Where the West Begins NEBRASKAland OUTDOOR NEBRASKAland October 1966 50 cents In Color . . . Nebraska's expanding Deer Herds Fall Fishing Waters Stranger to sharptails Sand Hills provide bale of fun The Kinkaiders

SPEAK UP

NEBRASKAland invites all readers , to submit their comments, suggestions, and gripes to SPEAK UP. Each month the magazine will publish as many letters as space permits. Pictures are welcome.—Editor.

THIRTY YEARS A READER - "A man picked up my May issue of NEBRASKAland, and said, "How long have you been reading this magazine?"

"I said for 30 years. I could be wrong, but we used to get it free years ago, and it was called Outdoor Nebraska. This was back in the 30's, when I was a postmaster. The carriers counted pheasants (they still do) and we in the office got it free. The last four years since I retired, I got it about every other year. This year it was a Christmas present. How far did I miss when I said I had been reading it over 30 years?" - Donald Flang, Grand Island.

Outdoor Nebraska was first published in 1926 as the official bulletin of the Department of Agriculture, Bureau of Game and Fish, under the direction of Frank B. O'ConnelL — Editor.

STRONGER STAPLE-"My husband and I enjoy Outdoor NEBRASKAland very much. The photography and color are excellent. We desire to keep the magazine in our permanent library.

"There is just one main thing wrong. They are not stapled together very securely. On the first look-through, often the center comes loose. This has happened to more than half the copies I have received."-Mrs. George J. Myers, Gibbon.

Steps are being taken to correct this. — Editor

KID'S ZOO-The July issue of Outdoor NEBRASKAland came to our home and the picture of Brenda Traeder in front of the Iron Horse Railroad engine at the Children's Zoo is exceptionally good. I only wish the people could know how much work went into the taking of the picture of the summer-clad young lady on a mighty cold and windy March day. "And, the picture of the two girls and the totem pole on Page 42 is an inspired, unusual, and colorful shot. I know that the Lincoln High School boys and their teacher, Jim Joyner, who worked together for two years on the totem, will be very much pleased.

"You had another photographer at the Children's Zoo more recently, taking shots. We'll look forward to seeing them and the story for which Bob Snow has been collecting material.

"Attendance at the Children's Zoo keeps snowballing. Many days, more than half of the cars in the parking lots are from outside Lincoln. One Sunday, we had more than 2,300 people in the zoo, and 1,700 rode the Iron Horse Railroad. A check in the afternoon showed cars from 23 counties and 11 states."- Arnott R. Folsom, President, Children's Zoo Association, Lincoln.

RINGNECKS-"R. B. Hartby of Otis and Dr. Cone were 13 years stocking the first pheasants in Nebraska. My brother, V. C. Rasmussen, Tom Ley, and Sofus Olson, three businessmen from Rockville, Nebraska, shipped in two cocks and four hens in 1907 and turned them loose in the hills just outside of town.

"By 1917, Howard and Sherman Counties were loaded with pheasants. Bill Lemberg of Boelus was hired by the state to net these birds for restocking. He caught hundreds of them each winter." -H. C. Rasmussen (age 79), Bloomfield.

SIMMONS —"I was most gratified to read your article in the March issue entitled, 'Pioneer with a Brush'.

"I am one of the privileged few who own one of Charles Simmons' original oils.

"I think it would be quite wonderful if some more of these could be reproduced in the future. The double-page reproduction will occupy a permanent position of display in my home."-Charles F. Harrison, Torrance, California.

This Poison Business

WELL BEFORE the appearance of SILENT SPRING, the potential dangers of unregulated use of pesticides were looming large to Nebraska Game Commission researchers. Studies were begun in 1963 to learn whether the chemicals being used were finding their way into Nebraska's wildlife. With co-operation from the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service and the Nebraska Department of Agriculture, tissues of pheasants and channel catfish from typical farming areas were analyzed. Pheasants and their eggs were found to contain sizeable quantities of several persistent insecticides. The catfish and other species of fish tested contained similar residues.

To get information representative of the entire state, more extensive studies were initiated, based on samples taken systematically throughout the state. To learn the kinds and amounts of pesticides actually used, operators of 724,000 acres were personally interviewed. These lands represented diverse types from Pine Ridge timberlands and Sand Hills rangeland to irrigated farmland and mixed dry land agriculture. This study is confirming that through the five-year period being tabulated from 1960 through 1964, Nebraskans applied hundreds of tons of pesticides including aldrin, heptachlor, dieldrin, D.D.T. and B.H.C.

Researchers are presently analyzing catfish from every major watershed in the state for these chemicals to relate their levels to the rate of application, the time lapsed since application and the character of the soils where they were used.

As work progresses, the importance of long-range studies become more and more evident. Through the years being studied the use of chlorinated hydrocarbons dropped markedly in Nebraska. However, the wildlife has not experienced a comparable reduction in exposure; some of the very stable chemicals applied years ago still remain in the environment, unchanged.

Nebraska's studies are proving to be of vital importance in understanding the losses of wildlife investigated each year. However, they can supply only a small part of the knowledge so urgently needed in this field. It is heartening to learn that others are also concerned with the long-range affects of these deadly chemicals as evidenced by Mr. Swift's article which is reprinted here.—-Editor

WHEN RACHEL Carson's book, SILENT SPRING, was published it immediately became a bible to a great many people. To others it was a document of error and even falsehood. The more it was vilified or praised, the more it was read. The result was a chain explosion of charges, counter-charges, a threatened lawsuit, a frantic increase in research by public agencies and universities, a rash of proposed laws, and endless editorial comments.

Whatever else can be said, it brought the now-widespread use of chemical poisons into the open for legislative and household debate. Chemical poisons immediately became a public issue with almost violent overtones.

Prior to the release of SILENT SPRING the public had long been propagandized by scientists in the employ of the chemical industries, certain Federal bureaus and the agricultural interests, that pesticides —economic poisons -were, in great measure, the future salvation of humanity. Even Moses never preached with greater authority.

On the other hand, research as to the short and long-term effects of these poisons on animal and vegetable life had never been centralized, nor properly financed, and was often of a timid sort due to economic pressures.

But with the startling impact of SILENT SPRING, there were immediately agonized cries of foul play, and all the power of corporate money, all the power of vested agricultural interests, public and private, were brought to bear on squelching this heresy. In one state a health commissioner even sought to ban this dreadful book from the public libraries.

Not only were Miss Carson's findings attacked, but so were her qualifications as a scientist, her integrity, and her motives. The pattern of attack was analogous to the time-worn strategy of a court case. If the facts cannot be disproved, then attack the witness. This type of offensive was soon enlarged by statements to the effect that scientists who drafted definitive guidelines in" a Federal report, USE OF PESTICIDES, were incompetent except for one member.

All the overpowering vehemence, bluster, and self-righteous scorn unleashed to suppress free thought and discussion on this issue makes the Spanish Inquisition and the burning of witches more understandable. Although these latter two chapters of human history had to do with religious dogma, their purpose was to stifle self-analysis, free debate, and free questioning through the fear of physical torture. In both 6 NEBRASKAland instances the self-appointed monitors of human behavior burned books along with human flesh. This 20th-century attempt to suppress free intercourse of discussion and facts was through economic pressures and loss of jobs, but the fact remains that this type of human bondage can prove more dangerous than the pesticides.

The reactions to this ground-swell of protest by the manufacturers and users of poisons has developed some interesting aspects of inquiry.

What are the basic reasons for their reactions?

With so little prior research regarding ultimate, long-range effects, how can it be so flatly stated that the use of poisons is purely altruistic and humanitarian? The basic reason for an industrial and agricultural partnership is the profit motive. Nothing else. All other considerations including any moral duty to feed the world are secondary.

Chemical industries have found poison-making a highly lucrative business, and through its use farmers increase their profits —at least for the time being—by killing pests and reducing cultivation costs. From the standpoint of the farmer, to reduce labor costs and guarantee a higher crop yield is an understandable ambition. However, the agricultural leadership emanating from the agricultural schools has encouraged a one-crop type of farming which is conducive to pests and creates an ideal environment for them. Agricultural schools have a tendency to indulge in the jehovah complex, and it must be remembered that at one time they advocated up-and-down-hill plowing and cultivation as well as farming sub-marginal lands which were finally abandoned to tree planting. In the long haul, it may again be found that their feet are made of clay if they continue their loose and widespread use of poisons.

The profit motive as a single-purpose priority is not confined only to the use of poisons but it is apparent in the destructive forces of pollution, commercialized recreation, erosion because of bad farming methods and highway construction, neglect of small timber holdings where no fast return is apparent. One of the most sinister of destructive forces is strip mining.

There is no intention of placing the profit motive in a bad light, but today corporate and individual responsibility goes with the use and management of all the nation's resources. The huckster's attitude of the market place of "let the public beware" can no longer prevail. It is because of this flaunting of responsibility that so many laws are passed governing resources.

As populations increase there becomes a national equity in all resources regard- less of ownership. This may not be an altogether palatable premise, but it is a fact. And to dismiss all potential damage through the use of poisons as the "price of progress" is a shallow and untenable argument.

SILENT SPRING has given encouragement to many of the middle register who want some long-term and fundamental investigations into the use of poisons, and they are not particularly interested in teaming up with the extremists of either camp. The public has a right to demand impartiality from its government bureaus and schools of higher learning. Tax-supported institutions should not have a ring in their noses and be led by powerful lobbies. Industry and agriculture can no longer win friends by yowling like scalded cats, nor should ridicule, scorn, or emotions from any group be a substitute for facts.

Facts have and are piling up from the standpoint of poison residues in many forms of wildlife all over the globe, in enormous fish kills, general pollution, and in lawsuits where humans, animals, and crops have been affected or killed. In states where wildlife agencies have some authority — usually not enough — restrictions are being placed on the irresponsible broadcasting of poisons, and the types and kinds which can be used; but effective federal laws are still a long way off. There are too many federal and state employees forgetting that they work for the (Continued on page 49)

October Roundup

You don't have to be a hunter to bag a share of month's fun and gomes, but it sure helps

NEBRASKA'S MAP of October events looks like a jack rabbit's path—it's a hop and a skip back and forth across the state for a zany month of fun. Starting our route on the mighty Missouri River and cutting a caper to the west, it's no surprise to find that the lusty river town of Brownville is leading off with a rollicking fall festival on October 9th to celebrate the days when steamers docked at her banks and poured out rough and ready adventurers onto the open prairies. Today's loose-foot won't get out of town without a day of fun.

Up river, at Plattsmouth, the State Game Refuge is primping its feathers for a visit by the Omaha Bird Club on October 29th.

Omaha, the gateway to the Golden West, offers a list of events that is longer than a youngster's note to Santa. The Civic Auditorium lays out its mats for five professional wrestling bouts on October 1, 8, 15, 22, and 29th. But it's even tougher to beat the Joslyn Art Museum calendar. Joslyn plans a Tuesday Musical in Concert Hall on October 2. Roten Prints from the Roten Gallery in New York will be on display from October 15 through November 6. Coming from London is the Nelos Ensemble to present chamber music on October 30.

The Omaha Symphony Orchestra, conducted by Joseph Levine, celebrates its twenty-ninth season with a new seven-concert program. Five internationally famous guest artists are scheduled, beginning with a double performance, October 10 and 11, by Jennie Tourel. The world famous mezzo soprano will perform works by Vivaldi, Mendelssohn, Ravel, and Poulenc.

Creighton University welcomes its alumni back to campus for a week of festivities beginning October 2 with an Alumnae Style Show. A Founders' Day Dinner, October 6, honors the laying of the university's cornerstone in 1878. A series of seminars and a dinner are planned for medical school alumni on October 29th, who will be on hand for the dedication of a $3 million medical school building.

Omaha University celebrates its Founders' Day, October 8. Its first college term was held in 1909.

Ak-Sar-Ben will swing, October 22, when Guy Lombardo provides the beat for the grand ball culminating in the coronation of the Ak-Sar-Ben queen and king.

Omaha's rich list of activities takes on a new jingle, October 22 and 23, when the Omaha Coin Club holds an exhibition at the Sheraton-Fontenelle. Collectors from the midwest compete in five categories — ancient coins, U.S. coins, foreign coins before 1500 A.D., foreign coins after 1500 A.D., and miscellaneous and specialized coins.

A hunter's breakfast at Laurel, October 23, shoots off the second day of the season on ringnecks. It's anyone's guess what's on the menu for lunch but the odds are two to one for pheasant. The 2,325 permit holders will be hot after wild turkeys on October 29, when the season opens for nine days. Pheasants are legal prey one-half hour before sunrise to sunset while wild turkeys have to dodge the hunters from one-half hour before sunrise to one-half hour after sunset. Sunup, sundown tables will be published in many newspapers.

Heading to Dodge, October 31, are wee ghosts and goblins to haunt the streets during the Kiddies Halloween Parade.

In Lincoln this month zooms off with a Governor's Youth Safety Conference at the Nebraska Center, October 1. The meeting is for high school juniors and their instructors and is sponsored by the Nebraska Safety Council to instruct young people on how to organize and conduct safety programs in their own high schools with special emphasis on traffic safety.

Another high-flying month of excitement awaits football fans when the University of Nebraska Huskers and the Nebraska Wesleyan University Plainsmen swing into action. Top of the heap are homecoming games at each school. The University of Nebraska invites its alumni to watch October 15 when Big Red clashes with Kansas State. Wesleyan University Plainsmen head onto the field October 28 for a run-in with William Jewell College of Liberty, Missouri.

The Nebraska Industrial Trades Show on October 1 and 2 highlights the Pershing Auditorium schedule. The 1966-67 Community Concerts program opens October 13 with the melodious tunes of Richard Rogers.

The Sheldon Art Gallery features mosaics by Jeanne Reynal, October 2 through 30. A Library of Congress Loan Show, The Art of Print Making opens October 11 along with the Howard S. Wilson Memorial Collection.

The Salt Creek Wrangler's Saddle Club was organized in the spring of 1946 and has had a galloping go-round of events ever since. The last show of this season is October 9th at the Rodeo Grounds, one mile south of Pioneers Park.

Art Buchwald, identified by Time Magazine as the most successful humor columnist in the United States, will be at the Nebraska Union ballroom of the University of Nebraska, October 20. Buchwald is a best selling author and is syndicated in 225 papers around the world.

Grand Island and Hastings plan tuneful activities this month. High school bands from all over Nebraska are invited to strut in a grand parade and to compete in street marching during Grand Island's Harvest of Harmony, October 8th.

