready, even though we still had a few miles to go. I had to force myself to hold off on the accelerator, though the access road was getting rough. There were only a few hours of daylight left, and northerns don't feed as heavily at night.

As we turned toward a cattle gate, I slowed down. It was a mistake. As quick as you could flick a lure we were buried in inches of loose, dry sand. I mumbled a few words to myself and got out to see how bad we were buried. Luckily, I always carry a shovel and gunnysacks. In case of a fire in the dry pastures a wet 22 OUTDOOR NEBRASKAIond gunnysack is a good fire fighter, and when stuck in the Sand Hills, a shovel is worth its weight in gold. After an hour of digging, we laid the sacks under the tires and managed to churn out. But the sun was gone and little daylight left. There would be no fishing today.

OUTDOOR NEBRASKAIond 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 NEBRASKAIond, State Capitol, Lincoln 68509. Send photographs, too, if any are available.

When we reached the lake, the air hinted of fall. A brisk wind from the north sent chills through us, but a few quick cups of coffee from the Thermos took the edge off. As we settled down in our sleeping bags that evening, the sky above us was clear, but the north looked black and ugly.

"I hope it's decent tomorrow," I remarked to Mary Ann, but there was no answer. She was already asleep, unimpressed by the coyotes across the lake who decided to seranade us as new neighbors.

I awoke to the aroma of fresh coffee and bacon and eggs. It was about 5:30 and still dark and cold. Mary Ann served me breakfast in bed. I suspect she was giving me the king's treatment as insurance for taking her on future fishing trips. As we ate it began to drizzle. All-out rain forced us to take our second cup of coffee in the car. We both wondered about our choice of fishing-days. It was getting lighter in the east, but there was no sign of the sun.

"Well v/e came to fish, so let's get to it," declared my spunky spouse, as she pulled on her boots and waded out. "I'm going to work those reeds where it's calmer."

The wind was blowing. It had quit raining, for the moment at least, but it wasn't calm in the reeds for very long. No sooner had Mary Ann dropped a spinner in the reeds than a boiling splash broke the scene. The first northern had struck. He raced toward the reeds and my wife turned him, trying to tire him.

I grabbed the net and raced toward the scrapper who was desperately trying to shake the lure. Shake it he did and the line went limp. He was a scrapping beauty, but he wanted no part of the steel that was biting his jaw. Mary Ann went back to casting and soon had another strike. After a line-singing display of zigzags, she brought him in without any trouble.

"I'm not going to get any fishing done if you don't let up," I yelled, chagrined at my wife's success.

In an attempt to get in on the fun, I changed to lures, but still couldn't raise a fish. But not Mary Ann. She was reeling them in like a tuna skipper. Mastering swirling leaps, headlong sprints, and desparate dives, she had hauled in four and I was still looking for my first strike.

Before I could become too distressed at my lack of luck, it started to rain. We scrambled for the car to wait out the storm. From all appearances it looked like it had no intentions of quitting.

"Try this," Mary Ann purred, handing me some coffee. "Good thing I came along or we wouldn't have any fish at all."

"I'm not through yet," I snapped in an uninspired retort to her subtle chide.

But from the way it was raining it looked like there was more wishful thinking than realism in the remark. Even though we were only a few yards from the lake, it was raining so hard we could scarcely see it. About three cups of coffee later it changed from a rain to a drizzle and the sky lightened briefly.

"We just as well try to fish as stay here," I murmured, and out in the drizzle we went.

That decision was a stroke of genius on my part. Those northerns played no favorites, as they went for our lures like grasshoppers go for a turnip patch. They were gobbling at our lures faster than we could get the line out. We had five takers in six casts. The lure would hit the water, I would make a fast retrieve with a V-shaped wake following, and another northern was creeled.

On one cast toward a reedy shelf a northern hit so hard the lure went through his gill and hooked on his side. I thought he was at least a 10-pounder, but this was because of the odd way he was hooked. He weighed out at IV2 pounds. In that short span, we brought our tally up to 11 northerns, all around seven and eight-pounders.

"I'll gut and gill these and you catch that twelfth one," I told my wife, still confounded by this unexpected bonanza.

But the northerns must have gotten over their wild feeding spree. Mary Ann failed to hit, though she whipped the water to a lather. I had just put the dressed fish in the ice chest and was about to razz her about losing her touch when she hit No. 12. Like a ballerina determined to give one last memorable dance before the director closed the show, the northern went up on its tail in an attempt to shake the lure.

It was only a matter of time until this final catch was nestled away with the others and we were on our way home. The sky had cleared and the air had warmed up. As we drove back to Farwell, I theorized on just what got those northerns on the rampage. After a rain there will be quite a bit of movement as insects wash off the shore and the fish start feeding on them. Although northerns aren't known as insect eaters, they will go after minnows and smaller fish who would be rustling after the insects. Such thinking didn't seem to impress my wife.

"As far as I'm concerned, those northerns just went nutty," she flatly declared. I can't help but think she was right.

THE END MAY, 1965 23

24 OUTDOOR NEBRASKAland

ARTISTRY IN ARMS

Great guns of the world fascinate all who see Walter J. Charnley collection. Heres a preview of treats waiting

FROM THEIR very beginning firearms have dominated human history. No other invention equals their impact upon the world. For more than 500 years men have lived and died by the gun, yet the fascination of fine firearms is as strong today as it was centuries ago. This strange bond between man and weapon is nowhere more pronounced than in the West, for Westerners have always possessed, used, and cherished guns.

Among Westerners who knew and appreciated fine firearms was the late Walter J. Charnley of Omaha. Before his death on July 7, 1961, he willed his entire collection of more than 700 guns, conservatively valued at $93,577, to the Nebraska State Historical Society. Eighty outstanding examples of this collection are now on display at the Society's museum in Lincoln.

For the first time ever, the greats of this fabulous collection are photographed in brilliant color and brought to you by OUTDOOR NEBRASKAland.

Color Photography by Gene Hornbeck and Lou Ell  

THE WINCHESTER boast as "The Gun That Won the West" is well founded, but before it roared its challenge to the plains, other guns were busy taming the empire. Among the popular sidearms of the middle 1800's were the Harpers Ferry military flintlock of 1807. It belched a massive ball of .58 caliber that plumb discouraged anything in front of it. Other important handguns in the early days were the Johnson flintlock of .56 caliber and the A. Waters, a .56 caliber short gun that began as a flintlock and was later converted to percussion. These guns are on display at the museum. The graceful Kentucky rifle was among the first long guns to be used here.

A favorite of tinhorn and "hanger-on" in the new country was the deadly Deringer, a Philadelphia product that snuggled in sleeve or pocket with scarcely a bulge. The Deringer, later corrupted to "derringer", was a great companion for ladies of the night who felt it wiser to protect their cash than their honor. A "derringer" of .41 caliber like the one pictured here was used by John Wilkes Booth to assassinate President Abraham Lincoln in 1865. The term "derringer" has been synonymous with infamy since.

OUTDOOR NEBRASKAland MAY, 1965 27  

Big, ponderous, and hard to kill, the buffalo spurred the arrival of bigger, longer-reaching rifles in the West. But there was another more urgent need for better rifles just over the horizon. Something faster than a single-shot rifle was needed. Angry Indians delighted in riding down the helpless pioneer as he vainly tried to reload his old muzzle-loader or slip a new cartridge in his cumbersome single shot.

For the buffalo, the Civil War Sharps of .56 caliber was the ticket. And for the Indians, the repeating Spencer and the new-fangled brass-receivered Henry were the harbingers of doom for the redman. The pendulum of fire superiority swung to the whites and was never relinquished.

"God created man and Colonel Colt made them equal," crowed the Westerners and the Colt Navy Revolver, caliber .36 was the first to uphold the boast. The six-gun in the holsters of such hombres as Wild Bill Hickok came into its own in the West.

MAY, 1965 29    

FROM THE first hand cannons on, gunners wanted more than one shot. The Moorish miquelet lock, a Sixteenth Century masterpiece, employed a three-shoot hand-revolved cylinder. It failed because of ignition problems.

FLINTLOCK development reached its ultimate peak in the Eighteenth Century, so armorers turned to engravings and inlays. These all-metal pistols of .53 caliber are fine examples of the Scottish gunmaker's art.

FIREARMS began as cannons and refined into shoulder and hand-held weapons. This Fifteenth Century German hand cannon, below, was mace too. The device, above, is a powder tester. Duckfoot pistol, below, is early riot gun.

ITALIAN GUNMAKERS turned out graceful arms, elaborate in external design, yet ruggedly dependable. These handsome .54 caliber Italian flintlocks were prized during the Seventeenth and Eighteenth Centuries.

SCOT GUN MAKERS took no chances with the new percussion ignition. This "high art" pair of Scotch Travelers, right, used both percussion and flintlock systems for added dependability. Button triggers were always popular.

  34 OUTDOOR NEBRASKAland

ENGLISH NOBLEMEN were the best customers of gunsmiths during the flintlock era. This matched pair of Patrick pistols, far left, were made in the Eighteenth Century for the Duke of Gloucester. They were .69 caliber.

