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GIFTS from NEBRASKAland Whether you're looking for a 50-cent stocking stuffer or a $5 gift, give NEBRASKAland this Christmas. Your thoughtfulness will be remembered every day of the year CALENDAR OF COLOR This uniquely Nebraska calendar makes the ideal addition to any home or office, and it's a gift that keeps giving all year long. One of a kind, the 1969 Calendar of Color again features year-round beauty in exciting all-new, full-color scenic photos for each month, a day-by-day listing of statewide events, ample room for personal notes, moon phases, and more. Be sure to order ypur copies now. ONLY 50 cents EACH PLUS SALES TAX NEBRASKAland MAGAZINE Thinking about what to get that special friend who has everything? This year send the gift that lasts all year, a subscription to NEBRASKAland Magazine. Fascinating, full-color photos highlight every issue, and there are thrilling stories for and about Nebraska and Nebraskans. And, when you order that gift, be sure to treat yourself to NEBRASKAland as well. You'll be able to tour Nebraska the Beautiful every month right from your own living room. ONE YEAR SUBSRCTIPTION $3 TWO YEAR SUBSCRIPTION $5 PLUS SALES TAX MAIL YOUR CHRISTMAS ORDER FORM TODAY CHRISTMAS EXPRESS ORDER FORM (all prices include postage) CALENDAR OF COLOR PLEASE CHRISTMAS EXPRESS 1969 CALENDARS TO: 1. QUANTITY NAME ADDRESS CITY STATE 2. ZIP QUANTITY NAME ADDRESS CITY STATE 3. ZIP QUANTITY NAME ADDRESS CITY STATE 4. ZIP QUANTITY NAME ADDRESS CITY STATE ZIP QUANTITY NAME ADDRESS CITY STATE R ZIP QUANTITY NAME ADDRESS CITY STATE PLEASE SIGN GIFT ENVELOPE WITH: ZIP NAME ADDRESS CITY STATE QUANTITY OF CALENDARS @ 50? $ ZIP MAIL TO: NEBRASKAland State Capitol Lincoln, Nebraska 68509 NEBRASKAland MAGAZINE PLEASE CHRISTMAS EXPRESS SUBSCRIPTIONS TO: 1. NAME ADDRESS 2. CITY STATE ZIP NAME ADDRESS 3. CITY STATE ZIP NAME ADDRESS 4. CITY STATE ZIP NAME ADDRESS 5. CITY STATE ZIP NAME ADDRESS 6. CITY STATE ZIP NAME ADDRESS CITY STATE PLEASE SIGN GIFT CARD WITH: NAME ADDRESS CITY QUANTITY ZIP STATE ONE YEAR SUBSCRIPTIONS @ $3 EACH $ QUANTITY TWO YEAR SUBSCRIPTIONS @ $5 EACH $ TOTAL OF SUBSCRIPTIONS $ Check Appropriate Boxes □ 1 YEAR □ 2 YEAR □ NEW D RENEWAL □ 1 YEAR □ 2 YEAR □ NEW D RENEWAL □ 1 YEAR □ 2 YEAR a NEW □ RENEWAL □ 1 YEAR □ 2 YEAR □ NEW D RENEWAL □ 1 YEAR D 2 YEAR □ NEW D RENEWAL D 1 YEAR □ 2 YEAR D NEW D RENEWAL ZIP   ...Distinctive-Inexpensive IT'S EASY TO ORDER BY MAIL. SIMPLY FILL OUT THIS HANDY CHRISTMAS EXPRESS ORDER FORM, MAIL ITTONEBRASKAland, AND RELAX, KNOWING YOU HAVE SENT DISTINCTIVE, NEBRASKA GIFTS. SCENIC PRINTS AND MURALS 16" x20" "G" Series □ G-1 □ G-2 □ G-3 □ G-4 D Complete set □ G-1 □ G-2 □ G-3 □ G-4 □ Complete set □ G-1 □ G-2 □ G-3 □ G-4 D Complete set 20"x 24" "P" Series □ P-1 □ P-2 □ P-3 □ P-4 D Complete set □ P-1 □ P-2 □ P-3 □ P-4 Q Complete set a p-1 a p-2 □ P-3 □ P-4 D Complete set 38V2 x 581/2 "M" Series □ M-1 □ M-2 D M-3 □ M-4 D Complete set □ M-1 □ M-2 a m-3 a m-4 D Complete set a M-i a m-2 □ M-3 D M-4 D Complete