The Hastings Chamber of Commerce and Hastings College are together presenting $600 in musical scholarships to high school seniors as part of the Hastings Melody Roundup on October 15th. School bands will parade and be treated to a luncheon at Hastings College.

The Prairie Schooners Square Dance Club of Sidney is keeping things stomping in the western end of the state, October 29 and 30, when the club will hold its second annual Square Dance Festival.

From east to west, from north to south, there's plenty of opportunity in Nebraska to cut up with a fine time during October.

THE END OCTOBER, 1966 9

WHAT TO DO

October 1 — Kearney — Homecoming, Kearney vs. Peru State, Football 1 — Omaha — Pro-Wrestling, Civic Auditorium 1 — Lincoln — Governor's Youth Safety Conference, Nebraska Center 1 — Lincoln — Wesleyan University vs. Dana College, Football 1 — Doniphan — Fall Festival 1-2 —Lincoln —Nebraska Industrial Trades Show, Pershing Municipal Auditorium 2 — Omaha — Tuesday Musical, Joslyn Art Museum 2 — Omaha — Alumnae Style Show, Creighton University 2-30 — Lincoln — Mosaics by Jeanne Reynal on Exhibition, Sheldon Art Gallery 3-22 — Omaha — Art Across America on Exhibition, Joslyn Museum 4 — Omaha — Student Convocation, Creighton University 5 —Lincoln —"Eroica", Nebraska Theatre 5 —Lincoln —Pro-Wrestling, Pershing Auditorium 6 — Omaha — Founders' Day, Creighton University 6 — Lincoln — Grand Ole Opry, Pershing Auditorium 7 —Lincoln —Wesleyan University vs. Colorado College, Football 7-9 — Lincoln — English Teachers Seminar, Nebraska Center 8 — Lincoln — Firemen's Annual Dance, Pershing Auditorium 8 — Omaha — Greater Creighton Convocation, Creighton University 8-Omaha-Pro-Wrestling, Civic Auditorium 8 — Omaha — Founders' Day, Omaha University 8 — Taylor — Alumni Banquet 8 - Grand Island - Harvest of Harmony 8-11-North Platte - Grassland Livestock Association Show and Sale 8 — Kearney - Kearney vs. Wayne, Football 9 - Seward - Organ Recital by G. Knopf, Weller Auditorium 9 - Brownville - Fall Festival 9 — Lincoln — Salt Creek Wranglers Horse Show, Rodeo Grounds 10-Lincoln-"Half A Sixpence", Stuart Theatre 10-11 —Omaha —Jennie Tourel in Concert, Joslyn Museum 11-23 —Art of Print Marking on Exhibition, Sheldon Gallery 11-Nov. 13 —Lincoln —Howard S. Wilson Memorial Collection on Exhibition, Sheldon Gallery 12 —Columbus Day 13 —Lincoln —Richard Rogers in Concert, Pershing Auditorium 14 —Lincoln —Wesleyan University vs. Doane College, Football 15 —Omaha —Pro-Wrestling, Civic Auditorium 15 —Lincoln —Homecoming, University of Nebraska vs. Kansas State, Football 15 —Hastings —Melody Roundup 15 —Diller —Harvest Holiday 15 —Seward —Concordia Homecoming vs. Westmar, . Football 15-Nov. 6 — Omaha — Roten Prints and Collector's Choice on Exhibition, Joslyn Museum 16 —Seward —Lyceum Program with the Rev. W. Bielingberg, Concordia College 18 —Harrison —Annual Extension Meeting and Fun Feed . , 19 — Lincoln — Pr\>-Wrestling, Pershing Auditorium 19 - Lincoln-,fHallelujah The Hills", Nebraska Theatre 19 —Taylor —School Boosters Smorgasbord 20 — Lincoln — Art Buchwald Speaks, Student Union 20 — Seward — Convocation with Colen Jackson, Concordia College 20-21 —Lincoln —Forum on China, Wesleyan University 21 —Omaha —Dick Walter Travelogue, Joslyn Museum 21-22 — Omaha — Ak-Sar-Ben Coronation and Ball 22 — Chadron — Chadron State vs. Kearney State, Football 22 —State-wide —Pheasant Season Opening 22 —Omaha —Pro-Wrestling, Civic Auditorium 22-23 — Lincoln — Nebraska Custom Auto Show, Pershing Auditorium 22-23-Omaha-Omaha Coin Club Exhibition, Sheraton-Fontenelle 23 — Laurel — Hunter's Breakfast 24 — Fairbury — Farmer-Retailer Banquet 25 — Lincoln — Lincoln Symphony Concert, Stuart Theatre 26 — Seward — Lyceum Program with A. Chiu, Concordia College 27-28 —Lincoln —District 1 Teachers Convention, Pershing Auditorium 28 — Lincoln — Homecoming, Wesleyan University vs. William Jewell, Football 29-Plattsmouth-Omaha Bird Club Outing to Plattsmouth State Game Refuge 29 — Lincoln — State High School Marching Band Festival 29 — Lincoln — University of Nebraska vs. Missouri, Football 29 — Omaha — Pro-Wrestling, Civic Auditorium 29 — Omaha — Reunion of Medical School Alumni, Creighton University 29 — Hastings — Hastings College vs. Kearney State, Football 29-30 —Sidney —Second Annual Square Dance Festival 29-Nov. 6 —Special Areas —Wild Turkey Season Opening 30 — Lincoln — Reformation Festival Sunday, Pershing Auditorium 30 — Omaha — Chamber Music, Joslyn Museum 30 — Omaha — Dedication of $3, million Medical School Building, Creighton University 31 —Lincoln —Extra Point Football Club Luncheon, Pershing Auditorium 31 —Dodge —Kiddies Halloween Costume Parade 31 - Lincoln - "Tidewater Trails", Audubon Wildlife Film, Love Memorial Auditorium October-October 23 - Lincoln - New Names in Latin American Art on Exhibit, Elder Art Gallery

CHECK POINT GAME

GAME CHECK stations are different things to different people. To the biologist they are tools of information. To the hunters they are both a disgusting nuisance, and a pleasant excuse for displaying that extra-special trophy. Depending upon your point of view, check stations are both good and bad.

Nebraska, like many other states, requires certain species of game to be checked at designated stations. Successful deer hunters in Nebraska have been required to check their bagged animal through an Hunter and biologist both benefit from dope gleaned during roadside review official check point since 1945 when the lirst season in recent times was held. Since that time, in excess of 103,000 deer have been checked. In addition, 8,000-plus antelope and better than 3,000 wild turkeys have been officially sealed at game check stations. This has permitted Nebraska to maintain complete detailed records on its big-game harvest. Also, along with the big-game check stations, which are mandatory, voluntary stations for pheasants, quail, ducks, and grouse are maintained.

Information from check stations can be of direct benefit to the hunters. Based on the analysis of data from previous years, it has been possible to extend the length of the season for certain species and to modify other regulations to favor the hunter. For example, deer hunters will recall that the season length a few years ago was five days. Upon examination of check-station data it was shown that an extension in the season length to nine days would result in about a 20 per cent increase in hunting success and still keep the harvest within safe limits. Based on this knowledge, the season was extended and the predicted increased hunter success resulted.

A few years ago, the area open for grouse hunting was quite restricted until surveys were conducted in both the open and closed areas. This data coupled with broad studies, breeding-ground surveys, and supplemented with the check-station information resulted in an expansion of the grouse-hunting area. This liberalization has permitted better utilization of the resource and allows many sportsmen to hunt closer to home. With other species, where an increase in season length or expansion of open area would jeopardize the resource, no changes have been recommended. Thus, information from check stations aids in the development or modification of regulations.

One important advantage of check stations is providing complete kill information shortly after the season is completed. The only other method of getting harvest data is through a questionnaire survey. This can be a mandatory return, in which part of the license serves as a record or a voluntary questionnaire.

With the mandatory return the license stub is removed from the rest of the license and the proper harvest information is recorded and returned to the game department. In either case the game department is dependent upon the reporting accuracy of the individual hunter. Usually this type of survey will not provide complete harvest information since some of the cards are never returned. Also, the information is not available until several weeks after the season. Several reporting biasis are built into a questionnaire survey. One which became apparent from a questionnaire sent to turkey hunters is that the hunter who bags his game has a greater tendency to report than the one who is unsuccessful.

To the technican, results obtained from game check stations can tell a detailed story not only about the animals that are brought through the stations, but also about those that remain in the field. Age information from deer and antelope let the biologists know how close to the proper harvest level the herd is being cropped. Age ratios also tell something about the productivity in the different management units. In those units in which production is high and herds are building rapidly, a greater harvest can be extracted than in units where herds are showing a less rapid increase. Check stations have permitted a closer harvest then would have otherwise been possible.

The old adage of "a bird in the hand being worth two in the bush" is true when it comes to evaluating annual production. Age-ratio information in general, provides the answer as to how successful the various game species were in producing young. It is a way of looking back at the production period. Once the technican has the chance to actually handle the game and to review check-station results, he will have a much better idea of the reliability of some of the other data that has been collected during the year.

Information about the health of various wildlife species can also be obtained from check stations. During some of the past seasons, blood samples have been taken and checked at the Bureau of Animal Industry and Agriculture Research Laboratory. Information derived from these checks has been important for showing that most wildlife species are relatively free of disease, especially those diseases common to domestic livestock.

Additional information which comes to light from examining hunter-killed game, is the sex ratio, species composition, condition of the animal, and distribution of the kill. All of these factors are important for evaluating the impact of a season and for making intelligent management decisions. For the hunter, bringing his bagged game to a check station or stopping at a roadside check point requires only a few minutes of time — not a bad exchange when the advantages of maintaining check stations are examined.

Many of the hunters who stop to have their game checked believe that the main reason for check stations is for law enforcement. As a result, there is usually greater care exercised to comply with the law when a check station is set up. This can be of direct benefit to management. However, the principal reason for the station is to collect information on the game.

Nebraska's game-management program has made considerable strides in providing recreational opportunity for the sportsman over the past several years. Part of the reason can be attributed to the information that has been obtained through check stations. Minutes of your time can mean many days of added hunting pleasure.

THE END OCTOBER, 1966 11

Stranger to Sharptails

Carl Faulhaber and kin do honors when a visitor seeks on introduction to grouse. Hunt is also a lesson in cover

GROUSE FLEW up from the shoulder of the highway and floated with cupped wings over a choppy. I braked the car and rubbernecked until the bird vanished. Suddenly, the opportunity to hoof it over the autumn-browned Sand Hills south of Valentine, Nebraska for sharp-tailed grouse was just too inviting to pass up. That bird was the clincher. Right then, I resolved to go grouse hunting, something I had never done before.

I wheeled into Carl Faulhaber's hereford ranch to ask permission, and before I knew   it, I was seated in the ranch house living room. Seventy-one-year-old Carl Faulhaber stretched and grinned at brother-in-law Leo McGuire and Leo's son, Don.

"He's never tried our grouse. What do you say we take the afternoon off so all of us can give it a go? The ranch will keep," Carl suggested.

"A grouse isn't a hard bird to hit, once you get close enough to him," Leo interjected, "but be ready to do a lot of walking. Sometimes they're in the hay meadows, other times in the shelterbelts. Often, you have to go back into the hills to get them."

"Time was," Carl added, "when I could hunt them from a wagon. That was back in the days of market hunting, and there was quite a demand for sharptails and prairie chickens. I field dressed the birds right away, then stuffed them with grass to keep them fresh during shipping."

Don rose impatiently. "We better get going. It's a still day, so we'll probably have to do a lot of walking before we find a bird who doesn't hear us coming a mile away."

The four of us trooped out to a waiting pickup. Carl, Leo, and I crowded into the cab while Don mounted up behind. Carl and Don packed 12-gauge pumps, Leo had a 12-gauge auto, and I carried a 20-gauge Magnum. All of our shells were loaded with No. 6's. Carl drove (Continued on page 49)

NEBRASKAland

16 NEBRASKAland

The Kinkaiders

by Warren Spencer Mosf historians downplay Nebraska's own little war. But bullet in back was real for Sand Hills settlers

WHEN MOSES P. Kinkaid pushed his namesake act through congress in 1904, that started something that Nebraskans will never forget. His Kinkaid Act went into effect on June 28,1904, and war was declared between cattleman and settler. It was just a small war, but it was Nebraska's own war, with only occasional barrages rolling in from Washington.

According to Kinkaid's pet project, public land in the Sand Hills, except that which could be irrigated, was open to settlement. This was really nothing new because for some years, 160-acre tracts had been available. But those who settled these small parcels were soon burned out from lack of water and plenty of sun. The congressman from Nebraska's "Big Sixth" district originally authored his proposal to offer settlers 1,280 acres. Congress took one look at the measure, divided by two, and passed the bill with the stipulation that $800 worth of improvements be made on the section within five years, the final ownership date. The law hit the public like gold-rush fever.

Towns like Broken Bow, North Platte, and Alliance suddenly exploded into cities as land-seekers flooded the hills. Saloons and boarding houses sprang up where a few hours before there had been only dry prairie. With hotels and homes filled to capacity, tents and wagons became common sights around the edges of the towns. Yet this was only the advance guard for the Kinkaiders. Most were men who moved into the country to stake their claims, then return with their families later. But there were widows who had no family in the procession to the land offices, too. For them, this was the start of a new life and a chance to drown past experiences in the work of establishing new homes. They, along with other candidates for government land, stood in line for days to await the filing offices' openings. Many camped in front of the offices over night to assure their places in line. At the Alliance office the line had grown to nearly 400 by the time filing began. Even at their best, the officials were able to process only half the applicants that day. The rest were given numbers to hold their places in line for the next day. The General Land Office has no definite records of the number of claimants processed under the Kinkaid Act. But almost 1,600 patents were granted for about 800,000 acres before November 1910.

The act knew no racial boundaries. A colony of Negroes moved into the Sand Hills, settling near Brownlee in southeast Cherry County. For several years the Negroes managed to make a living on their land, but after several (Continued on page 52)

OCTOBER, 1966 17

Long-Handled Fishing

By Charles Davidson Brady brothers, Mark, Roger Fattig put new twist in cane-pole angling Result is a five-pointed Platte River foray

ROGER AND MARK Fattig were having a splashing good time in the south branch of the Platte River. The two competitively-minded brothers were spearing carp in the crystal-clear waters and getting themselves drenched in the process. Neither boy objected to the wettings for it was July and the Nebraska sun was living up to its reputation.