EUROPEAN GUNSMITHS were not unaware of the lucrative market for beautiful pistols in the Orient. This silver filigreed and coral all-metal Turkish flintlock was made in London for presentation in Turkey.

THE STORY of the French Revolution is told by these four guns, lower left. Highly decorated, the brace in the foreground reflects the love of show before the bloodletting. The more austere pistols are post Revolution Boutets.

DUTCH ARMORERS were master pistol makers. They gave their artistic inclinations free rein when it came to fabricating graceful and deadly, wheel and flintlocks. Metal, wood, and ivory were favorite materials of the Hollanders.

LONG AFTER other gunsmiths had adopted the flintlock and percussion systems, the Arabians and other Orientals clung to the miquelet lock. The .70 caliber Arabian rattail pistol and Horsemen's rifle were the Nomad's pride.

MAY, 1965 35  

QUEEN OF the Charnley Collection is the matched Boutet set, a highly decorative brace of flintlock pistols shown here. This priceless set is the only one of its kind in the world.

The set was presented to Prussian Field Marshal von Moellendorf by Napoleon Bonaparte to show the Emperor's esteem for the doughty soldier. The gift was made in 1802. The decoration and painstaking craftsmanship of these weapons represent the epitome of the French gunmaker's art.

Other guns pictured here include the English-French blunderbusses and the relatively modern German Schuetzen fixed-cartridge match rifle. Blunderbusses like these were used by French and English tars at the battle of Trafalgar and other naval encounters.

The Schuetzen rifle was the favorite target gun of wealthy Germans who enjoyed Sunday afternoon shooting matches and vied with each other for the most handsome rifle.

Next month we'll explore the flashing action of rodeo. Saddle up, Pardner, and join us.

36

PUSHOVER NOT

By John Weigand District Game Supervisor Hens feel bite of shot for first time in years

THE HEN pheasant had her day on the firing line January 9 to 17 in Nebraska's first hen season in almost a quarter of a century. Not since 1941 had hunters been permitted to look down their gun barrels with anything more than anticipation when a hen flushed in front of them.

Though there was much talk about the special hunt in the panhandle, the season resulted in a very low removal of hens. Relatively few hunters were in the field. Those who did take part in the hunt found the hen to be a worthy target. One reason for so few hunters was the distance between the open area in the west and the state's population center in the east.

As was expected, virtually all of the hunting pressure came from local hunters. In fact, better than 9 out of 10 of the sportsmen who were contacted in the field resided within the open area. Most hunted in the same county in which they lived, returning to favorite hunting spots used during the regular season.

Other factors contributing to the light hunting pressure were the lateness of the season, dry field conditions, and somewhat localized pheasant populations. Many hunters do their pheasant hunting for the year during the first two weeks of the season. From then on they sit back and think about a late-season hunt but never quite make it. The hen did serve as some enticement for the local hunter. Although hunting was light, there was increased pressure over that of the previous weekends. In some areas, hunting pressure was almost double what it had been on earlier weekends.

Through a hunter questionnaire, it was learned that about 20 per cent of the resident hunters took part in the hunt. They averaged slightly over one hen for the season. Based on incomplete information, it is estimated that the total harvest was between 2,500 and 3,000 hens. While this is not a large number, it was nevertheless well worth the effort for the participating hunters.

Prior to the season some concern was expressed that vast areas would be closed to hunting due to the hen season. However, this did not happen, and the majority of landowners who had permitted hunting during the regular season kept their land open through the last nine days. It is very probable that some envisioned being overrun by hunters. When this did not happen, they had no objection to the hunt.

Not all of the hunters who went out came back with a bird. Some who had trouble hitting cocks during the regular season found they had the same problem with hens. Of the hunters who were contacted in the field, the majority favored the hen season.

The average hunter took home one bird for each 2.8 hours of hunting. That bird, contrary to some speculation, was not always a hen. The study showed there was only about a 10 per cent greater chance that the bagged bird would be a hen rather than a cock. Cocks generally required an hour and a half more hunting time than hens. Had there been no legal hen harvest, hunters faced even greater chance of going home birdless.

Crippling losses ran lower in the panhandle than in the "cocks-only" region. Nine per cent of the hens and 14 per cent of the cocks which had been struck by pellets were unretrieved. This was lower than the one-fifth crippling loss for cocks in the remainder of the state for the last weekend of the season. Evidently hunters tended to be more relaxed and weren't taking so many long shots while hunting in the hen area. This could be an unforeseen benefit of hen shooting.

Age ratios of bagged birds were low in comparison to ratios obtained during mid-October. This is to be expected. Younger, more vulnerable, and close-flushing cocks are harvested in greater numbers than educated adults at the beginning of the season. As the season progresses, the inexperienced juveniles are harvested, leaving a population of conditioned young and adults. Where 9.6 young cocks per adult cocks were shot near Alliance in October, 2.4 young cocks per adult cocks were bagged during the final nine days in the panhandle.

General body condition of cocks and hens was excellent. Fat deposits throughout the body reflected abundant food supplies and the mild winter. These energy reserves would be available in the event of severe weather during the winter months. The hen's healthy condition will prove beneficial during the current nesting season.

Live weights were obtained from some of the birds checked. Adult hens averaged one ounce shy of two pounds, about 13 ounces lighter than adult cocks. Young cocks weighed 2 pounds, 9 ounces or 10 ounces heavier 38 OUTDOOR NEBRASKAland than their sisters. There was no difference in average weight between adult and young hen.

Hunting success during the opening weekend of the hen season was more uniform than in the remainder of the state. Forty-three per cent of the cocks-only hunters went home empty-handed. Had they hunted the hen area they might have been among the 70 per cent with at least one bird.

Few four-bird limits were encountered anywhere in the state during the final week. Two per cent of the panhandle hunters and four per cent of the other hunters bagged limits. Although the hen in the bag permitted a limit for some hunters, she did not guarantee the limit. The hunter still had to work for his birds.

The hen story did not end at sundown the last day of the season. Hunter surveys were only the first phase of a continuing survey. Final evaluation will come after the spring nesting and summer brood surveys are completed.

After a moderate hen harvest some compensatory or increased production of young during the following summer is expected. Due to the light hen removal it is virtually impossible for there to be any effect on summer production. Next fall's pheasant population will reflect the quality and quantity of nesting and brood cover.

The 93-day pheasant season and liberal limits provide the NEBRASKAland pheasant hunter with tremendous recreational opportunity. Those hunters who participated in this first hen season in nearly a quarter of a century enjoyed an even greater recreational return for their license dollar.

THE END MAY, 1965 39

the NEWCOMERS

Trout and northerns promise top action at still-to-be-explored lakes

TWO PRIME spreads of virtually unfished waters are flashing invites to NEBRASKAland anglers this year. Merritt Dam, 23 miles southwest of Valentine, teems with trout, thanks to heavy stocking by the Game Commission. Merritt also has smallmouth bass for a change of pace. The other newcomer to the state's fishing scene is Sherman Dam and Reservoir, four miles northeast of Loup City. Sherman's blue-ribbon offering is northern pike in the 10-pound class, but there are plenty of other scrappers in this 2,800-acre lake.

Both impoundments are easy to reach. Sherman is only minutes away from Loup City while an all-weather blacktop highway winds through the Sand Hills to Merritt. Two launching ramps are waiting at Sherman and one is at Merritt with more on the way. Motor boats are permitted on both lakes. Picnic and recreation areas surround the impoundments and camping is permitted.

Rainbows in recently constructed Merritt have the water to themselves, except for their smallmouth neighbors. Boardman Creek and the Snake River were renovated and rough fish removed before the streams were restocked with the colorful gamesters. After the reservoir started to fill, 3 to 5-inch rainbow fingerlings were placed in the big water. Last winter ice fishermen were catching 12 to 15-inch trout in the lake. With another growing season under their fins, the trout should be approaching bragging size by fall. Although most of the lake was cleared before flooding, some of the coves and bays were not. These brushy areas are tackle snaggers, but good fish are lurking there. A whopping 127,840 rainbow fingerlings were dumped into Merritt 40 OUTDOOR NEBRASKAland over a six-month stretch in 1964. This comes out to about 103 fish per water acre. Additional stockings are anticipated. Joining the trout during the stocking program were 12,800 smallmouth bass.

After renovation, Boardman Creek and the Snake River were stocked with brown trout. Some of these have moved into the big lake and are getting fat and sassy. A 4 ^-mile stretch of Boardman Creek is considered prime trout water. The roaring Snake River is not easy to fish, but the creeling rewards are promising for those who brave the steep gorges and brush.

Merritt is too new for fishing patterns to develop, but experienced anglers believe the trout will grow rapidly since they have very little competition from other species. The hottest angling should come in the early summer and again in the fall when the trout go on their feeding sprees. During the middle months, the rainbows are expected to retreat to the cooler water in the center of the lake. Deep running lures or live bait fished deep and patiently should entice enough rainbows to keep the dedicated trouters happy.