set Christmas express my order as checked for prints and murals to: 1. NAME ADDRESS CITY STATE ZIP 2. NAME ADDRESS CITY STATE ZIP 3. NAME ADDRESS CITY STATE ZIP Quantity. Quantity. Quantity. Quantity. Quantity Quantity. Single Series "6" Prints @ 75? each $- Complete Sets of Series "6" Prints @ $2.50 each $ Single Series "P" Prints @ $1 each $ Complete Sets of Series "G" Prints @ $3.50 each $. Single Series "M" Murals @ $5 each $ Complete Set of Series "M" Murals @ $20.00 each $ Total of prints and murals $ WILDLIFE PRINTS Christmas express my order as checked for Artists' WILDLIFE PRINTS to: □ W-1 □ W-2 □ W-3 □ W-4 □ W-5 □ W-6 □ Complete set 1. NAME ADDRESS CITY STATE ZIP □ W-1 □ W-2 □ W-3 □ W-4 □ W-5 □ W-6 D Complete set 2. NAME ADDRESS CITY STATE ZIP □ W-1 □ W-2 □ W-3 □ W-4 □ W-5 □ W-6 □ Complete set 3. NAME ADDRESS CITY STATE ZIP Quantity- Quantity. of Single Wildlife Prints @ $1 each $- of Complete Sets of Wildlife Prints @ $5 each $ Compute Your Sales Tax SALE TAX SALE TAX .01- .14 .00 10.60-10.99 .27 .15- .59 .01 11.00-11.39 .28 .60- .99 .02 11.40-11.79 .29 1.00- 1.39 .03 11.80-12.19 .30 1.40- 1.79 .04 12.20-12.59 ,31 1.80- 2.19 .05 12.60-12.99 .32 2.20- 2.59 .06 13.00-13.39 .33 2.60- 2.99 .07 13.40-13.79 .34 3.00- 3.39 .08 13.80-14.19 .35 3.40- 3.79 .09 14.20-14.59 .36 3.80- 4.19 .10 14.60-14.99 .37 4.20- 4.59 .11 15.00-15.39 .38 4.60- 4.99 .12 15.40-15.79 .39 5.00- 5.39 .13 15.80-16.19 .40 5.40- 5.79 .14 16.20-16.59 .41 5.80- 6.19 .15 16.60-16.99 .42 6.20- 6.59 .16 17.00-17.39 .43 6.60- 6.99 .17 17.40-17.79 .44 7.00- 7.39 .18 17.80-18.19 .45 7.40- 7.79 .19 18.20-18.59 .46 7.80- 8.19 .20 18.60-18.99 .47 8.20- 8.59 .21 19.00-19.39 .48 8.60- 8.99 .22 19.40-19.79 .49 9.00- 9.39 .23 19.80-20.19 .50 9.40- 9.79 .24 20.20-20.59 .51 9.80-10.19 .25 20.60-20.99 .52 10.20-10.59 .26 21.00-21.39 .53 NEBRASKA'S SALES TAX LAW • Sales tax due must be computed by you, at the rate of 2V2% (.025), and added to the total sale price of taxable purchases. • Sales tax must be paid on all magazine subscriptions, murals, calendar of color, pictures, and other tangible property for which delivery is made within Nebr. • Sales tax is not paid on items ordered for delivery outside Nebraska. • If your order involves items for delivery both within and without Nebraska, you must compute and pay the sales tax only on the total gross amount of those items to be delivered within Nebraska. CHRISTMAS EXPRESS TOTAL CALENDAR TOTAL $ SUBSCRIPTION TOTAL $ 16" x20" PRINT TOTAL $ 20" x 24" PRINT TOTAL $ 38V2 x 58V2 MURAL TOTAL $ WILDLIFE PRINT TOTAL $ TOTAL $ SALES TAX based on total order. Please compute from the chart above. $- TOTAL DUE $ □ CHECK □ MONEY ORDER (NO STAMPS OR CASH PLEASE) SCENIC PRINTS and MURALS Capture the beauty of NEBRASKAland with this wide assortment of photographic masterpieces from the cameras of NEBRASKAland Magazine photographers. Select the living-color scenes that match your decor. Ready for framing, they make the perfect gift, too. Distinctive-Inexpensive Artist' MIXED-BAG PORTFOLIO WILDLIFE PRINTS