Mark was the first to see a carp. Seconds after he and Roger waded into the shallows, the younger Fattig spotted a black shadow cleaving through the knee-deep water. Both boys took after the escaping fish but he reversed his field and headed downstream. Roger, moving quickly, was able to counter the carp's break. Older and faster than his brother, he wheeled and splashed down current, hoping to overtake the frightened fish. He was close when the carp changed tactics and darted for cover under an overhanging willow.

Mark was trying to keep pace with his brother but he lost ground in the downstream dash. He stopped about five yards from his brother and started eyeing the undercut bank, trying to spot the hidden fish.

"There he is. He's coming your way", Mark yelped as the fish broke out and headed into the main channel.

Roger aimed at the flashing carp and jabbed hard in a near miss that turned the fish back toward Mark.

"I missed. Get him", he warned. "He's just to your left."

Mark lunged but the carp eluded the deadly tines and turned back toward Roger. This time, the boy was ready. His spear went almost straight down to nail the carp in the back. Triumphantly, the youngster lifted his spear with its two-pound burden and held it up to show Mark before tossing the take onto a sandbar.

Carp spearing was a new experience for Roger and Mark although both had tried bow and arrow fishing for them. Sons of Dale Fattig of Brady, Nebraska, the two boys were ardent rivals in about everything. Fishing and hunting are their favorite sports and when their father suggested that he would like to try some smoked or pickled carp, the two boys were more than willing to rustle up the main ingredient.

They rigged up two five-tined spears on 12-foot bamboo handles and started out. The tines on their fish-getters were five inches long and eash was tipped with a Vi-inch barb. Spearing non-game fish is legal in Nebraska from April 1 to December 1, but only during the daylight hours from sunup to sunset.

Roger and Mark hadn't picked the best of times for spearing which comes in the spring when the carp are spawning in the shallows, but even so they were finding plenty of action in the holes and along the banks of the summer-shallowed river.

After the boys calmed down from the excitement of their first catch, they waded upstream at a good clip watching for more fish. Both saw the V-wake of an escaping carp at the same time and dashed after him but the carp had a 15-yard advantage and he wasn't about to lose it. Roger picked a spot where he thought the carp would be and ran toward it with Mark right behind him but the carp wasn't there. Their running had roiled up the water so the boys stopped and waited for it to clear. Roger was plotting strategy. "I'll run ahead, get above the carp and try to turn him down to you," he suggested.

Mark agreed that it was a good idea so he waited as his brother plowed ahead hoping to outflank the fish and spook him into a turn around. After covering a reasonable distance, Roger turned and started working downstream. The plan was good but there was one serious flaw in it.

Roger had stirred up so much sand with his jaunt that he couldn't see below the surface of the water.

"I can't see too well," he complained. "Anything coming your way?"

His brother didn't answer. He was watching a fluff float down from an overhanging cottonwood and was fascinated by its gentle descent to the water. The current caught the fluff and was sweeping it by when a carp rose to the "summer snowflake". Mark was surprised but he made several futile jabs with his spear hoping for a pin.

"Darn it. I keep overshooting," he griped. "What's your secret?"

Spooked by Mark's efforts, the carp seemed unaware of any other danger. He headed straight toward Roger and his waiting spear. One sharp lunge was all it took and Roger had his second prize of the day.

After securing the catch, Roger got around to answering his brother's query. "What we see in the water is somewhat distorted due to refraction. Also these carp are faster than you think," he replied.

Mark switched the subject. "I don't think that last one was the carp we were after. He wasn't big enough".

Roger splashed around, jabbed, and held up a securely-impaled fish. "Is this the one?" he taunted.

"Nope, still not big enough," Mark replied. "By the way, you had better slow down. You're three up on me."

Roger's fish weren't big enough to rate the whopper tag but they did run between two and three pounds.

Mark was growing more determined all the time. There is plenty of rivalry between the two brothers and like all younger brothers he didn't cotton to having his brother top him in everything.

Minutes later, he got his chance. The boys spooked another carp that flashed upstream. Mark churned after him, his short legs throwing up spray like a walrus on the loose.

One thrust was enough as the boy nailed the rough fish square behind the gills. It was a hefty three-pounder and the younger Fattig learned that impaling a fish and recovering him can be two different things. Weight alone can pull big fish off the tines, so experienced spearmen sort of ease their quarry along with an inching shove across the bottom until they can get the fish close enough to land for a pitch out. Luckily, Mark's fish didn't escape on the lift out but he could have.

Two more fish were about all the boys could handle and still run after the carp so they used an extra stringer to stake out their catch in a nearby sandpit.

Equipment for spearing is essentially simple. A spear, a couple of stringers, and a little bug dope are all that are needed. Waders or hip boots are a handicap in this "run after and catch up" method of spearing.

The boys planned to spear for a couple of miles up stream and then retrace their steps. Roger took two more fish before they reached the big hole that marked the half-way point.

"Don't you think we should check it out?" Mark asked.

"It's deep and muddy, but there are probably some carp in there", Roger answered. "You stay here at the inlet and I'll see if I can scare them out. Be ready."

Roger stirred up such a commotion that gunk (Continued on page 51)

OCTOBER, 1966 21

FOUR-POINT-NINE

With one citation rock now hanging, Bassett hunter and buddies try for a houseful by Bill Hinel

TWENTY MINUTES after the deer season opened Dean Hasch found himself looking down the blue barrel of his brush gun at the biggest white-tailed buck he had ever come across. The front sight of the .30/30 did a dance on the buck's forehead to the rhythm of Dean's heartbeat as he waited for the animal to raise his head so he could get a throat shot. Wouldn't that darn buck ever raise his head? Seconds seemed like eternities as the Bassett school teacher waited.

Dean was no novice at deer hunting. He had nailed his first deer at 16 before he graduated from Bassett High School. Ever since he was big enough to tote a BB gun he had hunted. His teachers had been his father, Art, and his brother, Ernie. His training ground had been the 600-acre spread of rolling hills and brushy canyons northeast of Bassett where he was raised. In addition to the family ranch the Haschs farmed several hundred acres of adjoining land and had hunting privileges on some other spreads. Except for his college years at Wayne State Teachers College, Dean had collected venison on the hoof every year.

Now 24, he has taught two years at Ohiowa Public Schools and plans to attend Kearney State Teachers College to work on his masters degree. In between teaching and learning, he never misses an opportunity to get in a little hunting. Deer, pheasants, grouse, rabbits, it seems like there is always something to hunt, not to mention fishing. Right down from where the big whitetail was browsing young Hasch had hooked his first trout.

He had drawn this spot near the top of Oak Creek Canyon the night before at a planning session held at the old home place. Ernie, Dean, and Jim Jones of Bassett had gathered around the dining room table to plan their strategy for the opening day in the Kaya Paha deer management unit. Five other hunting buddies were to join the three early Saturday morning for the hunt but the planning was left up to the Hasch boys and Jim.

The plan called for Gerald Bussinger of Bassett, Ernie, and Frank Shull of Grand NEBRASKAland Island to begin driving at the head end of Oak Creek Canyon. Jim, and Gary Hazard of Bassett were to make their drive down a smaller side canyon. Slim Lewis and his sister, Janice, also of Bassett, were to block the smaller canyon. It was Janice's first deer hunt.

Dawn of opening morning broke cloudless. A cool 65° promised ideal hunting and so far everything was going according to schedule. A few minutes earlier, Dean had driven his car to within a few hundred yards of the canyon after having let the other hunters out along the way. He had stuffed some extra cartridges into his pocket, checked his rifle and hunting knife, and donned his bright red hunting cap. Jeans, a dark sport shirt, boots, and duck hunting coat, along with his bolt-action rifle made his outfit complete.

As he had made his way to the canyon edge a noisy cardinal in a stunted cedar tree sounded off with his "ther-oo, ther-oo, ther-oo, ther-oo", followed by a high-pitched trill. Dean couldn't spot the bird but there was a possibility the cardinal could see something he couldn't so he waited a minute before he went on. Beyond the far end of Oak Creek Canyon, the young hunter heard a car door slam and some noisy chatter. He made a silent wish that the guys down there would knock it off. You have to be quiet if you expect to get within a mile of a stilt-legged whitetail.

Arriving at the canyon rim, Dean sought a good vantage point and finally selected a five-foot cedar tree from where he could scan the opposite slope. He could also see portions of the deer trail which ran along the edge of Oak Creek below, and see north and south up and down the canyon. He sat down with his back to the tree and scanned the oak and cedar-studded slopes.

Sitting with his rifle cradled across his knees, Dean wondered if his companions were moving down the canyon and whether they would spook any deer his way. He kept a sharp lookout towards the north where Ernie was hunting and half expected to see a doe or maybe a buck and several does come tripping down the deer trail below, slipping away from his brother. He wished the birds would clam up so he could hear better.

His musings were interrupted when he felt a sixth-sense awareness of movement down the slope. He hadn't really heard anything and couldn't see anything, but he felt something or somebody was moving down there. Dean stared hard at the underbrush in the half light of the canyon below and then flicked his eyes to the spot of deer trail he could see. Unblinking, he stared until his eyes watered. His every nerve was taut, (Continued on page 51)

OCTOBER, 1966 23

24 NEBRASKAland

Day of the Deer

This big-game animal will be around awhile. Man nearly destroyed, then restored him Photos by Lou El and Gene Hornbeck

A DEER DOESN'T have too bad a time of it in Nebraska compared to some of the lesser mammals. If he can escape the normal hazards during the first few days of fawnhood, he's well on his way to becoming an adult. Of course, he has to watch out for automobiles, deep irrigation ditches, woven wire fences, and men with rifles but these are normal hazards like crossing the street during rush-hour traffic. Unlike smaller animals, the deer doesn't have to worry about becoming a fast meal for every hungry predator that slithers, flies, pounces, or runs.

Nature was in a benign mood when she designed the deer. She gave him long legs to outrun trouble, an extremely sensitive nose to smell out trouble, big ears to hear it coming, and an inborn ability to sense it before it happens. She made him big enough to be conspicuous and then granted him a hide that blends well with practically any surrounding and just to be on the safe side, nature handed the buck a set of antlers that are no mean weapons when it comes to a showdown. Above all, she gave the deer an adaptability to man and his works.

Nebraska's deer story follows the all-too-familiar pattern. Before the white men OCTOBER, 1966 25  

26 NEBRASKAland came to argue property rights with the Indians, the land that is now Nebraska had sizeable populations of both white-tailed and mule deer. There was a gentleman's agreement between the two. The whitetails had the eastern part of the country and the timbered watercourses while the mule deer leaned toward the more open country of the west. Then as now, the two species intermingled a bit but this fraternization didn't seem to cause any international incidents in deerdom.

The first gypsy-feet who passed through this country on their way to the fur-rich mountains probably knew quite a bit about deer and their scheme of life. They knew that fawns are born in the late spring and that their natal coats are a marvelous blend of brown and white that practically melts into the surrounding landscape. They also knew that a fawn has an instinctive discipline that keeps him motionless when the doe is away. Observation told the early travelers that fawns grow rapidly and usually stay with

 

their mothers for almost a year before going on their own. Men with their eyes on the beaver pelts of the West and the expectations of rip-roaring good times at the annual fur rendezvous probably didn't consider it earth-shaking information that deer wear red coats in the late summer and early fall and then change to a warmer dusky tan when it gets cold but they knew about it.

Deer got into real trouble here and elsewhere when the country started filling up with land-hungry pioneers. Settlers with a soddy full of hungry mouths looked at deer as meat on the table today and to blazes with tomorrow and the future of the herds. Excessive killing and habitat alterations brought about by man's activities almost exterminated the deer.

Deer populations in NEBRASKAland are relatively stable at the present time and will probably remain so for the forseeable future. But there is a threat to their continued prosperity. Right now, this threat is small and far, far away, but it is there. Again, it is man, who may be the exterminator.

Someday, someone is going to have to ask a mighty leading question: "Which is best, another high-rise apartment here, a super highway there, a shopping center someplace else, or a herd of deer?"

Let us hope there are enough people around with enough guts to answer, loud and clear.

"Deer!"

THE END OCTOBER, 1966 33

Top Dog

by Kay Van Sickle Three ribbon-winning litter mates form unusual combination in a grab for glory of National Field Trials 34 NEBRASKAland

YOU DONT USUALLY find three retrievers from the same litter competing against each other at the National Field Trial but it's going to happen this fall. The eyes of the nation's field trial set will be on three Nebraska black Laboradors when they go after the highest honor of retrieverdom at Weldon Spring, Missouri, November 16 through 19.

Buttons will pop right off Nebraskans'vests because this ribbon-winning threesome are real crowd-pleasers. Vanspride Ebony Shadow owned by Bill Van Sickle; Jetstone Muscles of Claymare owned by Claus and Marge Johnson, all of Lincoln, and Jet's Target of Claymar, owned by B. "Bing" Grunwald of Omaha are all scheduled to make their bids at the National Field Trial for the national retriever champion crown. This trio of four-year-olds were born on the Johnson's farm near Lincoln, and Ebony, Target, and Tony, as they are called around the kennel, have led charmed lives ever since.

All three littermates have joined the elite ranks of field trial Champions. While it will be Target's first go at the Nationals this year, both Ebony and Tony gave it a whirl in 1965 at Dover, Delaware. Out of a series of 10 tests, Ebony completed three, and Tony struck through six. Both Labs were to be congratulated as there was only one younger dog entered in that Olympics of the dog world. Marge's Tony also competed in the 1965 and 1966 Amateur National Field Trial where all retrievers must be amateur-handled. While he was the "baby" of the group, Tony trotted through nine series of the 1965 meet—just a flip of the tail away from the title. This year he lasted for six series at Spokane, Washington.

When the three Nebraska littermates fight for their share of the glory in November at the Nationals, one of them will stand out as the smallest of the trio. Ebony, a gutty little bitch, rivals her brothers with tenacity. Her owner, Bill Van Sickle, a Lincoln manufacturer of plastic products, never planned for the wiggling puppy to be anything more than a hunting companion.

Four years ago Bill paid fifty dollars for the stubbed-nose little ball of black fur that has since joined the doggy elite of Field Trial Champions.

Vanspride Ebony Shadow was a long moniker to give the little bitch, but she did not waste any time living up to the pride that was invested in her. John Harciing of Lincoln, Target's original owner, offered to train Ebony along with Target. Bill gratefully turned the ever-curious puppy over to his friend, and training began when the two dogs were four months old, barely out of puppy highchairs.