Bank casters will have their innings where the water has backed up into Boardman Creek. Some of the pools are suitable for fly casting but a spin-casting rig is probably the best compromise for the changing conditions. Lack of cover along the creek calls for a stealthy approach and careful casting to avoid spooking the wary trout.

The Snake River is not a peaceful rivulet. A swift current and rocky bottom are made to order for unexpected dunkings. Chain-rigged waders and a life belt are good insurance here for the angler who wants to go out and meet his trout on an even basis.

Merritt Dam is a big spread. When completely filled there will be almost 2,900 water acres, assuring plenty of casting room for all. It is located in one of the most picturesque sections of NEBRASKAland. The lake itself is as cold and clear as a diamond. In time trees and sandy beaches will add to its beauty. One water well is already in use and another is being drilled. A generous amount of public land surrounds the lake.

Boaters will be wise to peel an eye for weather. This big impoundment can get hostile in a hurry when the prairie wind is kicking up. Coves and bays along the irregular shore line offer emergency harbors if an angler is caught in a sudden blow. Sailors exploring MAY, 1965   Boardman Creek should throttle down and take it easy. There are a number of underwater snags capable of ripping up a boat in a twinkling.

the NEWCOMERS continued

The promise of mixed stringers is bright at Sherman Lake. Its irregular 7%-mile shore line is indented with numerous bays and coves which are made to order for lazy-day fishing. Bluegill, black crappie, and channel catfish are the top takers in these out-of-the-way spots. A growing walleye population will furnish a few surprises and largemouth bass are spoiling for a tussle.

Always ornery but often tempermental northern pike are cocks of the walk at Sherman. Fishery technicians report pike weighing 10 pounds or better in the relatively shallow lake. Like Merritt, the hot spots are yet unfound. As the summer progresses, it's a cinch that 42 some fine northerns will end up on stringers. In~the-know anglers will depend upon minnows and proven artificials to entice these streamlined fighters to a final showdown.

Both lakes are primarily designed for irrigation and subject to drawdowm during the summer. How this will affect the fishing is conjectural. Even at maximum use, Sherman will have 760 water acres and Merritt almost 1,600, so there's no danger of running out of water. The drawdowns will shift the fish populations to some extent, but the patient and enterprising angler will seek out the new spots.

Sherman is not yet ready to supply tackle smashers. Technicians predict bluegill will average about seven inches. Black crappie will be slightly larger and channel catfish will run better than a pound and a half. Bullheads should edge a pound while walleyes should do somewhat better.

This mid-NEBRASKAland impoundment is supplied with water from the Middle Loup River via the Sherman Feeder Canal. Anglers tiring of the lake can try for Junkers in the river. Although the lake is open to the public, much of the river flows through private land and permission of the landowner must be secured before giving it a go.

Not new but expected to come into their own this summer are the Salt Watershed lakes. Smaller than the newcomers outstate, these little gems make up in convenience what they lack in size. Plenty of angling fun is in store for line dunkers in the Lincoln-Omaha-Beatrice area on these small impoundments. Panfish will be the mainstays of the Salt's waters but some bass and northerns are growing into lunkers, too.

It's a cinch NEBRASKAland anglers will be giving Merritt and Sherman Lakes a big play this summer. When the returns are in, both should rate high in the popularity and production polls. Add these to the already abundant fish producers in the state, and it's easy to see why NEBRASKAland is becoming an anglers' paradise.

THE END MAY, 1965 43

A DOG WITH STYLE

By Gary Grimmond It's not surprising Reds have claimed masterful golden. He's a top hand

TRY AS THEY might, experts are yet to come up with the origin of domestic dogs. The best they can do is go along with the theory that the canines of today did have a common ancestry. The same wild dog that is the distant relative of the diminutive Mexican Chihuahua is also the ancestor of the horselike Irish wolfhound.

If you think this topic is a controversial subject, try a discourse on the origin of the golden retriever. For a kicker, compare his abilities with other retrievers. This broad-headed, long-haired canine is one who really gets the owners, breeders, and experts to arguing.

Since the Russians claim to have invented doggone nearly everything from the helicopter to hi-fi, it's not surprising that they claim to have a hand in the origin of the golden. They say that the golden developed from Russian trackers, a rugged breed whose sheepherding exploits top even the feats of the fabled collies.

It seems a British sportsman, Sir Dudley Marjoribanks, saw the forebears of the golden in a circus act about 1860 while he was spending some time at an English seaside resort. He was so impressed by the performance of these taffy-colored heavyweights that he decided he had to have a pair. However the trainer insisted that if he wanted any he would have to take all. This the Englishman did and took the entire troupe of eight dogs to his Scottish estate.

Unfortunately, Sir Dudley was not too successful in breeding the dogs for retrieving purposes. The trackers were great at having litters but left much to be desired as hunters. The descendants of these dogs were crossed with a light, yellowish-tan colored bloodhound in the 1870's to bring about a smaller animal with better scenting powers. This cross-breeding was a landmark, because the resulting pups were everything that dogs of that day should be. They were handsome with their golden coat, intelligent, even tempered, trainable, and they bred true to type.

Many question the Russian lineage theory. They believe that the golden developed from the Newfoundland or St. John's water dog. Stories of the tracker's courage, loyalty, and intelligence really get the experts going. The tale they take exception to is the one about the tracker's dedicated work for the sheep-herders of the Caucasus Mountains, where the dogs were supposed to have originated. It's said that these herdsmen would go home during the winter and leave their flocks in care of the trackers throughout the winter. When the herdsman returned in the spring, he would find his flocks intact, the tracker having dutifully looked after them all through the cold season.

This yarn will probably raise a few eyebrows even among the most avid dog fanciers. But the Russian tracker had a heavy double coat which was ideal for their winter's work. Today's golden has a smoother coat, thanks to the bloodhound cross. He has lost none of his scenting powers, which even the Labrador breeders concede may be superior to their charges. But the heavy coat that enhances his beauty has brought about a lessened demand. In Nebraska, with its brush and cover, that pretty hair is a catchall for cockleburs. And a wet golden in the car with the heater going isn't the best of all possible odors.

The many who favor the Russian story on the golden's origin over the Newfoundland idea have a lot going for them, even if it is true that most retrievers came from the chilly North American clime. The golden, like the tracker, is a big-headed, square-built dog. He doesn't attain the tracker's 100-pound weight, instead he averages around 65 pounds. He carries a collie tail, which he surely didn't get from Newfoundland. The dog has a good pair of eyes, which can be credited to sheepherding activity of alleged Russian ancestors.

Among breeds the golden is a latecomer. It wasn't until 1911 that he was given recognition by the English Kennel Club. The American Kennel Club didn't put him on its list until 1932 when the dog was nearing the apex of popularity.

Dog fanciers will debate the status of the golden as a hunting dog. A few years back the breed had many admirers in this country. He was the prima donna of the field trials, events that simulate hunting conditions and provide a pretty good yardstick. But the last time the dog won the National Retriever Championship was in 1951. In last fall's national there were only two goldens to qualify out of 58 that were entered. As a general rule the ratio in a field trial of say 100 dogs will run about 90 Labradors, five goldens, three Chesapeake Bays, and maybe two Irish water spaniels. These are the four retrievers recognized by the AKC.

The Labrador has pretty much pushed the golden out of the picture. Because he isn't as bold as the Labrador, the dog isn't too popular in the rugged topography of Nebraska. Where the Chesapeake is accused of being too hardmouthed, the golden is said to be too soft mouthed. He's just a little to mushy with a fallen bird and will tarry along readjusting it on his retrieve.

Even the Labrador breeders will concede that there is nothing more fascinating to watch than a good golden. He has a style that only speed, a good nose, handsome coat, and graceful body can capture. The dog is intelligent enough to be adapted to flushing, even though his forte is retrieving. His even temper makes this rich golden-brown canine a pet to please the most particular.

Whether or not he came from Newfoundland or Russia, whether he can hold his own against the rugged Labrador, and whether his popularity is on the decline or climb are all debatable. But on one thing just about everyone agrees—the golden retriever is a beautiful animal with probably very few equals in the kingdom of dogs.

THE END MAY, 1965 45  

CHEYENNE SUNDOWN

(continued from page 18)

none spotted the hidden Cheyenne camp. Fort Robinson bristled with the tents and arms of the new detachments rushed there to take part in the chase. Dull Knife's band was hurried into a log barracks where they were kept under close guard. The surgeon cared for those suffering from frostbite and malaria and the meals were more than generous. Dull Knife insisted that his people should not be held prisoners, but his rantings fell on deaf ears. Plans were already under way to send the tribe to Indian Territory and the governor of Kansas was now clamoring for the scalps of those who had slaughtered helpless whites on the Sappa and the Beaver.