Roundup and What to do

Two dozen and six days of everything from bobs to bucks are yours to try

HUNTING MAKES IT big in NEBRASKAland as season openers attract thousands of sportsmen to the "nation's mixed-bag capital". Gunners from across the nation will converge on Nebraska to run the Fourth of July a close second for fireworks. As the fall harvest ends and fluffy white snow finds its way to the prairies, the whole state shivers with plenty of westerngeared, see-and-do activity throughout November.

Wild turkeys come under fire in designated areas on November 2 and shooters are allowed nine days to seek out both toms and hens. Miss Candy Warrick, NEBRASKAland's Hostess of the Month, sets the pace for the coming season as she proudly displays her bragging-size gobbler. Having already bagged her Thanksgiving dinner, Candy invites all outdoorsmen to take advantage of the state's many hunting opportunities.

Miss Warrick is a sophomore majoring in home economics at the University of Nebraska. Daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Charles N. Warrick of Norfolk, she attended Norfolk Junior College last year. While there, she was chosen homecoming queen and was a student senator. Candy was also a participant in the 1968 Miss NEBRASKAland Pageant. Her hobbies range from music making to camping. She plays the piano, organ, and flute, and enjoys horseback riding, dancing to all types of music, ice skating, swimming, boating, and her favorite camping.

Turning again to Nebraska's hunting picture, the king of the covers, Mr. Wily Ringneck and his sporty cohort, the bob-white quail, go on the hunting agenda throughout most of the state on November 2. A small area in the southeast, east of U.S. Highway 81 and south of U.S. Highway 34, is closed to bird hunting until November 9. Both seasons will run until January 19, 1969. Pheasant populations are just a shade under those of last year, but quail numbers are second only to the peak year of 1959.

While shotgunners are prowling most of the state after November 2, rifle-deer hunters are having their innings in the Blue and Nemaha units. The rifle-deer season there opens on November 2 and runs for 9 days. On November 9, all remaining units in the state are open. Bowmen must take a break during the designated rifle-deer seasons.

Squirrel and cottontail are legal game throughout the month. Both furry fellows appeal to many hunters, especially to the beginner with the small-caliber rifle who is grooming for big game when he becomes 16. Ducks are again in demand as November 16 opens the second portion of the split season. Geese fall in the same predicament on November 9 as the second half of their split season begins. On the other side of the fence, the state's prairie grouse ease out of the shooting picture on November 17.

"Big Red" football is still in season. After a go-for-broke tilt with the Iowa State Cyclones on November 2 in Ames, Iowa, the Cornhuskers return to Lincoln's Memorial Stadium to host Kansas State on November 9. On November 16, Bob Devaney's crew travels to Boulder, Colorado, for a showdown with the Buffs, and seven days later meets the Sooners of Oklahoma University at Norman in a nationally televised contest that may decide the Big Eight Championship.

The borderline month between free casting and ice fishing, November affords top angling opportunities throughout NEBRASKAland. Cooling waters promise good stream action for trout, and trolling will nut walleye on the stringer. Snagging in the Missouri River allows anglers a chance at the primitive paddlefish, and sauger are also a good bet.

November brings an end to horse racing in Nebraska. The ponies that began action on October 2 at Atokad Park in South Sioux City circle the track for the last time on November 2.

As hometown football teams finish up, roundballers bounce into the sport picture when Creighton University in Omaha hosts an anxious Wichita crew on November 30.

Hobby is the password at Omaha, November 8 through 10, as the Eleventh Annual Midwest Hobbyrama breaks loose and keeps the Gateway City throbbing with excitement for three big days. Big is a mild description for this event, which has been labeled one of the top 20 travel events during November by the National Association of Travel Organizations. The past 10 shows have proven extremely popular, each attracting over 20,000 spectators. The 1968 show expects an increase in size, number of exhibits, and attendance.

On November 11, the community of Plymouth puts its best foot forward as it goes all out for a good old-fashioned Veterans Day celebration. And, not to be left out is the proud Czech community of Clarkson which invites everyone to its Czech duck dinner on November 17.