Ebony and Target took to training like gray-flannel suiters to martinis. After two months of rigorous work, even John's sergeant-lusty voice began to show wear. Ebony was then entered in her first meet, an AKC-sanctioned trial in Lincoln, sponsored by the Nebraska Dog and Hunt Club. She ran in the puppy stakes and charmed the judges to win a first-place blue ribbon.

However, dogs may only run in the puppy stakes for a year. At her next meet, Ebony trotted off with another ribbon. John then decided it was time to give the rapidly-growing retrievers a taste of "working the road". For the next year and a half, Ebony and Target competed in Wisconsin, Minnesota, Tennessee, Missouri, Kansas, and Illinois. The Labs collected ribbons like the Yankees win pennants.

By January, 1964, John and Bill had to come to a decision. They had two good dogs. Should they keep the retrievers strictly as hunters and pets, or should they turn them over to a professional trainer and handler? John, an engineer for a dairy company, realized he had reached his limit with the training. But he saw the vast untouched potential in the dogs that the right trainer could spark to retriever stardom.

By coincidence and good fortune, Joe Schomer settled in Lincoln to build his dream—Schomer's Kennels. Joe, originally from Council Bluffs, Iowa, was well-known in retriever circles as the trainer for Royal Spirit Lake Duke, two-time National Retriever Champion in 1957 and 1959. Under Joe's deft handling, this New York dog amassed a total of 180 points in licensed trials before he retired to call it a dog's day. This mammoth number of field trial points broke the record held since 1939 by Black Panther with 172y2.

Ebony was the second of Joe's four-legged students in Lincoln. Target followed about five months later. Training began in earnest. Schomer drills his dogs to perfection. One fault can cost a retriever the national title because of the fierce competition at these meets. There is usually not a measureable difference between the last five dogs contending in a national trial, and it takes a faultless performance to top the judge's honor roll.

As for secret formulas to field trial success, Schomer does not believe in them. But, he underscores daily discipline. Rigid discipline can be taught to a dog even during a playful romp. While retrievers are hunters by instinct, this does not rule out continual coaching.

"Dogs are creatures of habit. You must work them in a pattern, day (Continued on page 48)

OCTOBER, 1966 35

NOTES ON NEBRASKA FAUNA...

RING-NECKED PHEASANT

Nothing that flies or runs can match the spirit and sass of this cackling daredevil by George Noson Wet Lands Biologist

THINK OF the orneriest, toughest, runningest critter that flies and you know without a doubt that there is but one upland game bird that fits the description. His scientific name is phasianus colchicus, but he is better known by the name of ring-necked pheasant

The pheasant became established in Nebraska in the early 1900's and fared very well on the same conditions which drove the prairie chickens out of much of their original range. Prairie chickens thrive on vast Grassland areas interspersed with small cultivated elds. But, as the land in eastern Nebraska yielded to the plow, so went their habitat. This increase of cultivation, however, was just the ticket for the hardy oriental import.

Today's pheasant is a duke's mixture of several Old World species. The most important of the various strains imported into the United States are the Chinese ringneck, Mongolian, Japanese, and the Common English pheasant. The hens of all the pheasant species are very similar in appearance but the cocks have a variety of color combinations.

The diet of the pheasant varies, depending on where he lives. Birds in the lake areas of Nebraska's Sand Hills do very well on the seeds of marsh plants and weeds. Studies have shown that pheasants will eat seeds and greens of more than 110 different plants. Corn is a highly preferred food wherever it is available, however, it is one of the poorest sources of calcium so other food types must be present to offset this deficiency.

Insects are an important food source for the first few weeks of the young pheasant's life and make up the bulk of his diet until he is about 10 weeks old. Grasshoppers, various types of larvae, and other insects provide the necessary protein needed for speedy development of the young.

Many thousands of sportsmen await each season's opening with anxiety but few are aware of the complex factors which can influence the quality of the upcoming season. Production of young during the spring and summer months is always the determining factor. Adverse weather is probably one of the most important factors which limits this production. Late spring rains, flooding, hail storms, and extreme drought play influential roles. Farming operations destroy thousands of nests each year. Predators are also rearing their own young at this time of year and require food for survival. Unless the hen is killed or the nest destroyed late in incubation, she will continue to renest until a brood is hatched or until time runs out. Pheasants nest in a variety of cover. One of the most preferred areas for nesting is in alfalfa fields but very few nests survive to completion due to mowing. Other cover types used for nesting include grass, weedy fields, roadsides, winter wheat, and fence rows.

Clutch size varies from about 11 eggs in early spring to as few as five or six in late summer. Incubation takes from 23 to 25 days. In Nebraska first broods show up during the last half of May.

Nature has a tendency to overproduce in spite of all the many hazards. Far more young are hatched than could ever survive into the following spring. Studies show that more than 70 per cent of a fall population of pheasants will die before the following breeding season. This loss occurs whether they are hunted or not so birds taken by hunting serve merely as replacement mortality rather than adding to this annual loss. This annual turnover qff a population applies to hens as v\ as cock birds and for this reason a limit umb#t> hens cpn safely Be agerir luction.

THE END

Autumn Double

It's trophy time on Nebraska's lakes, streams. Record books bock efforts of diehards who mix fish with game by Don Eversoll

COOL BREEZES, brisk temperatures, and rippling waters may sound like a perfect way to describe the NEBRASKAland hunting scene this fall, but to any fisherman who plies this state's lakes and rivers, it's a direct cue to grab that fishing rod and challenge any lunker that wants to do battle.

The invigorating change in seasons sends big fish on a spree from border to border to create a bonanza that few can resist. Investigation of the state records reveals that the largest brook trout, sauger, yellow catfish, and sturgeon ever caught have been landed after October 1. Other top fish not dated in the book might well have been landed after this date, too.

An investment of $3 for an annual resident anglers permit and $5 for nonresidents will pay top dividends in dozens of reservoirs or rivers state-wide. Out-of-state sportsmen may prefer the $2, five-day license for their autumn excursion.

Even though hunting is "top dog" during the month of October in NEBRASKAland, the main topic around many sportsmen's hangouts is fishing. There are decided advantages to fall fishing. No mile-long corn rows stretch forever in front of the fisherman. While hunters are hacking through the sandburs, anglers have clear, cool lakes waiting to offer tackle-busting bass, bluegill, walleye, trout, or catfish.

Bass and walleye fishing rate the admiral's stripes when it comes to naming favorites among the fall-time species. Both largemouth and smallmouth bass inhabit NEBRASKAland's rich waters, with largemouth showing up in greater numbers. Their range extends throughout more of the state than the smallmouth, too. Look for weedy shores or brush-choked bays at Hugh Butler Lake, Harry Strunk Reservoir, Jeffrey Reservoir, the Missouri River oxbows and any one of dozens of private small ponds in southeastern Nebraska. Poppers, bugs, or noisy surface-action lures will do the trick. A hot spot near Lincoln is the Salt Valley Watershed, with Wagon Train, Stagecoach, and Bluestem lakes big producers. Other lakes supporting fishable populations of old bronze-backs are those on the

OCTOBER, 1966 39   Valentine National Wildlife Refuge, and the sand pits flanking the Platte River in the central section of the state.

Smallmouth bass call Lake McConaughy, Merritt Reservoir, numerous Interstate-80 pits and the Bridgeport Pits home, with the emphasis on McConaughy. "Big Mac's" rocky southern shoreline is an ideal harbor for the red-eyed, slamming fireballs, and a spinner with bucktail streamer is a hot lure. Minnows could mean the difference there at times between story soup and tasty fillets on the table. There is little doubt that slab-sized smallmouths abound in the lake. The state record red eye at 3 pounds, 15 ounces came flashing from McConaughy in 1962.

At Merritt Reservoir, south of Valentine, small-mouths hang around Boardman Creek bay, and along the rocky edges near the face of the dam. Trout go on the rampage at Merritt in the fall, too. At Bridgeport, early-morning fishermen head for the middle sand pit for some lightning quick action.

Lake McConaughy, the state's largest lake at 35,000 • surface acres, is a perennial hot spot for walleyes.

Bank fishermen flash ear-to-ear grins when fellow anglers stop to ask about their luck with the walleyes. Drifters baited up with minnows, and trollers who rig spinners in front of worms do a lot of business, too. McConaughy has a history of good fortune for walleye fishermen, as the record book, again, bears out. No bigger walleye than Don Hein's 16-pound, 1-ouncer that came out of Big Mac in 1959 has ever been registered.

An army of fishermen will tell you that catfish are the No. 1 target when the leaves turn from green to gold and a harvest moon is rising in the east. Whether on rod and line, or bank lines, the whiskered lunkers furnish fine sport when they annually go on the prowl along hundreds of miles of rivers and creeks. Many anglers contend late-season appetites of catfish are even more voracious than those of bass or walleye. While this might be arbitrary, the numbers of successful catfishermen are not. When the cats are biting, the word spreads mighty fast and every available rod is put to use doffing cheese bait, liver, blood, or special concoctions in front of the waiting whisker faces. Waterfowl hunters on warm days have a special trick up their sleeve for added excitement.

They often "double" on ducks and cats by setting bank lines next to their blind in the morning, then hauling in the catch during late afternoon. Some of the popular rivers for this type of sport include the Missouri, Platte, Loup, Nemaha, Republican, Elkhorn, Blue, and Niobrara. Lakes that enjoy a good reputation for fall catfishing are Harlan, Johnson, Maloney, McConaughy, Lewis and Clark, Stagecoach, Bluestem, and Wagon Train.

Late-season trout fishing in NEBRASKAland is in a blue-ribbon league all its own, and it has a tendency to leave an angler breathless and weak in the knees. During September, spawning rainbows, most of them over two pounds, migrate from Lake McConaughy upstream into the North Platte River and from there into such famous streams as Nine Mile, Red Willow, and Winter creeks. Fishermen work these panhandle feeder creeks from October on with "strawberries", or fish eggs tied inside of a nylon patch, to tangle with their share of the brightly-colored streakers. Slip your hip waders on, sneak up to a deep hole, drift your bait into the darkest spot of the current, then cinch up your belt for one of the wildest, bone-busting scraps of your life when the line jerks sharply and that rainbow decides it's time to head back home. Always ask permission to fish, because most of the action is waiting on private property, located in Scotts Bluff and Sioux counties.

Other prime trout waters for both brown and rainbow are the Niobrara and White rivers, Monroe, Hat, Soldier, Dead Horse, Bordeaux, and Beaver creeks in the scenic northwest, Snake River and Merritt Reservoir near Valentine, and Verdigre Creek near Royal. There is also put-and-take trout fishing at Two Rivers Recreation Area, where a buck and a half flopped over the counter will give a sportsman a red tag and a chance at five trout.

Fishing is not uniquely a man's sport and this is particularly true in NEBRASKAland. Not only do women fish in this state, but sometimes they tie into world record fish. Mrs. Betty Tepner of Plainview showed the world how to do it when she landed the largest sauger ever conquered anywhere, in October of 1961. Her eight-pound, five-ounce prize was caught in the Missouri River near Niobrara. This area is a jackpot for sauger when they go on their fall feeding binge. Other hideouts are Gavins Point Dam, the Columbus Tailrace, DeSoto Bend, and the numerous oxbows on the Missouri River above Omaha.

What makes so many fish forget their easy summer pace and turn killer when Autumn rolls around? And what lures are best? Perhaps it's the approaching winter and the need for extra body fat that sends bass knifing through the water in pursuit of anything that swims. Scientists theorize that descending water temperatures trigger a response in the creature's motor that in turn tells the fish to hustle.

Poppers and noisy surface lures are dynamite on bass in the fall, and you'll be telling for a long time to come how those hungry bass catapulted with blinding speed into your plug. Late afternoon, evening, and early morning are the best times.

On the other hand, in the case of walleyes, it could be the shoreline-cruising habit of bait fish that draws lunkers close into the shore, thereby putting more fish in reach of anglers. This has been suggested in recent studies by the Game Commission at Lake McConaughy. Nets there loaded with walleye which had gorged on fingerling shad indicate heavy traffic of the fish around the dam and south shore possibly because of the presence of shad.

Regardless of the theory involved, the kind of fish, or name of lake or river, there will probably always be fine fall fishing in Nebraska. One recent experience by two outdoor companions helps support the claim that Nebraska is truly the "nation's mixed-bag capital".

Jack, an insurance agent, and Bud, who works for the railroad, packed rifles and shotguns one fall morning for a squirrel foray to the Blue River valley. At the scene, the pair filled out on chatterboxes, bagged two cottontail and a pheasant, all by mid-afternoon. In the meantime, several fat catfish took a liking to bait on some setlines. When the day was close to done the two took off for home loaded down with a potpourri of game from the valley. Ail was not over yet, though. Passing by a pothole, one of the men spotted six ducks, and thanks to an effective stalk, both hunters nailed all six of them.

This is not always the case, of course, with the majority of fall-time sportsmen. But the same chance awaits anyone with blood red enough and fishing line strong enough. Your "double" this year, too, might mean mallard and largemouth.

THE END

40 NEBRASKAland OCTOBER, 1966

Bee Tree

It takes a strong constitution to chop down a hummer's home, but cache of cool honey is soothing medicine if you win out by Charles Armstrong

MENTION THE wild but soothing world of nature and you've got a conversation going. It usually involves an exchange of some epic tales of adventure, ranging from man against the wilderness to hunter against a deadly animal. Not too surprisingly, you never hear too many hair-raising yarns on chas- ing wild bees. Sound crazy? Maybe so, but it's one of the wildest outings I've ever experienced.

Hunter and hunted are evenly matched for this game. Man with his ingenious hardware, ranging from scope-sighted rifle to irresistible fishing lures, often has it all over his prey. But in this game, a guy has to rely on his own resources. It takes a lot of nerve, quite a bit of know-how, and sometimes an iron constitution to take on a swarm of honeybees. The rewards are more than satisfying. In fact the cool, tangy honey is absolutely delicious.

C. A. "Big Mac" McGuire had located the hive we were to hunt in the summer while he was fishing in Bluestem Lake, a Salt Valley impoundment south of Lincoln. The lake had backed up and water-killed a grove of trees, but the bees were still holed up in one of them.

We obtained permission from the Game Commission's parks division to go after the bees on state land, as required by law, and we were ready. I might point out here, that permission is always required for this activity, either from the private landowner or the state agency involved.