Dull Knife and the army argued through November and December, the old chief always insisting that the white man keep his promise. Instead they ordered him and his people to prepare to move south on a freezing January 3. When the Cheyennes refused to leave peacefully, they were herded in the barracks and placed under heavy guard. Five companies of troopers stood by with bayonets ready. To their threats Dull Knife replied that he would rather die fighting than return to the south. Completely exasperated, the post commander ordered that all rations be cut off. Though it was freezing outside, he cut off the wood supply, too. Still the Indians did not yield. Two days later the commander ordered the water ration withdrawn, but he only got icy stares from the Indians imprisoned inside.

A brilliant moon shone over the snow-locked frontier post on January 9, the night the starving Cheyennes decided to make their last bid for freedom. Five guns long hidden in the skirts of the squaws were reassembled. Broken knives and even bits of sharp tin were doled out to the 44 warriors. When it was time, the Cheyennes crashed through the windows, then ran desperately for the protective cover of the nearby White River or the imposing buttes to the west.

The troopers were out with the first crack of a Cheyenne rifle and in quick order sent a hail of fire into the fleeing band. Thirty Indians, including many women and children, were mowed down in the first blasts. Thirty-five more were wounded and quickly captured. Others made it to the buttes, climbing the sheer walls to escape the withering fire of the bluecoats. Still others holed up at the first hiding place they could find. Though starving when they escaped, they remained hidden for weeks before finally giving up.

One group moved north, hugging the butte country to the very last before cutting across the open plains in the hope of joining up with Little Wolfs band. They were caught in a draw on Hat Creek. When they refused to surrender, they had to be blasted out with sustained fire. When the smoke finally cleared and the troopers were able to move in they found 17 men, 4 women, and 2 children piled in a bloody heap, all dead. Under them seven women and children were alive but wounded. And beneath them was a cache of beef, hidden to sustain any who might get away. To all this the troopers could only say: "God, these Indians die hard."

Those who escaped with Dull Knife were more fortunate. He led them to a great hole in the buttes he remembered when he was a young warrior fighting the Crow. The band starved there for 10 days before they struck out across the prairie to Red Cloud's reservation. They ate any roots they could find and were able to snare two rabbits. When these were gone, they chewed the tops of their moccasins. Dull Knife was completely dispirited, and when he finally reached the safety of the Sioux, he was a broken man.

Little Wolf's people wintered well, and though they looked more like primitive savages who roamed the land thousands of years before, they were strong and eager to make the last leg of their trip to the Yellowstone. With the first thaw they moved out. By March 25 they reached their long-sought goal. Once there, 114 exhausted Cheyennes surrendered to General Nelson A. Miles' officers at Fort Keogh.

The Cheyennes' long flight was finally over. An aroused nation sympathized with their plight and the military and Indian Bureau finally agreed to allow these determined people to stay in the land of their ancestors at the Tongue River Reservation in the Rosebud Valley.

Nothing in the annals uf the West can match the fantastic exodus of the Northern Cheyennes. The 1,500-mile flight through a maze of military posts and white settlements would have seemed impossible to all but these determined people. They had set their sights on home, and though they paid a terrible price in death and suffering, nothing could keep them from their goal.

THE END MAY, 1965 47

BIRDS OF A FEATHER

Art by C. G. "Bud" Pritchard MATCH THEM UP Catbird House Wren Barn Swallow Dickcissel Red-eyed Vireo Brown Thrasher MATCH THEM UP Rose-breasted Grosbeak Yellow-throat Lark Bunting Common Nighthawk Baltimore Oriole Yellow Warbler Bullock's Oriole Ruby-throated Hummingbird Eastern Kingbird Lark Sparrow Eastern Phoebe Red-winged Blackbird If you know a duck from a dove this quiz is going to be a lark

THE POET Percy Bysshe Shelley, after watching a lark sail into the air and hurl his song at the sky, was prompted to write a poem to the bird and refer to it as a "blithe spirit". Not many are likely to break out in rhyme over birds here, even though NEBRASKAland has more varieties to watch than just the lark. Shelley's lark, is not the same as the meadowlark.

If the dollars spent on bird seed, birdhouses, feeders, and fancy baths were a true indication, one would be led to believe the majority of people knew every species of bird by sight. Such is not the case.

True, most everyone recognizes the bluejay, the robin (he's the red-breasted worm puller), and the redbird. Usually, however, all small, brown birds are lumped together as sparrows. This mass identification is carried to a peak when larger birds appear in the back yard. The approach here is generally one of, "Oh, look at the funny bird at the feeder."

There may be some grumps somewhere in NEBRASKAland who do not like birds. However, the majority find pleasure in watching these little bundles of feathers and song. It is hard to be blue while listening to a wren trill or watching a barn swallow dimple the mirror of a quiet pond.

This pleasure can be greatly heightened by learning to identify the more common songbirds of NEBRASKAland. In learning their names you may discover some facts of these creatures' needs and, by improving their habitat, bring more songbirds into your community.

This increase in the bird population not only boosts the opportunities to enjoy watching the songsters, but also cuts into the insect crop, a case in point being the purple martin's habit of eating the equivalent of 2,000 mosquitoes per day.

Shown here are 18 illustrations of NEBR ASK Aland's most frequently seen birds. Try your hand at giving each his correct name. For city folks, a score of 10 right could be considered good, 14 correct outstanding, and more than that exceptional. Those living in more rural areas should be able to pile up better scores.

Don't peek ahead of time, but the answers are on page 51.

THE END OUTDOOR NEBRASKAland MAY, 1965   1965 Mercs: Here's how Ihey look Here's how they sound

These are the 1965 Mercs . . . the most complete selection of outboard power ever offered. In addition to new power and new design, Mercury now brings a. new quiet sound to outboarding.

The 1965 four- and six-cylinder Mercs are actually 50 /c quieter. This was accomplished by using an entirely new principle for engine silencing. The cowling is now isolated from the powerhead by large, soft-rubber mounts. This fireproof cowling has become a sound capsule that effectively seals in normal working noises of the engine. Connections for control cables are inside the capsule and openings are sealed by neoprene closures. Exhaust noises are silenced by a wall of water. The engine's discharged cooling water is used to surround Mercury's new internal exhaust pipe and prevent noise from escaping through the walls of the drive shaft housing. Unlike ordinary outboards, which pay for noise reduction by sacrificing power, Merc's new silencing system actually boosts power to the prop.

For 1965 there's a new 90 hp Merc that surpasses any other 90 in power at the propeller and fuel economy. All of the new Mercs are restyled and the higher horsepower models have a lower profile.

There are nine new Mercs from which to choose: 100, 90, 65, 50, 35, 20, 9.8, 6 or 3.9 horsepower. Mercury again brings you the highest horsepower, the widest selection of power and the greatest fuel economy. You get more RUN for your money with Mercury.

1964 Kiekhaefer Corporation, Fond du Lac, Wisconsin, and Toronto. Subsidiary of Brunswick Corporation. Visit your NEBRASKAIond Mercury dealer soon. SURPLUS CENTER MARINE LINCOLN LOVENBURG MARINE OGALALLA ANDERSON SALES & SERVICE OMAHA THE BOAT HOUSE GRAND ISLAND KIMBALL AUTO SERVICE NORTH PLATTE DON'S MARINE MART McCOOK PERSON'S SPORT SHOP COLUMBUS SPORTMAN'S PARADISE ELWOOD 50 OUTDOOR NEBRASKAIond

YARD OF ANTLER

(continued from page 21)

bank. My bullet kicked up dust where the doe had been. Desperately I tried to throw another shell in the chamber and with a sick, sinking sensation, felt the rifle jam.

Ron ran over to the bank and spotted his buck. His bullet had smacked through the big artery above the heart, killing the critter instantly. Ron was gutting the kill when Don appeared. He had heard the shots and was pleased to see my partner had scored on a buck. Right then I felt a little envious of Ron. He would be going home with proof of his hunting prowess. I carried the rifles as they dragged the deer back to camp.

The afternoon was a dud. Riding Kelly, I scouted ridge and canyon far back on Forest Service land. I saw but one animal and he was running fast, already out of range. I could not rid myself of the thought that I just had to fill. When I got back to camp after dark, I was pretty quiet. The fact that Don and Ron had spotted a nice four-pointer in an alfalfa field below camp, just a little too late for legal shooting, didn't buoy my spirits any.

"What do we do tomorrow?" I asked Don as we got ready for bed.

"Same thing," he replied. "Hunt the ridges and hogbacks." He must have sensed my feelings, because he added, "You'll get shooting, don't worry."

The next morning, Don directed me to a point overlooking two valley approaches, where I took a vantage point behind a rock. Ron and Don dropped down to make a swing through the far end of the valley, hoping to drive game my way. After a half hour I began to fidget. I had to get a deer today. Tomorrow meant going back to school.

The quiet air shattered with a gun blast across the canyon. It was Don's .30/06, and it jerked me to attention. Crashing brush below me marked the passing of a dozen bounding forms, their white flags flashing through the timber. Loose rocks rattled down the slopes. I had no chance to draw a bead before they were gone.