Teen-agers can get a firsthand listen to England's contemporary "folk-rock" sound on November 9, as stars Simon and Garfunkel give a concert in Lincoln. And, for those who desire a somewhat slower pace, famed Soviet violinist, Igor Oistrakh, is in concert at Omaha's Joslyn Concert Hall on November 4 and 5.

As the entire state bustles with activity, November brings a new edge of excitement to NEBRASKAland.

THE END What to do Oct. 2-Nov. 2 — Horse racing, South Sioux City 1-3 — Antique show, Omaha 2 — Pheasant and quail seasons open, statewide (except southeastern portion of the state east of U.S. 81 and south of U.S. 34 which opens November 9) 2 —Nebraska State High School Marching Band Festival, Lincoln 2-10 —Turkey season, designated areas 2-10 — Firearm deer season, designated areas 4-5 —Igor Oistrakh, violinist, Joslyn Concert Hall, Omaha 7 — All-Star wrestling, Lincoln 8-10 — Midwest Hobby Show, Omaha 9 — Rail season closes, statewide 9 —University of Nebraska vs. Kansas State, football, Lincoln 9 —Simon and Garfunkel Concert, Lincoln 9 —Pheasant and quail seasons open in southeast portion of state, (entire season now open through January 19, 1969) 9-10 —Coin show, Omaha 9-17 — Firearm deer season, designated areas 9 —Goose season reopens, statewide (second portion of split season) 10 —Turkey shoot, Minden 11 — Veterans Day celebration, Plymouth 11 —Broadway production, "Cabaret", Omaha 15-16 —One-box hunt, Broken Bow 15-17 — Rod and Custom Car Show, Lincoln 16 —Duck season reopens, statewide (second portion of split season) 17 —Czech duck dinner, Clarkson 17 —Turkey and prize shoot, Cozad 17 —Grouse season closes, all designated areas 18 —"Christmas", Ralph Mueller Planetarium, Lincoln 19 —Wilson's snipe season closes, statewide 22-23 - Turkey days, Ord 22-24 —Leisure Living Exposition, Omaha 23 — Turkey day, Loomis 23 — Cornhusker Kennel Club Dog Show, Lincoln 26 —Fred Waring and his Pennsylvanians, concert, Lincoln 27 —Tamburitzans, Joslyn Concert Hall, Omaha 29-Dec. 15-Omaha Playhouse, "Uncle Vanya", Omaha 30 —Creighton vs. Wichita, basketball, Omaha THE END November 1968 9

TIME TO CARE

by Richard Bryan as told to NEBRASKAland

PICNIC-TABLE conversation did not last long after we finished lunch. Everyone was eager to get back to our boat, since we were in the middle of a day's outing at Pawnee Lake a few miles north of Emerald, Nebraska.

The hot June wind made small waves in the water as we boarded our new 15-foot wooden boat with a 50-horsepower motor. My wife, Donna Mae, sat in front with me. Our four-year-old son, Bobby, joined his 12-year-old sister and her neighborhood girl friend in the back.

Just as we began circling the lake, the wind grew stronger, so I decided to head for shore. At the east end of the dam, a wave caught the boat sideways and flipped it over into the water.

The next few seconds seemed like hours. With the sudden possibility in mind of drowning, the only person I thought of was myself. I swam clear of the boat so I wouldn't get caught under it. When I surfaced, I noticed that my wife and the two girls were afloat and closer to shore than I was. My wife isn't a good swimmer, but her life jacket kept her above water. Everyone was wearing a jacket except me.

Then I heard my wife scream.

"Bobby! I can't see Bobby!"

Our little boy was nowhere in sight. Panic hit me at that moment more so than it did when I thought I was drowning. I called to him and kept calling, but there was no immediate answer. Could he still be underwater?

Finally, I heard him.

"I'm in here and it's awful dark," he yelled back.

The sound came from under the boat. Bobby was trapped in an air pocket under the bow of the overturned boat.

As soon as I reached the boat, I found that my son was all right. I knew he was probably as afraid as I was, so I kept talking to him, constantly reassuring him that I was close by.