My partner had picked a perfect winter day for the hunt. The ice was at least 10 inches thick, the sun was shining, and the temperature was pushing 60 degrees. Mac loaded the car with a stocked beehive, smoker, ax, and saw. He planned to use the hive to transfer the wild critters to his own bee operation. The smoker was a puffing device to pacify the honey makers. As we drove out to our rendezvous with the bees, Mac filled me in on the fine points of honey hunting.

"The tough job in honey hunting is finding a tree," my host said. "There are several ways of doing this, ranging from such complicated systems as triangulation on down to the simple but not too likely expedient of following a bee home."

Mac went on to explain that triangulation is the science of picking up the honey makers' flight line from three different localities and determining where they intersect. The bee is a straight flyer, which accounts for the term "beeline". This is the key to triangulation. If 42 NEBRASKAland you really want to get tricky, you can try sprinkling flour on the honey producer as he's nibbling head down in his source of nectar. Since the bee makes constant trips back and forth from nectar to hive you can establish a rough time pattern via his tracks.

My partner had all kinds of praise for bees. A bee man himself with his own string of hives, he explained how the critters are so wonderfully adapted for their job of making honey. Each sports a long flexible spoon-like tongue to lap up the nectar. Tube-like channels suck the nectar into the body for carrying.

When we arrived at the lake the bees were waiting. They didn't seem to rile too easily at first, but I was glad Mac had his smoker. Several times their buzzing took on a shrill, angry tone. He gently soothed them with the smoker, so we could go back to work with the ax or saw.

But the rig didn't keep Mac from getting stung. Even this didn't bother the veteran bee man. Each time he was bitten he would slide his thumbnail along the skin into the sting. The little poison bag and sticker would pop to the surface, and Mac would flick it away. Mac provided me with a head net, but he was only dressed for the weather.

After about two hours of hacking we had the water-soaked branch down on the ice. He split the log open so we could clean out the honey and the bees. Next Mac laid the honeycomb out. Taking a couple of the bigger wood chips from his chopping, he transferred the bees into the hive. Meanwhile, the sun was warming the combs, and the honey dripped slowly down to sparkle brightly on the log. I took off my gloves and picked up a chunk of the comb, pulled up my veil, and started eating like a greedy bear cub. It tasted wild and sweet and cold, as delicious as the first watermelon of the season. Once Mac had finished transferring his bees, he joined me in my outdoor repast. We must have looked like a couple of hoboes as we sat there munching on pieces of honeycomb.

After satisying our yen for wild honey, we loaded up a couple buckets and took them back to the car. The honey was dark with about a year's aging, about the color of the golden rays of the late afternoon sun. This would be a day I would long remember. My share of the honey was gobbled up long ago, and I'm anxious to join Mac on his next expedition. I would take the chance of getting stung a dozen times to get another taste of that wild, golden nectar.

THE END OCTOBER, 1966 43

SHOTGUN SHELL GAME

by Fred Nelson Lavish, or plain, smoothbore is useless toy without proper fodder. Hunter who knows pellet patterns and where to put them has best chance in Held Spread of Shot Pattern in Inches At Boring Cylinder Improved Cylinder Modified Full Various Ranges in Yards: 10 15 20 25 30 35 40 19 26 32 38 44 51 57 15 20 26 32 38 44 51 12 16 20 26 32 38 46 9 12 16 21 26 32 40

LOOKING AT IT objectively, a shotgun is a pretty sorry piece of machinery. It's initial cost is usually high, it's expensive to operate, temperamental in performance, and highly individualistic. A shotgun can be compared to a custom-fitted bowling ball. It may "feel" just right to you and be as awkward as two left feet to me. Without the proper ammunition, a scattergun is practically useless since its only functions are to ignite a charge of gunpowder, control and confine the resulting explosion, and more or less direct minute spheres of lead toward a chosen target.

A shotgun is an unblushing hypocrite. If its owner has a good day in the field it accepts the lavish praise without a murmur of modesty when actually the ammunition does all the work. Furthermore, the shotgun has resisted major technical improvement for almost a century. True, it has accepted flossy trims and geegaws, pretty woodwork, and burnished metal but basically it has remained unchanged since that day in 1881, when Fred Kimball, a professional duck hunter, came up with the idea of choke to extend a shotgun's range and improve its patterning ability.

Yet with all its defects, a shotgun is still one of the most efficient devices ever invented to shoot at and hit a moving target. A sportsman may like and admire his rifle but he loves his shotgun because it is so prone jto human-like frailties.

A shotgun is and probably always will be a short-range killer. Despite fond claims to the contrary, a shotgun is basically a 40 to 50-yard weapon and any moving target hit beyond that distance is, in the final analysis, just plain unlucky.

A shotgun's killing range is largely controlled and regulated by the degree of choke present in the barrel or barrels. Choke is the all-inclusive term used to describe the amount of constriction in the barrel which compresses or bunches the shot charge together and produces proper patterns at various ranges. Choke is measured by points with a point being a one-one-thousandth of an inch difference between the bore diameter and the muzzle diameter. In the old days full choke meant 40 points or .040 of an inch constriction. Now it can be as small as .014 and still be considered full choke depending upon pattern density.

Once upon a time, chokes wore the descriptive terms, of full, three-fourths, one-half, and one-fourth or quarter choke for a strong improved-cylinder. Today, we use the terms, full, modified, improved-cylinder, and cylinder to describe the borings. There are two other degrees of choke which are referred to as Skeet No. 1 and Skeet No. 2 but these are of primary interest to that special breed of gunners called skeet shooters. Skeet No. 2 usually delivers modified patterns while Skeet No. 1 is basically a cylinder bore. An idea of how the various chokes influence patterns can be seen in the chart at the bottom of page.

A man who. is going to do all of his shooting at 40 yards or more will probably be better off with a full-choke gun since the pattern spread is 40 inches. Now 44 NEBRASKAland taking the average number of No. 6 pellets in a 12-gauge 2% inch shell, this means that 28 pellets are splattering in there and there won't be very many blank spaces. At the other extreme the cylinder bore is spreading its shot over 57 inches and there is at 40 yards bound to be more distance between pellets perhaps enough to let the bird or clay target sail through untouched.

1...1But let's Pause a bit and make these figures a little more confusing. An adult pheasant offers about 14 inches of vital body area, a bobwhite about 5, so it s obvious that all of those 281 pellets aren't going to smack into the pheasant or quail; there simply isn t enough space enough for them so a lot of the pellets are going to continue their merry way through the wild blue yonder. Besides, shot strings out in cigar-shaped procession and the tailenders never catch up to do any damage. If the bird is hit with the front of the string he drops below the path of the late-comers so only a relatively small percentage of the shot actually does the work.

Not all hunters ride out their targets to 40 yards before touching off the smoke pole. By far the greater majority shoot or attempt to shoot right now once the bird is in the air so let's see what a full-choke pattern is doing at 25 yards. Its shot pattern covers 21 inches and unless the gunner holds "tight" he's apt to miss since there is quite a margin of error. In other words he s throwing a baseball at a gnat and the two might not collide. With the modified boring, the pattern spread is 26 inches so the "ball" is bigger and its chances of hitting the gnat are improved. By and large experienced hunters favor the modified boring for upland game and the full choke for pass shooting at waterfowl.

Choke markings on a barrel can be confusing since ammunition varies greatly. A gun marked modified may shoot exceptionally tight patterns with a certain brand of ammunition and a certain shot size Conversely it may deliver wide-open patterns with another brand and another shot size so the only way to know for sure is to pattern your shotgun with the shells you are going to use and find out exactly what they are going to do. Plastic shells seem to produce tighter patterns than the older paper hulls.

Patterning isn't hard but it does take time Tack up a sheet of paper about four feet square and mark a bullseye in the center of it. Measure off 40 yards aim at the bullseye, and shoot. Then enscribe a 30-inch circle to include the most pellet holes and count them Compare the number of pellet marks in the circle with the total number of shot in the shell and work out your percentages. One pattern means nothing; five will give you a fair average, but 10 is even better. Practically any ammunication handbook will give you the number of pellets m a shell but if you haven't got one, cut up a shell and get the kids busy counting the little spheres It may take considerable experimenting but sooner or later you 11 come up with just the right combination of shell type and shot size for good, solid patterns.

Just for the record, here are some counts for No. 6 shot in the standard length 12, 16, and 20-gauge field loads. For the 12-gauge-281, 16-gauge-253, and 20-gauge-225.

Unlike shotguns, ammunition is constantly changing and yesterday's 12-gauge field load is pretty apt to be today s 20-gauge long-range fodder. Besides OCTOBER, 1966 45   the increase in the amount of shot, the magnums are becoming more and more popular. Discounting the long and formidable 10 gauge, for it is the shotgun of the specialist, here are just some of the shells now available for the 12-gauge starting with the standard 2%-inch shell in both high-base and low-base loads.

Besides these standard loads, the 12-gauge comes in a 2%-inch Magnum with P/2 ounces of shot and in a 3-inch Magnum with an 1% ounces of shot; a load that was once considered maximum for the big 10 gauge. The 16 gauge has stuck to the conventional 2%-inch shell but its shot capacity has been boosted a bit through the years.

In recent years the 20 gauge has come into its own and wide assortment of shells is available for it. Back before the war, 7s ounce of shot was considered plenty for this pleasant little gun. Now, field loads carry one ounce of pellets but 20-gauge fodder doesn't stop there. The 2%-inch 20-gauge Magnum handles lVs ounces of shot and the 3-inch 20-gauge Magnum hefts in with VA ounces of shot. Even the 21/2-inch .410-gauge hull has jumped from % otfnce of shot to V2 ounce while the 3-inch .410 packs % ounce of lead. Improvements in powder are largely responsible for the increased shot capacity of today's ammunition.

But all the guns and ammunition this side of Broken Bow won't put birds in the bag unless the gunner can hit them and that brings up the art of leading. Every gunner is faced with a complicated problem in mathematics when he levels off on a moving target. Somehow, he has to figure out the right spot for a charge of shot to collide with a target that is moving at various angles at various speeds and he has to do it quickly because of a scattergun's limited range. Books are full of information about flight and running speeds. For example, a cottontail is supposed to hit about 25 miles an hour while a canvasback wings along at 65 m.p.h., and can notch it up considerably when he has a mind to. The ringneck is a slow starter but once up he can hit 40 to 50 m.p.h., without straining and the bobwhite can push his speedometer needle to 35 miles an hour or possibly a bit more.

The slide-rule boys can figure to the fraction of an inch how far ahead of the fleeing game a shot charge has to be to make connections but they have to leave out a lot of variables in their plotting. Birds and animals do not fly or run at constant speeds. Like you and me, they have their frisky days and their not-so-frisky ones. Sometimes they have the wind with them, at times they have the wind against them. Sometimes they are tired and sometimes they are rested and full of get up and go.

Besides the target's behavior, the human factor is extremely important in shotgun shooting. A hunter has a lot of things to do once a ringneck squawks up in front of him or a quail rockets away. He has to identify the target, mount the gun, align the muzzle, tell his brain to tell his finger to pull the trigger, pull it, wait for the mechanism to function, and adjust for the time lag between ignition of the powder and arrival of the shot charge. Some men can do this quicker than others and thus require less lead to ground their targets.

But leading has some rough ground rules which will help the beginning shooter. The rare straightaway shot requires no lead. Hold dead on the target and fire away; the shot string will catch up to it with no sweat. The crossing or right-angle shot is tougher, but it is fairly easy to master after a bit of practice. Swing your 46 NEBRASKAland gun past the bird and when you sense the proper amount of daylight, squeeze off but keep the gun moving and follow through. Remember the longer the range, the longer the lead.

Shooting down on an outgoer is tough because it's easy to mistake it for a straightaway. Hold in front and above your target and hope. A climbing bird is traveling in two directions at once. He is rising up and at the same time traveling forward. You have to allow for this dual situation or you'll be birdless. The incomer is equally tough because the shooter has a natural tendency to want to see what he is shooting at, and a dead-on hold on an overhead incomer disturbs the atmosphere and nothing else. Swing the muzzle above the bird, blot him out, and fire as the muzzle passes him. This is a shot that separates the men shooters from the boy shooters.

Finally, there is that tough incomer when the bird is dropping into you. Decoying ducks are prime examples of this situation. You have to hold below and in front so the target actually drops into the pattern. These are the basic situations but pheasants and ducks can throw you half a dozen added curves when they want to, so don't be surprised when a mallard or a wise old ringneck give you the triple shuffle. Shoot, hope, and shoot some more. Someday everything will jell and the targets will come down with satisfying regularity.

If you never master the art of wing shooting, don't despair; you can always sell the shotgun and join a bowling league.

THE END OCTOBER, 1966

TOP DOG

(Continued from page 35)

after day, hour after hour," the sun-bronzed trainer asserts.

Ebony's schooling began to pay big dividends. She was awarded the title of Best Qualifying Dog of Nebraska by the Nebraska Dog and Hunt Club for 1964. But, that was just the begining of fame for the hard-working Lab.

One June 11, 1965, Ebony placed first in the open all-age stakes of the Wee-Ma-Tuk Field Trial in Illinois. This important win qualified her for the coveted title of Field Trail Champion. To become a FTC, a dog must accumulate 10 points. Five of these must come from winning first place in an open all-age licensed meet. The top dog is awarded five points, the second, three, the third, one, and the fourth, V2 point.

Ebony was on her way. It was this Illinois win that also qualified her to enter the 1965 National Field Trial. The Nationals, which determine the king of retrievers, is held every year in November. During even-numbered years, the St. Louis area hosts the meet and for the odd years, it is held on the East Coast. To enter the dream of every dog man, seven points must be won in AKC-licensed trials. Five of the points must be garnered from placing first in at least one open all-age meet.

At the Nationals, dogs run a series of 10 tests on both land and water. Dogs are then eliminated after each series. Here is where the much-aimed-for perfection counts. Dogs may be required to "mark" birds as they are dropped by the official gunners, or the Labs are guided to unseen birds called blinds, by whistles and hand signals.

Maximum credit is given if the animal remembers where the various birds fell and retrieves them quickly without help. But, if he delays or needs assistance from his handler, fewer points are given. A dog that does not respond to his handler's signals is graded down harshly. Retrievers must not "break" toward game until they get the "go" sign, and when returning, the dog cannot let loose of his retrieve until the handler tells him to.

Tests at the Nationals are not cut-and-dried, everyday hunting situations. Many are designed to confuse the dog in order to test the animal's responses to his handler. During the 1959 trial, the final series required the dogs to retrieve a hidden pheasant after hunters had purposely missed another ringneck tossed into the air a few minutes earlier. The retrieve had to be made by hand signals. Both pheasants and ducks are used at the Nationals.