ANSWERS: BIRDS OF A FEATHER QUIZ 1. Red-eyed Vireo 11. Lark Bunting 2. Brown Thrasher 12. Baltimore 3. Catbird Oriole 4. Rose-breasted 13. Bullock's Grosbeak Oriole 5. Lark Sparrow 14. Red-winged 6. Barn Swallow Blackbird 7. Common 15. Yellow-throat Nighthawk 16. Eastern Phoebe 8. Yellow 17. Eastern Warbler Kingbird 9. House Wren 18. Ruby-throated 10. Dickcissel Hummingbird

Then I saw Don, standing in an open spot on the far slope, waving his arm and pointing. Brush crashed a second time, lower on my ridge. A batch of mule deer bounced like trampoline performers across the canyon floor and around a bend. Again I was in no position for a shot. I knew there were no deer left between us, so I slid off the ridge and joined Don, who was busy hog dressing the two-point mule deer that he had down. Ron was already there, helping him.

"I swear I'm ready to take anything I can get my sights on," I muttered.

"We'll get you filled," Don promised. "I'll go with you this afternoon as soon as we get Apache and pack this critter back to camp."

This is what transpired up to those last few minutes of our weekend hunt when Don's sharp eyes spied the deer herd through a break in the trees. We left the horses and bellied to a vantage on a point of rock. There wasn't a buck among them, but there was the big, dry doe, standing statue still. I covered her shoulder with the sight. My finger tightened on the trigger.

Suddenly, I couldn't do it. Only yesterday my dreams had been of a buck with antlers a yard wide. In less than 36 hours I'd let that dream decay and crumble to a nothing head, just so I could say I got a deer my first trip out. Now I realized that an antlered buck was the real dream, one I would remember as bitter tea every time I ate a mouthful of venison. I couldn't live with that disappointment. A man should hang on to his dreams. Whether I got it this year or next, my first deer would just have to be an antlered buck.

I lowered the rifle and said, "No I won't do it."

In school the next day, I opened my English book and started to study, when I remembered that there is a policy where honor roll students get a day off, and I had one coming. On Wednesday, Don and I were back in the ridges and hogbacks of the Pine Ridge. We'd split to work the high points on either side of a small canyon, when I saw his frantic motioning to join him. By the time I did, I was gasping for breath and my glasses were smudged with sweat and dust. I lay down beside him on the rock ledge.

"There's your buck," he whispered, "Take him."

"Let me get my breath," I answered. I pulled my smudged glasses off and put them aside.

Very slowly, Don slipped his .30/06 with its scope in front of me. I would need it without my glasses. I could tell from his look that somewhere deep inside he was glad, maybe even proud, I'd made the decision I had a few days before. Maybe he was feeling I would turn out to be the kind of a sportsman hunter everyone likes to know.

Through the scope I saw the buck's antlers weren't quite a yard wide, but it was a respectable rack, and I wouldn't be ashamed. I took a good breath, let it out, and squeezed the trigger.

THE END Dealers, Order Yours Now! Alcan MEC Bausch & Lomb Marble Benjamin Marlin Berretta Michaels Brownell Mossberg CCI Navy Arms C-H Norma Charles Daly Nosier Cajun oits Converse Pachmayr Crosman Pacific Daisy Peters DuPont R.C.B.S. Faulk Redding Federal Redfield F'tz Remington Forester SAECO F°x Savage Gun Club Schoellkopf Hahn Sheridan Hercules Sierra Hi-Standard Smith & Wesson Hodgdon Speer Hodgman Stevens Hoppe's Swift Hornady Texan Hunter Thermos Iver Johnson Unique Jaeger Weaver Kinfolks Williams Lee Wilson Leupold Winchester Lyman Over 200 Pages • We Guarantee 1 Day Service Regular Transportation Allowance The Midwest's most complete GUNSMITHING SERVICE • HYDRO-COIL STOCKS • VENTILATED RIB INSTALLATION • CHOKE INSTALLATION • REBARRELING • CHAMBERING • REBLUING • CUSTOM RIFLE CONVERSIONS • SCOPE INSTALLATION • STOCK WORK • RECOIL PAD INSTALLATION Dept. 0-5 • 3730 N. 56th • Lincoln, Neb. 68504 MAY, 1965 51

A Few Feet of Rope

by Joan Wells For 35 cents, anyone can lasso a barrelful of fun

ROPE SPINNING fever, once contracted, is a disease from which the victim seldom recovers. I've had it for 12 of my 16 years, and I don't care if an antidote is ever found. This is a one-girl (or one-man) sport that provides plenty of exercise, improves coordination, and builds agility. It has to cut the pounds, too. I've never seen an overweight performer on the rodeo circuit I've traveled with my trick roping act.

You don't need a lot of fancy equipment to indulge in this fascinating hobby. All that's required is a piece of rope. I use No. 12 spot lariat cord, but this is not available in every community. You can use ordinary hemp rope, but it's a bit stiff. The rope's rough, splintery surface makes your fingers sore during a long workout. You can spin about any flexible material if you put your mind to it. I know a man who spins a log chain and another who spins his bubble gum.

For beginners, I recommend a 14-foot length of soft, braided cotton rope of the clothes line or sash-cord variety that costs only about 35 cents. On one end form 52 OUTDOOR NEBRASKAland the "honda" by doubling the rope back on itself to make a two inch loop. Secure the loop by wiring it tightly with thin copper wire, then cover the wire with a turn or two of adhesive tape. Once this is done, run the other end of the rope through the honda, until you have a loop about 16 inches across. The rest of the rope not used in the loop is called the "stem" by the experts.

Hold the loop and rope stem in both hands, and you're ready to try the first basic loop, the "flat-spinning loop." With a smooth, circular toss, whirl the loop to the left, parallel to the ground, and at the same time let go with your left hand. Rotate your right hand in wide, smooth circles above the loop to keep it spinning. Your hold on the stem must be very light. With every rotation of the hand, the stem must be allowed to roll or turn in your fingers to prevent kinking. You'll lose the loop if you don't.

While you keep the loop spinning, make smaller and smaller circles with your arm, until you keep the loop going by wrist action alone. Up to now, the circle has been small. To let it build to full size, gradually let the stem slip through your hand until you are holding on to the extreme end. Once you've accomplished the trick learn to do it with your other arm, spinning the rope in the opposite direction.

You'll want to get more fancy in time. Try stepping into and out of the loop with one foot in a little dancing motion. This calls for extra co-ordination and rhythm. Once you've mastered spinning the loop with both hands, add another rope, and try keeping two loops going at once. When you've accomplished this, you can dance back and forth in the loops with both feet for a real flashy finish.

A big loop swung around the body is called the "cowboy's wedding ring". For this one, you need a 20-foot rope. Form the large loop in front of your body, holding the stem in one hand, and holding the loop open with the other.

Now, throw the loop around your body in a swinging motion that matches raising both arms to throw a coat or sweater over your head. When the loop drops to about waist level, release it with a good spin. With your right hand retaining the stem, keep the loop going with a smooth, circular wrist motion.

This large loop can also be started vertically to the floor in front of you. Then you can jump through it from side to side. In this case, the loop is begun small and allowed to build to size by playing out the stem through the fingers while maintaining proper spinning rhythm. When the loop is larger than you are tall, turn sideways to it and give a smooth, swift pull on the stem as you hop. Once through, you immediately face the loop again to maintain spinning control on the big loop.

The secret of good rope spinning lies in developing rhythm and smoothness to your movements, and above all, in consistent practice. Usually I practice an hour a day at my home in Seward, except before a show. Then I stretch the sessions to two hours. During bad weather I practice in the basement since very little space is needed for basic rope spinning. In good weather, I go outside where there's plenty of room. When I get on my horse, I swing a really large loop that circles both of us in one huge cowboy's wedding ring. This is a real crowd pleaser.

Once you master the basic loops, the loop variations that you can do are limited only by your imagination. Get yourself a few feet of rope and get in on the loop-spinning fun.

THE END MAY, 1965 53

HAYTHORN

(continued from page 13)

and range horses were scattered over three counties. The vital grass was buried under tons of snow. Walter will never forget two macabre scenes that greeted him when the blizzard ended.

"Some of our cattle drifted through a lake," he said. "We found them a few days later. They were still alive but their legs were frozen stiff to their bodies. You could topple them over with a push, their legs sticking straight out like wooden pegs. I came back to the ranch, got the shotgun, and killed 28 to put them out of their misery. A lot of the critters died in their tracks. It was a sickening experience to see cattle standing upright, frozen stiff as a board."

In his efforts to save the cattle, the rancher forgot a bunch of colts in winter pasture. They were found in a gulley, two dead, the rest barely alive. The starving colts had eaten all the hair off their dead companions and chewed the manes and tails off each other. Some of them survived.

"I can still see those poor horses and their frightful appearance," said Walter with a shudder. "I never felt so sorry for anything in my life. I hope I never have to live through another blizzard like that storm of 1931."

Love of horses is a strong tradition among the Haythorns. Their quarter and cutting horses have an international reputation and bring top prices in the United States and Canada. One of Waldo's prize horses sold for $4,500 and the buyer figured he got a bargain.

An expert on quarter horses, Waldo is sought after to judge the American Quarter Horse Association events. He has worked every big show in the country except the Cow Palace. The Haythorn Ranch is one of the very few to use work horses instead of tractors for the big jobs. Its four-horse Belgian teams are the envy and delight of horse fanciers everywhere. The ranch breeds and raises its own Belgians and has 16 to 20 horses broke to harness the year-round.

The ranch has a new "4" brand now, replacing the old 7-Bar-4. Still many of the traditional methods of ranching are retained. Instead of trucking the cattle to the railroad siding, the Haythorns trail drive their critters some 40 miles overland, grazing them as they move through an arrangement with other ranchers. At branding time, the hands ride to the cattle instead of rounding them up. A 2 ¥2-ton truck is the chuck wagon and the crew bunks under the stars when the day's work is done. Last spring the cowhands spent 28 days on the range branding the young stock. Rodeo has always been an enjoyable hobby with the Haythorns but no more than that. Craig, two-time winner of the Nebraska High School Rodeo All Around Cowboy crown, was runner-up at the finals in Albert Lea, Minnesota, in 1964. This year, the national will be held in Ogallala in August and Craig hopes to win it big. His speciality is calf roping, but he scores well in the bulldogging and cutting horse events, too. Experts claim he is a comer and has a future in rodeo, but Craig has no intention of becoming a full-time performer.

His father and grandfather were salty ropers and used to enter some of the 54 OUTDOOR NEBRASKAland bigger shows when ranching permitted. A fine calf roper, Waldo switched to steer roping when a knee went gimpy. He won some important go rounds but never followed the circuit to the real big money.

All the accolades, saddles, buckles, and trophies won by Craig and the other Haythorns have not dimmed their enthusiasm for ranching, even when things were tough.

"We are ranchers. It has been a way of life for us Haythorns for almost 100 years and I don't intend to change or leave this spread," asserts Craig.

Somewhere, an erstwhile stowaway must be very proud of this fourth-generation representative of the Haythorns. He's got cows in his young blood, too.

THE END

HOUSE FULL

(continued from page 15)

thousand times, but never really stopped to explore.

All at once you're there. You find a fairly level spot under a shade tree and park. You get out the jacks and level the rig. Mom breaks out the grill and soon has hamburgers sizzling. The kids start a game of tag. You are all alone with nature, with all—or almost all—the comforts of home. Of course you have to skimp a little on the water and take sponge baths in a basin, but after all, man, you're "roughing it".

You eye the nearby stream and dream of giant catches. Finally you pick up your tackle to have a go at it. The kids wander about, examining the grass, flowers, trees, birds, and anything else that catches their fancy. Mom relaxes under the shade of the tree.

The very air is exhilarating. Here you are, only 50 miles from your own front door and it could be a thousand miles away. Suddenly, you remember the payments on the trailer and accessories. Was it really worth it? Well, it is more expensive than a tent, but you never did quite get the hang of setting up a tent. And Conrad Biltmore hasn't quite figured out how to get the same atmosphere in one of his hotels. Sure, it's more expensive than tenting and probably just slightly less than commercial lodging, but each to his own tastes. Just what is the price of contentment anyway? The way you look at it, the outlay for this little box is well worth the investment.

You return to reality to see your little paradise has been invaded by other kindred souls. A lot of others had the same idea, it seems. You look around and spot little box after little box. But what the heck? There's room for everybody. The big outdoors is for togetherness, too. Besides, you just might want to borrow a cup of sugar.

The weekend slips by, and it's time to pack up and head for home. Once again, you go through the ritual of loading and hitching for the second time in what will probably become a long line of such treks. But you will remember this one long after your exhausted but happy brood files into the house.

Of course, you learned something. Next time you won't drag along enough gear for a trip to Madagascar. You'll pack for just the weekend, you vow. You learned a lot of other things, too, first and foremost just how great getting back to nature really is. You'll keep learning things, and next time you'll remember the camera.

Ah, yes, modern man has conquered the outdoors—or has he? Maybe it's just the other way around.

THE END MAY, 1965 55

CAMPERS, BOATERS, TRAILERS "INDI-PAKS" INDIVIDUAL TABLE SERVINGS jellies - catsup - mirs-tard - jams - honey - pancake syrup • dessert toppings - cheese - salad dressings - Sauces - salt • pepper - instant coffee - sugar . Trial assortment containing over 200 IffiTtY c (CO? D«pt. IQ-P.O. Box 110 Evantton, llllnoli Gasoline IWllaage calculator plus Catalog 2Scj '95 pp

Timber! When a tree is torn apart by lightning, it literally explodes. Moisture within the tree is turned instantaneously into steam by the intense electric heat.—Minnesota Volunteer.

Vandals on the Loose. Vandalism, poaching, and other illegal activities have reached such proportions in Gettysburg National Military Park that the superintendent has proposed closing more than a dozen avenues within the area. A public hearing was scheduled before the closure was to be carried out.—Outdoor America.

Sticking Their Necks Out. During a summer hailstorm in North Dakota, the manager of a refuge observed the effect of the falling balls of ice on a flock of Canada geese. He was amazed to see that more than half of the birds held their necks and heads pointed skyward, streamlining themselves and safely deflecting the hailstones.—North Dakota.

It's A Miracle. Two hunters had been sitting in a duck blind for hours. Finally a flock came by. One of the men blasted away, but nothing fell. Astonished he turned to his companion and commented, ''You've just witnessed a miracle. Somewhere in that flock of ducks flies a dead one!"—Cortland's Fishing Line Facts.

Good Business. A good many jobs are created in Colorado by sportsmen's dollars. The State realizes $102 million each year from big game hunters, exclusive of the amount spent for hunting permits.—Colorado.

Fit for a Cook. A few folk tales about deer meat have been dispelled in a recent study on the care and cleaning of venison by researchers at Utah State University. They've found that it doesn't make any difference whether or not the carcass is washed after field dressing. One week of aging game produces maximum flavor. Meat from animals two years of age and under is preferred to that of older animals. Five of six packing materials commonly used for locker wrapping preserved good color and prevented freezer burn and weight loss, but plain butcher wrap failed these tests.—National Wildlife Pointers.

Dollars and Sense. It will cost taxpayers over $100 million to clean up the highway mess caused by litterbugs during 1964 and the cleanup will not be permanent. If all litter along roads could be heaped end to end, it would stop traffic over a 3,000-mile route from New York to San Francisco —Oklahoma Wildlife.