Actually, each dog that participates in the Nationals is a champion in his own right. During the year, some 5,000 dogs run in licensed field trials throughout the country. Of this number, only about 50 retrievers ever catch a whiff of the "Big Trial". Dogs may enter the Nationals each year that they qualify. A few topnotch Labs have qualified as many as eight years in a row. However, when a dog becomes eight or nine years old, he usually goes into retirement and leaves the actual competition to the younger dogs.

At the present time, Ebony has 50 meets under her collar, and her record to date is 35 ribbons and 12 silver cups, trays, and trophies. Money is never awarded at these trials, but to retriever enthusiasts, blue ribbons and silver cups are priceless. Of course, the value of a dog goes skyward if he wins the Nationals. A male may gross about $10,000 a year in stud fees, and a bitch's puppies will bring about $500 apiece. Many owners do not cash in on these profits, though, since the glory that accompanies a top dog is reward enough.

As a sport, trials differ from most others. There is no gate to bring in revenue as in baseball games or even bench shows. The officials for the events are paid by the sponsoring club. Dues and entrance fees help make ends meet. The entry fee for the National is $100.

The field trial is geared to develop the best qualities of a given breed and to determine the best performers among 48 NEBRASKAland the dogs in competition. This has been its purpose since the first one was held in England in the 1860's. Ten years later the sport moved to America.

Retriever trials in Nebraska go back 25 years. However, renewed interest and exceptional dogs are fast making Nebraska one of the topnotch retriever centers of the nation.

And, the blue-blooded dog heritage continues to boom. Last April Ebony became the proud, if not haggard, mother of nine future champions. Sharing the parenthood honors was John M. Olin's 1965 National Retriever Champion, Martens Little Smoky of St. Louis. The puppies, however, did not call Lincoln home very long. Requests came from across the nation to buy the pups, and one by one, they jet-planed off to Jamul and Santa Anna, California; Shreveport and Lake Charles, Louisiana; Jackson, Wyoming and Pensacola, Florida. Reluctant to let all the puppies go, Joe Schomer and Bill Van Sickle each kept a husky male.

So begins another generation of prize-winning Nebraska Labs. With such greats as Ebony, Target, and Tony for inspiration and example, it's a cinch this "new" generation of champions is going to make NEBRASKAland top dog in retriever circles for a long time to come.

THE END

SILENT SPRING

(Continued from page 7)

great mass of taxpayers and not one segment.

The garden variety of unblemished amateurs who buy their poisons at the corner store can read the fine print on the labels but give little thought beyond the immediate needs of reducing the chores of keeping up a lawn or garden. If one reads carefully the labels state: "Wear suitable clothes and use protective equipment; keep pesticides away from eyes, nose, and mouth; only spray on a calm day; keep away from children and cattle."

But there is much more to this poison business than a few cautions. The unanswered question is: What will be the Ultimate effects in years to come on the entire life community? Some segments of our citizenry do not care to delve into that knotty problem; it has too fearful a connotation.

THE END

STRANGERS TO SHARPTAILS

(Continued from page 14)

down a two-rut lane and over a bumpy meadow to pull up to a nearby windbreak.

"Let's work this over," Faulhaber said. Td bet that there is a grouse or two in these trees. I'll just drive around to the other edge, get out and shoot the ones you spook up. I don't traipse around as much as I used to. Besides, it will save you the walk back."

Don took the west edge, Leo the center, and I walked over to the east edge of the break to line up with the two Sand Hillers. Keeping our line, we started moving slowly through the yellow-coated young trees. Taking a cue from Leo, I zig-zagged as in pheasant hunting. But these birds were no ringnecks, I had been informed. Unlike those oriental gamesters, grouse tend to hold and flush rather than to trust their legs. Suddenly, Don fired into a brush clump. The young rancher fired again, and ran toward Leo and me.

"Coyote!" he yelled as his father raced to the far end to cut the animal off.

I watched carefully, but saw no sign of the coyote. Don circled determinedly, kicking the knee-high grass, but the varment had seemingly vanished. A big, mottled bird rose in front of me, and I raised my gun, fired, and dropped my first grouse.

"That's the way to go," Don grinned, puffing alongside for a closer look. "That's a sharptail. You won't see many prairie chickens this far west, but we do have a few. You can tell chickens by their short, squared-off tails, and the barred design on their feathers. The sharptail you have here has more of a speckled pattern, and of course the pointed tail is a dead give-away."

The lesson was interrupted by the arrival of the truck. "Come on let's give the hay meadows a try, the coyote will be there another time," Carl smiled, appraising my kill. "There's plenty more where that bird came from. There should be some holed up in the shade of the bales."

The hay meadow proved to be something of an adventure in patience. The golden bales stretched far aheacDas we walked, picking our way carefully, ready for the heart-stopping whirr of wings. This wore a little thin after a while. Each meadowlark that flew up in front of me tugged at my nerve ends, and I started to get a little spooky. I saw a shadowy shape near a bale, only to find out on approach that it was just a shadow, after all.

Don was the middle gun of our little trio. He raised his weapon as four grouse lumbered skyward. Though we were only about 50 yards apart, the 12-gauge sounded like a child's toy popgun. One of the birds tumbled to the ground as the others soared far into the encircling choppies. Before we reached the end of the field, Leo fired at a pair and missed, while a loner got away from me.

Careful as we were, apparently the dry grass telegraphed our presence far in advance, and the birds were getting the cut-out message all too soon. Another pair flushed wild before we reached Carl and the blue-green pickup.

"Well, boys, you're spooking them right and left, but they're just a little too cagey today," the old-timer quipped. "What say we tackle those choppies to the north. There are plenty of birds back in there I'm sure. Maybe there you'd have a better chance sneaking up on them."

As the truck lumbered toward the hills, I marveled at the size of the Faulhaber spread. The land rolled away from horizon to horizon with only a here and there huddle of cattle to break the endless stretch.

"A fellow has to be real careful how he grazes this land," Carl explained, "you can hurt the grass if you let the stock graze it too heavily. You think this spread is big. Why, we even have to lease grazing rights sometimes to accommodate our stock."

By the time we arrived at the foot of the choppies and dismounted, our appetites were whetted by five or six birds flushed by the noisy truck. Don and I paired up for a go at the hills. Leo decided to cut a shorter diagonal and let Carl pick him up. As the young rancher and I plodded up the first hill, Don pointed at the ground.

"Take a look at that," he said, indicating two blue racers and a bullsnake which lay facing a gopher hole.

"Poor devil won't have a chance if he pops his head out," I chuckled. The blue racers glided away, but the bullsnake stubbornly kept his vigil. "Well, that evens the odds, I guess," I commented.

Next, we came upon a box tortoise lying among some brilliant red rose hips, soaking up the sun.

Don prodded the critter with the muzzle of his shotgun, and he promptly closed up to repel all boarders.

"You can see just about anything back in these hills," he remarked, "I guess that's one reason I like them so well. I can't think of anything more worth doing than raising cattle and living out here. It sort of grows on a person. Well, we had better get going, or Carl and Dad will be wondering what happened to us. I'll swing off to the north and you cut straight ahead. Don't forget to keep to the side slopes, and angle around the

49

ridges. A grouse will flush at the sight of a man against the sky."

The going was rough. First, my booted feet hurt from bending one way, then the other as I circled through the hills. A shot far to my right indicated that someone had at least seen one of the birds. I turned a corner around a choppy, when two grouse flew up with stammering wings. They glided over a ridge before I could recover. The clear air seemed to play tricks on my sense of distance. First, Don was a tiny speck of red shirt tailing up a distant ridge, then a few minutes later, we were within shouting distance of each other. I was mighty glad when I topped the last rise and saw the pickup, a bluish speck along a barely-visible fenceline. The late afternoon shadows softened the hills into deceptive smoothness, highlighted by gently rounded domes of golden brown. I puffed up to the truck in time to see Leo flip a grouse into a bucket in the back.

Don unloaded his pump and climbed into the vehicle. "We thought we would hit one more shelterbelt," he explained, "then hit the meadow again for any sundowners that might have moved in."

We headed into the valley toward a long grove of young trees. Again, we spread out in a line and moved through. This time, it was Don's turn to score. I watched him stuff a bird in his game pocket, and we pushed on. A bird flushed to my right, and I spun, but held the shot, since Don was too near the line of fire. The bird apparently stirred up the rest of the troops, for I heard a succession of shots which marked their progress past Leo and over the pickup at the far end.

I was sidestepping my way through the neat rows of trees near the end of the grove when another bird flared, this time to my left. I whirled just as another flushed straight ahead, along with a couple more I could hear but couldn't see for the trees. Rattled a bit by the sudden clamor, I fired at the first bird, missed, and spun just in time to follow the second bird out of sight into the trees with my gun muzzle. I shrugged.

The four of us gathered around the pickup for a strategy meeting. Carl smiled his pleasure at Don's kill. "You know, he's had a gun since he was nine or ten years old, and he hasn't failed very often to get his limit," said the older man.

"Yes," Leo rejoined, "But you'll have to admit that there are usually plenty of birds to get. Try as we might to avoid it, we often kill some of the nesters and young with the mowers each spring. It's too bad, but still there always seems to be enough left for good sport."

Our next hop was a short one for there wasn't much shooting time left. We dismounted at a lane and spread out again. The three of us headed through the meadow, leaving Carl to circle with the truck. With a limit under his belt, Don was just out for the walk. Leo tried a 50 NEBRASKAland long shot, but missed just as a second bird flushed ahead of me. I bored down and dumped him into a hay bale with the first shot.

Picking up my bird, I watched as another batch swept up and away into the safety of the hills we had just left. Leo waved, signaling the end of the hunt. Tramping back to the truck, I envied the great gunning enjoyment available to Faulhaber and the McGuires with shooting like this on their own place. Better yet, they were willing to share it with me, a total stranger of four hours ago.

As we climbed into the truck, Carl offered, "Stop by next time you're in the area and we'll do this again —that is, if you don't have anything more important to do."

I readily accepted the invitation because right then with my first two grouse in the bag, I couldn't think of a thing more important.

THE END

LONG-HANDLED FISHING

(Continued from page 21)

from the bottom clouded the whole area. In the ruckus, a carp sneaked by and got into the open water with the younger Fattig hot on his tail. It took Mark half a dozen tries but he finally connected.

Meanwhile, Roger climbed up the bank to a spot above the pool in time to see a second carp-coming out of the silty pool. The boy reared back and threw his spear like a javelin. It was more luck than anything else but the five-tined fish getter hit dead center to stop the carp cold.

By the time the boys reached the end of the two-mile stretch, they had pretty well filled out the second stringer and neither boy was expecting the excitement that was waiting. Mark was gigging the brush which grew out into the stream while Roger was continuing to "run 'em down" when Mark's probing spear busted up a convention of carp.

"Here they are!" he shouted. "A whole bunch. Look at them boil the water."

He jabbed away in all directions, sending the water flying in sheets as Roger hurried up to get in the fun. Three carp were "right now" propositions while a fourth almost made it before a thrusting spear ended his bid for freedom.

When it was over, the boys suddenly realized how tired they were for the heat and exertion had taken their toll. They took a 20-minute break in the shade of a cottonwood, strung up their fish, and started back.

The excitement of the day had pretty well worn away as they returned down river. They took one carp on the way back but the novelty of the expedition was over. Besides 17 carp from two to four pounds apiece were all they wanted to lug.

But if the fun these novice spearmen had is any indication of things to come, the Fattig brothers will soon be back to "pitchfork" on the Platte.

THE END

Four-Point-Nine

(Continued from page 23)

his senses strained to pick up some movement or noise.

There was the tiniest muffled snap as if a very small twig was breaking. His eyes moved toward the direction of the sound. After what seemed ages of straining, the hunter detected a slight movement directly below him and to the left. Finally, his eyes picked up a bit of reddish tan just beyond two small cedars. His thumb moved to the safety and his left hand tightened on the forearm of the .30/30. The little patch of tan moved ever so slightly and another appeared about a foot to the right of the first. Then Dean forgot the rifle in his hands as a magnificent white-tailed buck stepped into view. Head high, the buck surveyed the slope ahead then glanced backward down the trail. Apparently satisfied, the buck lowered his head and began munching the dew-covered blossoms from a small rose bush. Antlers were hard to make out in the half light at 100 yards but they looked like nice ones.

The buck moved again from behind the little cedar and headed straight toward the tense hunter. Only his head and front quarters were visible so there was no chance for a side shot. Now, the buck stopped to glance down the canyon behind him. As Dean's finger tensed on the trigger the whitetail lowered his head and resumed his breakfast. Apparently the buck knew of the hunters behind him but he was in no hurry to put more distance between himself and them.

Suddenly sensing danger, the buck's head shot up. This time he glanced straight toward Dean's gun barrel. The

hunter centered the front sight on the forehead, then moved it downward to the buck's throat. He made a mental check —safety off, squeeze, don't jerk, steady. Wham! The .30/30 blasted, bumping his shoulder. Dean heard lead slap home as the buck jerked slightly, then crumpled to his knees. Head still erect, the huge deer seemed petrified for a moment, then flopped uphill on his side and lay still.

Jumping to his feet, Hasch racked a fresh cartridge into the chamber. Breathlessly, he hurried to the kill, approaching from slightly to the rear. He nudged the buck with his rifle barrel. Not a quiver—the buck was stone dead.

Laying his rifle down, the triumphant hunter went to work with his hunting knife to prepare the carcass for the trip to the ranch house where it would be hung for cooling. He hadn't finished the job when he heard a rifle crack to the south of him. That would be Ernie connecting and Dean secretly hoped that Ernie didn't get a better buck. Big brother was a good hunter but it would be nice to outdo him this once.

His job completed, Dean sat down to rest and admire his kill. He would need help to carry the buck out to the trail. As he waited he counted up points on the strong, perfectly formed rack and made an amazing discovery. There were four points on the left antler and five on the right. Would this make it a four point? As he was debating this point in his mind, he was joined by brother Ernie who was toting a heart and liver.

"Well, it looks like the Hasch boys have scored," grinned Ernie. "Hey, that's a nice one. He must weigh 300 pounds and he is bigger than the one I just nailed. Did you know I was watching you from the canyon? I saw you dressing him. You must have spooked the one I got," he added.

Dean just grinned with satisfaction as he stood up. "Do you think this is a four point or a five-point?" he asked. "He has one beam with four and one with five points."