NEBRASKAland TRADING POST

Classified Ads: 15 cents a word, minimum order $3 August Closing Date Sutt^ 1 BOATINGFIBERGLASS CANOES: Three exciting models. Easily assembled kits. $29.95 up (factory direct). Free literature. Riverside Canoes, 5803C Victoria Avenue, Riverside, California.CAMPING COZY DOWN SLEEPING BAGS, light tents and many other items for hunter and back packer in 40 pages color illustrated catalog for 25^ from Thomas Black & Sons, 930 Ford, Ogdensburg, New York, or 222 Strathcona, Ottawa, Canada. VOLKSWAGEN STATIONWAGON OWNERS Build own camper unit. Quick installation or removal. Inexpensive. Easily constructed. Complete plans, photographs, and instructions. $2. Dot Campers—Dept. N., P.O. Box 67, Saugus, California. ECONOLINER AND DODGE A100 OWNERS— Build own camper. Quick installation or removal. Inexpensive. Easily constructed. Complete plans, photographs, and instructions. $2. Dot Campers—Dept. N., P.O. Box 67, Saugus, California. DOGS VISZLA POINTING GUN DOG puppies sired by AKC field champion, Brok Selle. Dam of these puppies sired by Ripp Barat who has 15 field trial wins plus twenty placements to his credit. J. R. Holcomb, P.O. Box 177, Englewood, Colo. Telephone 781-1860. VIZSLA pups for sale, 4 and 5 months old. A.K.C. and F.D.S.B. registered. Wayne Hoskins, Enders, Nebraska, Telephone TU 2-4858. HUNTING DOGS: Labradors, 2 to 5 months. Blacks and yellows. Chesapeake females, 3 months. Golden Retrievers 2 months. One 18 month old male English Pointer. Also English Pointers 9 months and 3 months. German Shorthairs 2 to 6 months. Weimaners 2 to 4 months. All registered. All $50. Robert Stevenson, Orleans, Nebraska. BLOODHOUND puppies. A.K.C. Bloodlines topped by none. Write for details. Fred Crandall, Kingman, Kansas. A.K.C. LABRADOR pups. Golden-Black. Puppies $40 and up. Started pups $75 and up. Guaranteed to please. Field working parentage. Raised Labradors since 1922. Kellogg's Kennels, Madison, South Dakota. BEAGLES, fully trained $35. Started, $25. Pups, $20. Good gun dogs, ten days trial. Hayes Beagle Farm, Route #1, Darden, Tennessee, Telephone 847-2087. BEAUTIFUL AKC golden retrievers, 5 months, champion bloodlines, excellent hunters and companions, $35 and up. Garry Brown, Route #2, Box 12, Sidney, Nebraska. LLEWELLINS. The old-fashioned setters, puppies now available. Reasonable prices. R. J. Johnson, London, Kentucky. FISHING HYBRID REDWORMS, 1,000—$3, 2,000—$5, 5,000—$8, 10,000—$14. Bedruns 20,000—$20. Postpaid with raising instructions. Brazos Bait Farms, Route #9, Waco, Texas. MINNOW-PEP active oxygen capsules. One per pail keeps minnows lively hours longer. Ten capsules $1. Postpaid. Minnow-Pep, 834 North 5th Avenue, Hastings, Nebraska. 56 OUTDOOR NEBRASKAland FISHERMEN: Catch all the white bass you want and your limits of sauger, walleye and northern. Use a white or yellow SKITTER JIG. Send $1.00 and receive two V4-oz. jigs postpaid. SKITTER PRODUCTS, 205 South 15th Street, Norfolk, Nebraska. FISHERMEN: Imagine calling fish right up to your bait. TR-Sonic V Fish Call combines special sound and light waves to attract all species of fish. Precision-made and transistorized. TR-Sonic calls them, you catch them. It really works. Order your now. $14.95, postpaid. Satisfaction guaranteed. D. N. Ball Company, 3504 19 Street, Columbus, Nebraska. GUNS NEW, USED AND ANTIQUE GUNS, send for list including Browning O & U's, Weatherby, Winchester, Ithaca, Colt, Ruger and others in stock for sale or trade. Send large self-addressed 10£ stamped envelope or stop in, Bedlan's Sporting Goods, just off U.S. 136, Fairbury, Nebraska. MISCELLANEOUS YOUNG WILD TURKEY. May and June hatch for restocking. Also adults. Price list free. Cozy Pine Hunting Preserve, RD No. 2, Salem, New Jersey. STONEGROUND CORNMEAL. Most complete line Health Foods. Many processed daily. Come see us or write. Brown ville Mills, Brownville, Nebraska. HANDCRAFTED, proven Turkey call. Box and bow type with tone qualities and volume unsurpassed. Complete instructions. $3, postpaid. Discount to sports dealers and samples on request, while they last. Tonys Work Shop, Route #5, Punxsutawney, Pennsylvania. REPTILES: Reasonable prices. Catalogue only 35?. Reptile Sales, P. O. Box 267, Hacienda Heights, California. HEAVY hand knit sweater jackets, any design. Jean Rucker, Route #2, Box 40, Chadron, Nebraska. NEBRASKA TRAVELRAMA HANDBOOK. Historical sites, cultural points, scenic beauty, parks, camp sites, map, tourist information. Highly illustrated; special section with color on Nebraska's World famous Capitol. $1.50 postpaid. Midwest Publishing Company, Ceresco, Nebraska. PICTURE OF NEBRASKA'S CAPITOL 16" X 20" in full color. Picture only, $3.75 postpaid. Dark or light oak framed, $8.50 postpaid. Midwest Publishing Company, Ceresco, Nebraska. 35 mm. SLIDES IN FULL COLOR prairie wild flowers, set of 20, $5.25. Exterior, interior of Nebraska's Capitol, set of 20, $5.25. Midwest Publishing Company, Ceresco, Nebraska. THREE Texas Longhorn Steers. Seven years old. Black, blue and one spotted. Real tourist attraction. Beautiful horns. Jerome Mischke, Crofton, Nebraska. PETS PET SUPPLY CATALOG. Quality merchandise for all pets. Private monthly sales. Save money. Send 25. S & S Mail Order Company (N), 1323 Flatbush Avenue, Brooklyn, New York. RESORT PROFITABLE hunting and fishing concession on Strunk Lake, southwest Nebraska. Good fishing and hunting local. Boat and motor rental and sales. Bait for all kinds of fishing. Nice restaurant facilities. Cabins to rent for both hunting and fishing in season. Good opportunity for increased profits. Call or write Mr. H. E. Day, First National Bank, Cambridge, Nebraska for further details. SCUBA EQUIPMENT BOB-K'S AQUA SUPPLY, Nebraska's largest scuba dealer. U.S. Divers, Sportsways, Voit, Swimmaster, Scubrapro. Air Station, Regulator Repair. Telephone 553-0777. 5051 Leavenworth Street, Omaha, Nebraska. TRAINING TRAINING SCENT. Quail, Pheasant, Duck or Rabbit. One 4 oz. bottle $3. Additional bottles $2 each. H. J. Drake, 2551 Litchfield, Wichita, Kansas 67204. GUN DOG TRAINING, all pointing breeds and retrievers. Rates on dogs boarded and conditioned for hunting. Clean, cool, concrete runs. Best of feed and care. Top bred pointers and retrievers for sale. Reasonable rates. Platte Valley Kennels, Route #1, Box 61, Grand Island, Nebraska. TRAPS COLLAPSIBLE Farm-Pond Fish-Traps: Animal Traps, postpaid. Free information, pictures. Shawnee, 3934-AX Buena Vista, Dallas 4, Texas. When Writing to the Advertisers, Please Mention You Saw it in OUTDOOR NEBRASKAland THE BIG WINNERS ARE.. OUTDOOR NEBRASKAland Classified Advertisers Because: • More than 50,000 OUTDOOR NEBRASKAland readers form an active buying market for all types of products. From sporting equipment to health foods, all are sold through OUTDOOR NEBRASKAland classified ads. • OUTDOOR NEBRASKAland's reading audience keeps growing, but OUTDOOR NEBRASKAland's classified advertising rates remain LOW . . . only $.15 per word with a $3.00 minimum. • Classified advertising in OUTDOOR NEBRASKAland is attractively displayed so no advertisement is lost. The classified section consistently has high readership. • Most important, OUTDOOR NEBRASKAland classified advertising SELLS! So whatever you want to sell or buy, you'll hit the jackpot with OUTDOOR NEBRASKAland classified advertising. For Winning Results, Use OUTDOOR NEBRASKAland Classified Ads OUTDOOR NEBRASKAland of the Air SUNDAY KGFW, Kearney (1340 kc) ?:05 a.m. KTTT/Calumfcus (1510 kc) a T:30 a.m. KRGI, Grand Island (1430 i§T1:40 am. KVSH, %ilen|ine (94* kc) J &00 a.m. KXXX, CalbVKan. (790 kef 8:00 a.m. WJAG, llerfik (780 kc) tt:15 a.m. KLMS, Lincoln (1480 kc)9:05 a.m. JCBRL, >ii«Co0k (130a kc) 9:45 a.m. KODY, North? Platte (1240 kc) 10:45 a.m. rUlMB, trntba*! (1240 kc)U 1 f:15 a.m. KM A, Shenandoah, Iowa (960 kc) If: 15 p.m. KOGA, #gallaia (930 kc) 12:30 p.m. KFOR, tjucofri (1240 kc) 12:45 p.m. KCNI> BJbkenlBow (1280 k# 1:15 p.m. KMMJ,6rand| Island (750 kc)1:40 p.m. KUVR, rfoldrege (138C kc) 2:45 p.m. KHUB, Fremont (1340 kc) 4:40 p.m. KNCY, iebraska City (1600\kc) 5:00 p.m. JCRVN, feexington (T010 kc) 5:40 p.m. KTNC, Falls City (1230 kc) 5*45 p.m. MONDAY KGMTt Fairbury (1310 kc) J . l:00p.m, KSID, Sidney (|340 kc) 6|30 p,m, WEDN€Sb^f KJSK, Columbus (900 kc) 30 p.m. ~**COW; Alliance (1400 kc) 4:30 p.m. SATURDAY KCSR, Chadron (610 kc) 6:00 a.m. KOLT, Siottsbluff (1320 kc) 11:45 a.m. KAWL, York, (1370 kc) 12t45 p.m. KHAS, Hastings (1230 kc) 1:00 p.m. KRFS, Superior (1600 kc) 1:00 p.m. KWRV, McCook (1360 kc) 1&5 p.m. KBRX, #^€illil350 kc)4&0 p.m. KMNS, Sioux City, Iowa (620 kc)6i*0 p.m. WOW, Omaha f(590 kc) 9:30 p.m. DIVISION CHIEFS Wi 1 lard ft. Bargee, assistant5;director Glen Rh poster,^fisheries Dick H. Scftaffer, information and toijrism Richard J. Spady, land management iack D. Strain,,* state parks Lloyd P;Jyaft£# game CONSERVATION OFFICERS lO-Mef: Carl E. Gettmann, Lincoln Ainsworth^-iilin Zimmermart 387-2141, Albion—Wayrie Craig, 395-2071 Alliance*—Richard Furley, 762-2024 Alliance—^LednardSpoering, 762-1547 ** Ahna—WHiiatjrf F. Bonsall, 928-2313 Arapahoe—Don Schaepler, 962-7818 Bossett—^/ifliam O. Anderson, 294W Benkelman—-H. Lee Bowers, ^23-2893 Bridgeport—ioe Ulrich, 100 : Broken Baw-tjGene Jeffries, %72-5953 Columbus^-L|jman Wilkinson, 564-4375 CrawforaVrCecit Avey, 228 .0 Crete—-Roy £* Owens, 446 •Crofton—^chn Scnuckman, &88-4421 David Cify-^liester H. Johnson, 367-4037 Dix—Maryin Bussinger, 682^2052 Fairbury--4_arry Bauman, 1293 Falls City^-Raymond Frana^en, 2817 ,F*emont-*-Andy Nielsen, 7^1-2482 : Gering—Jim McCole, 436-2686 Grand island—Fred Salak, 384-0582 HaistingsHrBruce Wiebe, 2-8317 ; ;H«y Springs—Larry D. Etsfdn, 638-4051 KearneyT-^fd Grevmg, 23 7-5753 ' Lexington^—Robert D. Patrick, 324-2138 Lincoln—Ltroy Orvis, 4884663 Mncaln-^h|orbert KampsniaW, 466-0971 Lincoln—£|ple Bruha, 477-4258 Nebraska £ity—Max Showalter, 873-7155 Norfolk—Robert Downing, ;371-1435 North Platfe—Samuel Grasmick, 532-9546 North Platte-^Roger a. dyenther OgoHalar^oron Bunney, 284-4107 Omaha—Dwight Alibery, 558-2910 O'Neill—Jarnes J. Hurt, 139LJ Ord—GeraJtt Woodgate, 728-5060 Oshkosh-—Donald D. Hunt, 772-3697 Pooca—Rfehctrd D. Turpin, 2521 Stanton--fc>ert C. Oman, 439-2412 Tekamah-r^ichard Elston/278R2 Thedford-—Jack Henderson; 645-5351 Vaientine-%)ack Morgan, %76-2634 VaBey—DdTyl Earnest, 359-2332 York—Gai PiWoodside, 362*4) 20 MAY, 1965

FLYING SQUIRREL

notes on Nebraska fau n a . . .

ONE OF THE most beautiful but seldom seen Nebraska rodents is the southern flying squirrel. The scientific name of this flying phantom—Glaucomys volans—literally means flying gray mouse. This is actually somewhat of a misnomer, as the "flying" refers to the rodent's habit of gliding or sailing from tree to tree. The critter does not have the capability of flight of more than 150-200 feet.

You can easily distinguish the flying squirrel from his cousins. He possesses a loose fold of skin, the flying or gliding membrane, which extends from the outside of the front leg to the ankle on the hind leg. When in full glide, a silhouette close to a square shape is presented. The gliding membrane gives the little fellow a bulky, well-rounded appearance when he is at rest.

A cartilaginous "spur" projects outward from the flyer's leg, enabling him to extend the membrane beyond the leg itself. This considerably increases the area of the gliding surface. The all-important tail is smoothly and very densely furred. It is broad and horizontally flattened and is used as an effective rudder.

The body fur is short, thick, and very soft and silky, somewhat like chinchilla fur. The squirrel's eyes are conspicuously large, as in most nocturnal mammals and are a shiny black. Under a beam of a light at night they shine ruby red. The ears are quite large and the 58 OUTDOOR NEBRASKAland nose is short and slightly upturned. Long tactile whiskers are present and seem to be constantly in motion. This little squirrel is very alert and gives the appearance of being highly nervous.

This aerial acrobat glides through the air with greatest of ease. Landing is a snap too; just a flip of the tail by Robert Wood District Game Supervisor

Coloration is generally grayish to brownish on the back with the underparts creamy white. The color change is immediate, with no gradation along the edge of the flying membrane. Even the tail is dark above and light below. Face coloring is also divided, dark above and light below. The flyer sports a narrow black ring around his eye. His general coloration in summer is darker and browner than in winter.

Compared to the northern flying squirrel, he is quite a bit smaller. The northerner's white belly fur is lead-color at the base, while the southern variety has belly fur white to the base of the hairs.

Nebraska lies at the very western edge of the southern flying squirrel's range. He is found only in the southeastern corner of the state. The squirrel is restricted principally to the wooded areas along the Missouri River. The range outside of Nebraska is rather extensive, covering almost the entire eastern half of the nation. There is also a fair-sized area in Mexico and Central America.

The habitat of heavy, deciduous timber required by these squirrels may be what limits them to the southeast corner of the state. Woodlands of the oak-hickory type are generally preferred and which contain an abundance of dead trees or old mature trees containing plenty of woodpecker holes and cavities. In urban areas, the flying squirrel is often found in attics or bird houses. In one instance, a flyer set up housekeeping in the bell tower of a large church.

Woodpecker nest cavities seem to be preferred dens, and entrances as small as one inch in diameter are used. Only rarely are outside leaf nests built. Shredded bark is generally used as nest lining, but any soft material such as moss, feathers, or fine grass will do.

Being one of the most nocturnal of all mammals, the flying squirrel is seldom observed in his normal activities. His unique method of gliding from tree to tree is a beautiful sight. He will climb to a favorable position high in a tree, pick a landing site, and leap outward with all four legs at right angles to his body. The angle and speed of the squirrel's glide is controlled by the position of the membranes.

The squirrel is capable of considerable maneuvering to avoid branches and other obstacles. Turns of 90° or more can be made. Although most glides are around 20 to 30 feet, the flyer can travel 150 feet or more from high launching positions. The angle of the glide is generally between 30 and 50 degrees.

When the squirrel is ready to land, the tail is flipped upward, thus turning the belly of the animal to the tree. The landing is often made with an audible 'plopping' sound. The rear feet generally strike first and all four feet are supplied with well-cushioned pads to absorb the shock of landing. Altitude is then gained for the next jump of the journey.

Flyers are active all winter, but may hole up for several days during severe cold. They are somewhat gregarious, five or six animals occupying one nest. These groups may be a female and her last litter or a congregation of the same sex. They are very clean animals and keep both themselves and their nests well groomed.

A wide variety of foods are included in the squirrel's diet. Hickory nuts and acorns are both staples. Seeds of many kinds are eaten, and corn is a favorite food. Quite frequently the squirrel will use bird feeders that are placed near large trees. Ear corn, sunflower seeds, and suet are readily taken. During various seasons, tree buds, tree bark, fruits, and blossoms may be eaten. Animal matter consumed consists of moths, beetles, and other adult insects plus insect larvae. Birds' eggs and nestlings may also be taken, along with some carrion. Nuts and seeds may be stored in nests or the ground. Water will be taken frequently when succulent foods are not available.

As with other Nebraska tree squirrels, there are two main periods of breeding. The first occurs in late winter or early spring, the second in late spring or early summer. The gestation period is 40 days. From 1 to 6 young comprise a litter, with the average being 3 or 4. Adult females may breed several times a year, (usually twice) while the young do not breed until one year old. Some young may not breed until their second year. The male will abandon the female before the young are born, leaving her to care for the offspring.

Natural enemies include domestic cats, owls, hawks, raccoons, weasels, bobcats, and tree-climbing snakes. Man often adversely affects the flying squirrel by removing over mature and cull trees that generally make the best den trees. Some of this may be offset by the use flying squirrels make of bird houses and bird feeders.

Though a rarity here, the flying squirrel adds a fascinating page to the Nebraska fauna scene. The next time you're in the southeasern part of the state, look closely and you might spot one of these shy critters.

THE END MAY, 1965 59

Take a NEW LOOK at fishing motors

If you're satisfied with your old motor, congratulations. You've probably gotten your money's worth.

But things change.

There's a new look in fishing motors, of these new Evinrudes and your old suddenly become a Model "T".

They're lighter, trimmer, smoother, handier.

Take the new budget-priced 5 hp Angler. It's compact. Lightweight. 43 lbs. Easy to take. The new 6 hp Fisherman is down 10% in weight. Speed is up 18%. Power is up 9%. And it wears a smaller "hat

The Sportwin, introduced last year, is 8y2 inches shorter and 10 pounds lighter than the old Sportwin. Weighs less than a can-and-a-half of fuel. Has 16 tilt positions.

How did the customers like it? We couldn't build enough to meet the demand.

Take a look at your old motor. Compare it with the new look in Evinrude fishing motors. Maybe it's time for a trade. And now's the best time to talk trades.

No maybe about that.

See your Evinrude dealer. Look him up in the Yellow Pages. Free motor and boat catalogs. Write Evinrude Motors, 4106 N. 27th St., Milwaukee, Wisconsin 53216. EVINRUDE See your NEBRASKAland Evinrude dealer today! FIRST IN DUTBOARDS MILWAUKEE, WISCONSIN 53216 DIVISION OF OUTBOARD MARINE CORPORATION River Club Marina 2000 No. 25th Street, Omaha Sports Service, Ogallala Randolph Motors, Lincoln Mel's Marine, McCook Rolfsmeier, Seward Buzz's Body Shop, Kearney Young's Sporting Goods, North Platte Peterson Marina, Alma Maddox Motor & Marine, Sidney