Ernie bent over to examine the buck's rack. "Say, that is unusual isn't it? By eastern count it would be a nine-pointer but I don't know about western count. We will have to find out from Bob Wood over at the Game Commission office. Let's go get my pickup and haul them both out of here. Grab hold and we will lug him up to the fence."

By the time the two men got the big buck up the hill and over the trail along the fencerow they would have sworn he weighed 500 pounds. The sun was well up above the ridge by now and the exertion of lugging the deer and their other gear brought out the sweat. It was decided that Dean would take the car back to the ranch house and bring the pickup while Ernie stayed with the kill to keep a lookout for the other hunters. So far they hadn't heard another shot.

Within the hour the Hasch brothers were hanging their deer in the yard at the ranch house. They had weighed the big one and found he went 233 pounds field dressed. That would make him a 285-pounder live weight.

At a noon time rendezvous it was learned that no one else among the eight had bagged a deer during the morning. Later, in the afternoon, Frank and Gerald collected their deer in the same area as Dean and Ernie got theirs. Slim collected a fine four-point buck Monday. Jim Jones settled for a doe Monday to end his hunt but his sister Janice didn't connect with the first deer of her life until Thursday. Thursday was also a big day for Gary Hazard when he made a fine 200-yard heart shot across a canyon to bag his deer.

Sunday, the Hasch boys took their deer to the Game Commission check station. Later measurements after the 60-day waiting period determined that Dean's early buck scored a total of 148% points, making him eligible for a state citation. Then and there he decided to have the head mounted.

The Game Commission technician rated the buck a four-pointer by western count. Arrangements were made with Boyd Larsen of Lincoln, a former Bassett hunting companion, to take the head to Jim Hawkins of Fremont for the mounting.

"Larsen said Hawkins does a real fine job of mounting these trophies and it will only cost me a few bucks," Dean told his brother after the arrangements were made.

"Don't you think that might be a foolish expense since you plan on getting married?" Ernie chided. "Your wife may not want the thing hanging in the house you know."

"Ha! We already have an understanding on that situation," retorted Dean over a cup of coffee at the Range Cafe. "I can have the trophy hanging and I plan on going back next year and the next, and the next, for my deer hunting. We have that all worked out."

As the years go by there's a good possibility that Dean and his tribe will have a houseful of four-point trophies — nine-point eastern count.

THE END

THE KINKAIDERS

(Continued from page 17)

rugged winters and scorching summers, most moved on. One or two families remained, however, making the area their home for some years.

Nature was always a big factor in the Kindaiders' new land. They were wholly dependent on rain for their crops since irrigation was a near impossibility. Winter snows, though often hip deep to a tall elephant, provided much needed water for the crops, but spring droughts were disasterous. During February, March, and April of 1910, there was hardly enough rain to wet the ground. Crops state-wide were hurt but the southwest took a real beating. Probably one of the most depressing things the Kinkaiders faced was loneliness. Most of their neighbors were at least a mile away and often it was as much as 10 miles to the next farm. Some said that even the cattlemen who ruled the area should have been paid to live there.

But no one paid the cattlemen, and they were one of the most dangerous obstacles the Kinkaiders faced. For years rambling spreads in the northland had been fencing public domain for their own use. The U. B. I. and Spade ranches both laid claim to huge chunks of illegally-fenced government land. Now, along with the realization that "squatters" would be moving onto these lands, came another edict from Washington that all illegal fences must go. Since this was just another in a (Continued on page 54)

Outdoor Elsewhere

Bass Hunters. Two Missouri hunters went gunning for doves last fall and landed two bass. One of the men bagged a dove that fell into a farm pond. The other hunter rigged up a rod and reel he happened to have in the car and began casting for the bird. On the first cast, he reeled in a 21/2-pound bass. The second cast brought in a one-pounder. They never did retrieve the dove. — Missouri

Good Dog? Some hunters train their dogs too well. A Belmont, California man was fined $50 recently for taking pheasant out of season. He told the game warden that he wasn't hunting but training his dog. As the officer was about to leave, the dog trotted up carrying the ringneck his master had shot. — California

An Innocent Bystander. An unidentified New Mexico bowhunter was getting bored while waiting for deer in a tree blind, when a rather strange target appeared in the form of a mother bear followed by a cub. The archer drew and bounced a blunt target arrow off the mama bear's backside, whereupon she whirled around and swatted her dutifully following cub 20 feet into the brush. —New Mexico

Big City Deer. A Pennsylvania game warden put in a rather strenuous day recently. It all started with a red fox shot in the center of Philadelphia. He then received a police call to remove a deer from a grocery store. En route he heard on the police radio that there was another deer in a bowling alley. Not too long before that he had been called upon to remove a deer from a bank. His fer- vent hope is to be transferred to a district "where the deer aren't so friendly." — Pennsylvania

Open Door Policy. Driving on abackroad in Pigeon State Forest, a Michigan game biologist and a graduate student spooked a doe and fawn on the road. Mamma deer fled into the brush, but the fawn ran straight for the truck and jumped in when the men opened the door. They then tagged the co-operative young deer and released it. - Michigan

Thanks For The Memory. A Massachusetts man went all the way to California to fish for yellowtails. Only one problem; the desk clerk failed to call him in time, and he missed the boat.-California

Red-Hot Strike. An Oregon man was fishing when lightning hit the tip of his rod. The current circled his waist, spiraled three times around his leg, leaving red marks, and burned two holes in the side of the boat. The rod tip was burned off, the cork grip exploded, and his jacket and trouser zippers were fused shut, yet he lived to tell it. To top it off, his two companions didn't realize anything was happening. — Oregon

Yogi Bear. After a morning in the field, a New York hunter returned to retrieve his lunch and a thermos of coffee he had stashed in a tree. Instead, he found only a note. It read, "Thanks for the coffee and peanut butter sandwiches. Next time bring some honey." It was signed, "Your Woodland Friend, Yogi Bear."- New York

They Flew Away. When a Pennsylvania game warden checked a trio of hunters, they bemoaned the fact that they hadn't shot a single pheasant. The warden expressed his surprise, since the men were in an excellent ringneck area. In reply one of the trio commented, "Oh sure, we saw a lot of birds in the grass, but every time we tried to take a bead on one he would fly away. —Pennsylvania

THE KINKAIDERS

(Continued from page 52)

long series of such demands, most of the ranchers laughed it off and forgot about it. But this time, just to make sure that the order was followed, a detachment of troops was sent into the hills to keep an eye on things and help if needed. Though they grumbled a lot, most of the ranchers took the order in stride and began to pull down their barbed wire. Those who lagged, however, got some unsolicited help from the blue coats.

Even at the sight of federal troops, it was hard for some ranchers to believe that the government would do this to them. After all, Teddy Roosevelt, the man in the White House, was a rancher, too. He understood their need for open range and plenty of it. Some ranchers, thinking that the new law was a dodge to keep the public happy, sent a delegation to Washington to talk things over with the president. Evidently Roosevelt did most of the talking, because when the delegates returned, they were convinced that the order was no dodge and began to pull up fence posts. Again the army was only too glad to help those who were a bit slow.

Then the Kinkaiders began to return. With their families, they trickled into the country two or three at a time. There was no grand rush as in the Cherokee Strip years before. In fact, hardly anyone noticed them, except the cattlemen, and things began to get tense. Each day more and more strangers poured onto their grazing lands, staking claims to the grasslands. Those that had not filed yet were ushered in by surveyors and sat tight until time to file their claim.

But the cow kings had a few tricks up their sleeves, too. Rounding up all of the Civil War veterans they could find, ranchers imported them to file on the government land. Their rights to the lands were deeded to the cattlemen in return for their expenses and an agreed payment, often $400 or $500. Evidently the money offered plenty of enticement. One widow filed on 40 different sections, each under a variation of her name. Several cattle companies went into the taxi business, hauling trainloads of veterans from the Grand Island Old Soldiers' Home. As soon as the old-timers filed on the property they were shipped home.

Not all of the ranchers resorted to illicit means to gain land, however. Many of them bought and paid for their empires with everything legal and above board. But no matter how they got their land, most of them were satisfied with the result.

Their complacency didn't last long, however. Settlers who had managed to hang on to their lands began filing claims against fraudulant holdings. White-hot letters streamed into Washington in ever-increasing numbers as irate Kinkaiders let the government know about the cow-country shenanigans. Finally, the issue came to the President's attention and all hell broke loose. Infuriated by the cattleman's attempts to cheat the government, Roosevelt demanded a full investigation and trials for those who could be pinned down. The Chief Executive's fury was a turning point.

From that time on the cold war suddenly became a hot one. Government agents moved into the country, prying into shady-looking land deals and asking a lot of questions. Unfortunately, this put the Kinkaider in the middle. If he sided with the government men, chances were pretty good that he wouldn't last out the week because of the ranchers. If, on the other hand, he clammed up to protect his skin from the cattlemen, the government would be on him if there were ever a break in the case.

Just to be on the safe side, the ranchers began importing hired guns to pay a few calls on their new neighbors. And the method was pretty successful, at least for a while. If a Kinkaider was suspected of selling out to a federal agent, one of the gunslingers paid him a visit. Often only a visit was necessary, but if that didn't shut him up, there was always a bullet in the back, an amazingly effective cure-all.

There were a number of "convictions", however. The only trouble was that most of the big Sand Hillers were backed by British money, and there seemed to be an inexhaustable amount of it. In one group of ranchers, arraigned before the 54 NEBRASKAland federal judge in Omaha, was the Reverend George Ware, a South Dakota Episcopal Clergyman. Ware, an Englishman, was one of the largest stock-holders in the massive U. B. I. ranch near Mullen, Nebraska. In 1905, a plat map showed the U. B. I. had 648.5 miles of wire strung around 111,423.5 acres of some of the choicest grazing land in Nebraska—most of it belonging to the government.

Ware was charged with securing Civil War soldiers to file on land and then incorporating their holdings into the Mullen spread. He was tried in 1905 and after careful deliberation, the jury returned a verdict of guilty on several counts. The Reverend appealed his case to the Supreme Court, thus avoiding jail for several months. But the high court confirmed the conviction and Ware had his future cut out for him. In 1907, after several unsuccessful attempts to have his sentence commuted, he paid a $1,000 fine and moved into the Grand Island jail for a year's stay. Thanks to the British syndicate, of which the Reverend was a member, he was as comfortable in jail as he was out. His cell had all of the comforts of home, with only the concession of an open door being denied him.

Apparently Ware's fate was much stiffer than those of other ranchers, however. In one case, several ranchers were convicted on similar circumstances and spent their time in the company of the U.S. Marshal in Omaha. All six hours of it. Some said that the marshal took them to a champagne dinner where he joined in toasts to the cow's future.

It didn't take long for word of hankypanky on the high plains to reach Washington. When Roosevelt heard of the goings-on, he could almost be heard in Omaha. For those underlings who were coverting with the enemy, justice was swift and sure. He fired the party-minded marshal, dethroned the U.S. District Attorney, and vowed to do everything in his power to unseat the federal judge. Replacing the slipshod officials with hand-picked men, Roosevelt settled back to watch the action. Cattlemen tightened their belts and sat tight.

Things began to hop with a new administration in the fight. One of the most outstanding cases concerned a locator named O. F. Hamilton. Hamilton was suspected of working with the government during the Ware trial, and revenge was in store. In the back room of a Mullen saloon, the U. B. I. struck back. Hamilton was bashed in the head with a pistol, crushing his skull. His false teeth flew out and were dropped into an outdoor privy while his body was carted away to be buried in the local cattle yard. All traces of his grave were obliterated by the cattle in a matter of minutes. In fact, it looked like the perfect crime until public opinion began to boil For months the townsfolk stewed until a

grand jury was appointed to investigate. During the testimony one of the eye-witnesses turned states evidence and pinpointed the grave. From the remnants of clothes and hair on the decomposed body, Hamilton's identity was confirmed.

At the trial that ensued, the toothless, crushed skull was presented as evidence, then returned to the new grave in the city cemetery. Everyone in Mullen would have bet on an easy conviction with clinching evidence like that and an eye-witness to boot. But then the U. B. I. men called to see the skull again as they tightened their defenses. When the grave was opened, the mangled skull had been replaced with one in a bit better condition and the teeth were there, too. Unable to prove that the grave had been violated, the judge dismissed the case.

Killings, though not everyday occurances, were becoming more and more frequent. Jules Sandoz, another locator for the Kinkaiders, was high on the Spade outfit's death list. Unable to get at Jules, a lone gunman rode into Emile Sandoz' yard one day and gunned down the locator's brother as his family watched. The maneuver was designed to draw Jules out into the open where he could be given a dose of the same. But it didn't work. Sandoz didn't even attend his brother's funeral for fear of ending up buzzard bait. For months, a .30/30 was never more than an arm's reach from him. And then, when the pressure was at its highest, it began to ebb. Several convictions of the biggest of the big threw the cattle industry off balance. Emile Sandoz' murderer was sentenced on a charge of manslaughter, though the Woodsmen Lodge that backed the prosecution hoped to hang him for murder. Bartlett Richards and his partner in the Spade spread, Will Comstock, were both sentenced to prison for multiple offences. And again mother nature lashed out to finish the feud.

The Kinkaiders were hit hard by the howling winter that followed. But since they had less to lose than the cattle-men, they came off best. On the range, huge herds, trapped by the deep snow and freezing winds, scattered and died. Many of the cattle, seeking shelter from the storms wandered up to Kinkaiders' cabins and died in their tracks around the houses. And then the winter was over. With the spring thaws came swarms of flies, hovering over the carcasses that had not been carried off. The stench from the animals made life unbearable.

So, with one of the roughest winters they could remember behind them and nothing but crop loss and rebuilding ahead, many Kinkaiders packed up to move. They left the land more quietly than they came. A few stayed, of course, and they prospered. But the final migration ended Nebraska's war and the battleground fell silent.

THE END

56 NEBRASKAland

NEBRASKAland TRADING POST dm VWmi Classified Ads: IS cents a word, minimum order $3.d0. January *o7 closing data, November 1. BOATING KAYAKS—One-man $19.50; two-man $24.50; Sailboat $42. Exciting Sitka Kayak Kits known world wide for speed and safety. Assemble in one afternoon. Free pictorial literature. Box 78-N, Brecksville, Ohio. 44141. DOGS WANTED: Registered puppies. All breeds. Shorthairs, Labradors, Setters, Goldens, Pekingese, Dachshunds, Shepherds, etc. Also purebred kittens. Excalibur Pets, P. O. Box 362, Omaha, Nebraska 68101. HUNTING DOGS: German Shorthairs, English Pointers. Weimaraners, English, Irish, and Gordon Setters, Chesapeakes, Labradors, and Golden Retrievers. Registered pups, all ages, $50 each. Robert Stevenson, Orleans, Nebraska. OUTSTANDING gun dog puppies from proven hunting dogs. Weimaraners, Irish Setters, German Shorthairs. Satisfaction guaranteed. Lemar Kennels, Oberlin, Kansas 67749 BRITTANIES, pups and started dogs. Also training done. Go-Britt Kennels, 720-243^ Road, Grand Junction, Colorado. A.K.C. AMERICAN WATER SPANIELS. Eight months, $40. Train now for good hunting thi fall. M. B. Worley, 2604 South Royce gSioux City, Iowa. VIZSUIS: Registered pups and older dogs. Sired by "Radar of Redtop". Reasonable. Free folder. Guaranteed. Willie Germolus, Borup, Minnesota 56519 GERMAN SHORTHAIR Puppies. AKC Futurity nominated both light and dark colors. Excellent hunting dam and sire. Kerl Acre Kennels, Box 176, Sioux City, Iowa. 255-9335. AKC BLACK LABRADORS: Outstanding pedigrees furnished. Pups, dogs. Stud Service, $50 up. twERKo wRftri5VeTSVT £veret* Bristol, Phone 376-2539, Valentine, Nebraska 69201. POINTER PUPS, registered, whelped July 17, 1966. Sire, son of Ch. Palamonium. White, liver, ticked, Ready to ship $35. Also registered setter pups. Bill Irvine, Eoha, Missouri. Phone 314 HU5-2895 ATTENTION RELOADERS-We don't sell catalogs We just sell quality and service We are a complete stock of these lines-Dupont, Eagle Hodgd^n; Hornady, Hercules, Lee Loaders Lvman Taw Shu?*^' Nom!?' ^edneld, RemingCT'RCBS; §27 "^inS^ Knd T Walter H CrW, Box 7, Selma, Alabama. Phone 872-1040. SSJfTS. s,tamp (1r0c staiP) self addressed XJ tJaT freeJlst j S118 and shooters supplies Cards, unaddressed envelopes or just stamps will be ignoredju! you want dealer list send FFL Alabama WALTER H CRAIG> Box 927^ Sehna, HUNTING LODGE FISH LURES & BAITS RED WIGGLERS, Premium Quality, 1,000, $5 Postpaid. Satisfaction Guaranteed. Rev. James B. Stanley, 643 East 25th Street, Los Angeles, California 90011. EASTERBROOK Hunting Lodge, your home away from home Cooking facilities. Lote of pheasante 5SJJ5 n Pnvate home. Accommodations for 8 hunters Room meals, and part-time guide, $10 Pheasants, Ducks, Quail, Rabbits. a/_mi *££ of Enders. G. A. Williams, Imperial 882-4942 uld yoUo !ike to share o home during hunting season? Room and board $10 a Bjll and Darlene Vocke, Litchfield, Nebraska. Phone 446-2487. HAVE SLEEPING facilities and meals for pheas-rabbit hunters A guide, when available, land to hunt on and cleaning and freezing facili JLNorth and 1/2-mile East of BlSomnela; 55 Rudolf Ma HOMESTEAD RANCH, available for hunters. a i!S ' c°mJ.ortable rooms. Home cooked meals. . Good pheasant MISCELLANEOUS STONEGROUND CORNMEAL. Most complete line Health *oods. Many processed daily. Come see us or write. Brownville Mills, Brownville, Nebraska. LOSING HAIR? Balding? Dandruff? Free copyrighted booklet. Dr. Sniffer Laboratories, 583 Euclid Arcade, Cleveland, Ohio 44115. COLLAPSIBLE Farm-Pond Fish Traps; Animal Traps, postpaid. Free information, pictures, Shawnee, 3934-AX Buena Vista, Dallas 4, Texas. BOOK HUNTING is our business. Our specialty-personal service we would want if we were customers. D-J Books, Box 3352N. San Bernardino, California. 92404. KIRBYS $5 SAMPLERS—Cut down on Cigarettes with this smooth-smoking Kaywoodie Pipe kit, includes cleaning tool and handsome pouch; 5 Piece Playboy Bar tool set—deluxe quality, smartly boxed; Giant 10" Salt-Pepper Mill Set-beautiful cherry wood—brass base; Useful book-Medical Self Help" 650 pages covers emergencies —sickness. Choice $5 prepaid. 125 page Bargain Book with orders or $1 refundable deposit. Satisfaction Guaranteed. KIRBY—East Chatham, New York. Nebraska's largest Scuba Sportoays Voit, Swimmaster, Scubraproj. Air Station, Regulator Repair. Tele-NebrLka ' 1419 South ^ Avenu^ Omaha, TAXIDERMY GUNS AND AMMO SHOOTER'S SPECIAL: 7MM Mauser Model 93 Rifles $19.50. 7MM FN Mauser Model 98 Rifles «99 so 8 MM Brno Mauser Model 98 Short Rifles ?9q'3> Perfect for all-around shooting. Ammuni S $5 per 100. Federal Arms, 928 Biscayne Boulevard; Miami, Florida. EUROPEAN Air Arms, Pellets, Accessories, Huge available. Free details; Digest 25c A Rfle Headquarters, Grantsville, Virginia. OCTOBER, 1966 rieadound*fish mo"nting. 40 years exper TAXIDERMY. Trophies mounted true to nature Reasonable prices. John Reieert Tr Soffit Street,Lincoln, JROPHY through taxidermy. Life n tklUctS atnable prices. Eighteen years m the same location. Abo hides tanned for fa braskamakin LigSton Ta*id

OUTDOOR NEBRASKAland of the Air

Dick H. Schaffer SUNDAY KHT' Columbus (1510 kc) 7:30 a.m. KJiSL' Sran ls,and H30k7:40 a.m* WOW, Omaha {590 kc)7:40 am KMMJ, Grand Island (750 kc) 7:40 am' 8:00 a.m. 9:45 a.m. KAMI, Coxad (1580 kc) 9-45 a m £ni ihc1!n2?*h',a; i?60 kc) 10:00 a.m. K?2T' ^°rth, "fJtSJ I240 kc 0:45 a.m. KJ^a' 5,MSa,11 9iS?.kc) 11:15 a.m. K?St fgaliala 12:30 p.m. EKS' ktn^0,n (J240kc)12:45 p.m. U7,\ll' Brolwn Bow (1280 kc) l:15p.m KUVR, Holdrege (1380 kc) 2:45om K5XH' Lexington (1010 kc) 5:40 p.m K?a«' ^,S Cirty- ,U23° k€) 5i45 p.m. kpab, (Mon.-Fn.) Nightly MONDAY 1:00 p.m. KSID, Sidney (1340 kc) 6:30 p.m. WEDNESDAY !Si% Columbus (900 kc) 1:30p.m. KCOW, Alliance (1400 kc) 4^30 p.m! FRIDAY KHUB, Fremont (1340 kc) 5:15om WJAG, Norfolk (780 kc) .ZZ 5:00 SATURDAY KCSR, Chadron (610 kc) 6:00 a.m KCOW, Alliance (1400 kc) 9 30am KOLT, Scottsbluff (1320 kc) 11:45 am" KAWL, York (1370 kc) 12 45 S KHAS, Hastings (1230 kc) 1 £0 W.Z', KRFS# Superior (1600 kc) 1:00 pm KWRV, McCook (1360 kc) 145pm KBRX, O'Neill (1350 kc) Z 4 30 p"m KMNS, Sioux City, la, (620 kc)6:10 ^m. DIVISION CHIEFS Willard R. Barbee, assistant director Glen R. Foster, fisheries Dick H. Schaffer, information and tourism Richard J. Spady, land management Jack D. Strain, state parks Lloyd P. Vance, game CONSERVATION OFFICERS Chief, Carl E, Gettmann, Lincoln Ainsworth—Max Showalter, 387-1960 Albion—Gary L. Baltz, 395-2516 Alliance—Richard Furley, 762-2024 Alliance—Leonard Spoering, 762-1547 Alma—William F. Bonsail, 928-2313 Arapahoe—Don Schaepler, 962-7818 Benkelman—H. Lee Bowers, 423-2893 Bridgeport—Joe Ulrich, 100 Broken Bow—Gene Jeffries, 872-5953 Columbus—Lyman Wilkinson, 564-4375 Crawford—Cecil Avey, 228 ? Creighton—Gary R. Ralston Crete—Roy E. Owen, 826-2772 Crofton—John Schuckman, 388-4421 David City—Lester H. Johnson, 367-4037 Fairbury—Larry Bauman, 729-§734 Falls City—Raymond Frandsen, 2817 Fremont—Andy Nielsen, 721-2482 Gering—Jim McCole, 436-2686 Grand Island—Fred Salak, 384-0582 Hastings—Bruce Wiebe, 462-8317 Hay Springs—Larry D. Elston, 638-4051 ;E.d Grevin8 237-5753 Kimball—Marvin Bussinger, 235-3905 Lexington—Robert D. Patrick, 324-2138 Lincoln—Leroy Or vis, 488-1663 Lincoln—Norbert Kampsnider, 466-0971 Lincoln—Dale Bruha, 477-4258 Long Pine—William O. Anderson, 273-4406 wtb£ilka Srt!rTArVck Gray'-^3-5890 Norfolk—Robert Downing, 371 -2675 North p!f«r™"DamuelAGr^smick' 532-9546 worth Platte—Roger A. Guenther, 532-2220 Ogallala~;Jack Morgan, 284-3425 Ornaha-~.pwight Alfbery, 558-2910 O Neill—Kenneth L. Adkisson Ord—Gerald Woodgate, 728-5060 Oshkosh—Donald D. Hunt, 772-3697 Ponca—Richard D. Turpin, 2521 Tekamah—Richard Elston, 374-1698 Thedford—John Henderson, 645-535] Valentine-—ElIvin Zimmerman, 376-3674 Valley— Daryl Earnest, 359-2332 Winside-—Marion Schafer, 286-4290 York—Gail Woodside, 362-4120 OCTOBER, 1966 57

Gilbert Baker, O'Fallon's Bluffs

Where-to-go

FOUR AND one-half miles north of Harrison in Sioux County there is a 2,437-acre pine-studded portion of the Pine Ridge that is probably unparalleled in scenery and magnificence. Known as Gilbert-Baker Special Use Area, it has a lofty disregard for modern conveniences and civilization, yet harbors a secluded comfort of its own that will enchant the visitor and entice him to stay.

You can't expect to find a sprawling battery of resorts, huge cement parking lots, or carpeted cabins in this jutting tract of country, simply because no such things exist in this near-wilderness. For that matter, far more deer and wild turkeys frequent the area than people. But you can look forward to finding a unique brand of recreation in the wooded retreat centered around a small, clear trout stream, a picnic and camping site, and a small network of foot trails.

Serenity stalks the slashing canyons of this untamed area, and beauty touches almost every living thing with a reposeful artistry known only to Nebraska's Pine Ridge. Days are warm in this part of the state, the nights are cool and invigorating, and the stars are bright under a clear sky.

When deer season rolls around, Gilbert-Baker rates high on the list of favorite hunting grounds for scores of sportsmen. With the exception of several scattered hay lands, the tract is laced with steep canyons and ridges —the Pine Ridge's best deer habitat. Mule deer regularly range through Gilbert-Baker, while up and down the valley ridges raccoons, porcupines, chipmunks, squirrels, and rabbits scuttle about.

Most of Nebraska's better-known wild grasses are found among the Ponderosa stands. Cottonwoods, green ash, willow, hackberry, boxelder, and American elm cover the bottoms of the canyons and Monroe Creek. All blend to give the area its wilderness appeal that so many visitors and sportsmen like.

Gilbert-Baker, named after two former owners, was purchased by the Game Commission in 1942 as a refuge in the deer-restoration program. The area has served this purpose, and is now open to deer and turkey hunting, plus trout fishing for brown and rainbow. Turkeys were released in the spring of 1959 and there is a good flock of birds in the area. Many hunters use this area as their base of operations for both deer and turkey.

Along Monroe Creek, which supports a limited number of trout, are shaded bluegrass banks, just the ticket for a fisherman's tasty wilderness lunch. Bird watchers are kept busy for hours on end following the mixture of eastern and western songbird species which sing in the trees of the area.

One of the area's top services to Nebraska sportsmen is as a deer-study site. State and federal game biologists intensively survey vegetation on the area in a browse study, and also make pellet counts twice a year. The browse surveys help the Game Commission determine the balance between Pine Ridge deer and their food supply.

Deer on the Gilbert-Baker area and other Pine Ridge localities have plenty of winter food, as indicated by their use of forage plants. The three most abundant browse species available to them are buckbrush, chokecherry, and wild rose.

Screaming Sioux and Cheyenne warriors slipped through the Gilbert-Baker passes in their frantic attempts to retain their hunting ground in the face of white invasion. Just northeast of Gilbert-Baker, the Fifth Cavalry intercepted a group of about 800 Cheyennes leaving the Red Cloud agency at Fort Robinson in 1876. Although the Indians maintained they were on a buffalo hunt, the cavalry feared they were attempting to join other hostile Indians. During a brief skirmish, Yellow Hand was killed.

Another site which draws visitors because of its historic and rugged attraction is O'Fallons Bluffs, near Sutherland. Flanked by the South Platte River, the bluffs were famous during the early days in Nebraska.

Stories of buried treasure spice the interest for this area. One lady who has lived near the bluffs for 75 years is waiting with interest to see what Interstate Highway construction workers will uncover on her land. She claims her father told of a shipment of gold being buried somewhere in the bluffs and never recovered.

THE END 58 NEBRASKAland

ADVANCE SCOUT

By ROBERT STORM A lone goose, flying with the wind Passed overhead this morning. His strong wings swept October s air aside. His white cheek patch a blazing beacon On out-thrust head, Traced his way across tumultous skies. A lone goose, scouting out the path Of hordes to come tomorrow. Over the world's rim In flowing V's they'll pour. Pushed by numbing cold from Arctic lands To seek the South For sanctuary from howling snows. A lone goose, on a lonely trek Arrowing from human sight. Lost in the void Of immeasurable distance, His honking call a fading echo In timeless space. Blue air closed behind him; he was gone.