Only the thin plyboard of the side of the boat separated us, but it could have been a brick wall. I tried to reach under the boat, grab his feet, and pull him out, but his life jacket kept him buoyant. All the time I knew the boat might sink.

"Are you all right?"

The strange voice startled me and suddenly, two young men, Larry Feerhusen and Bob Baldwin, were at my side. They were members of a skiing party, who apparently heard my wife screaming and swam over to help out. Another boy and girl remained in the skiers' boat and helped rescue my wife and the girls. Donna Mae grabbed for the ski rope and it got tangled in the motor, but the pair in the boat helped her into their craft.

Larry dived under the boat to rescue Bobby while Bob paddled around, ready to help. The first attempt failed, so Larry decided to enter from the other side of the overturned craft.

My body started to ache from the chilly water and from the fatigue of keeping afloat without a preserver. I still held on to my son, but I was talking to him from the wrong side of the boat and it was a long 40 feet to the bottom of the lake. I told him to put both hands over his mouth so Larry could bring him to my side.

Larry's second attempt was fruitful. He reached the air pocket and removed Bobby's life preserver, then brought him to the safe side. Bobby was glad to see light again and did not seem too upset. The cold water had turned his little body blue and shivering.

The skiers helped us into their boat and we headed for shore. Later, a cabin cruiser towed our submerged boat to shore. I felt good that everyone was safe, but thanks to the unselfish help of four teen-agers. People do take time to care.

THE END

Do you know of an exciting true outdoor tale that happened in Nebraska? Just jot down the incident and send it to: Editor, NEBRASKAland Magazine, State Capitol, Lincoln, Nebraska 68509. 10 NEBRASKAland

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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. NEBRASKAland reserves the right to edit and condense letters.— Editor.

REAL TAGGER-"While fishing at Merritt Reservoir on July 22, 1968, I caught three rainbow trout and one had a marker in his back. "He was 16% inches long and weighed 2 pounds. The largest of the three fish was 18 inches long and weighed 3 pounds. The third fish was about 15 inches long." — Harry Williams, Hartley, Iowa.

Your rainbow, No. 00335, was tagged at the upper part of Merritt Reservoir near where the Snake River flows in on May 24, 1968. At that time, he was 15.6 inches long and weighed 1.6 pounds. In two months he grew a little over an inch and gained almost 6 1/2 ounces. — Editor.

DELIGHT —"Our son-in-law, Dr. Bruce E. Deal of Palo Alto, has been sharing his NEBRASKAlands with us, and it is a delight to see what a marvelous job you are doing to tell the world about the wonders and beauties of the healthiest state in the Union.

"Following a severe attack of malaria in Oklahoma in 1903, my father, the late Rev. Thomas M. C. Birmingham, brought us to Nebraska in 1905. Here I was to get my health restored, and begin my ministry in 1917 in Melbeta in Scotts Bluff County. Looking eastward I had the inspiring Chimney Rock which seemed to me a Gothic church steeple.

"My wife, the former Minerva Cartwright of Whitney in the Pine Ridge country, insured that we would spend our vacations in that scenic region. Fossils and Indian lore added interest to my hobby of news reporting." —Rev. W. C. Birmingham, Orange, California.

ART LOVER — "Why keep me in suspense? Are you or are you not going to offer that fine portfolio of a mixed bag in the September 1968 issue in suitable-for-framing style for the public?

"All the work is excellent, but Jack Curran's ringneck and turkeys are out of this world. Another first for NEBRASKAland Magazine." —Kip Hinton, Information and Education, USDA Forest Service, Denver, Colorado. Please see offer on page 4. — Editor

BUTTERFLY FAN-"I enjoyed the beautiful pictures of Nebraska butterflies in the September 1968 NEBRASKAland. I have not seen the zebra swallowtail, but we have several tiger swallowtails around the place. They have more blue on the rear wings and not so much black. I often see the blue, too, but why did you omit the king of them all, the monarch, known to everyone?" —Mrs. Roy Beyer, Ithaca.

We omitted the monarch because it is so well known, believing that our readers would like to see some of the more unusual butterflies we have in Nebraska. Butterfly coloration is full of variants and that probably accounts for the difference between your tiger swallowtails and the one pictured. — Editor.

SALES BOOMING-"The sale of the Golden Eagle Passport here in the Mid-Continent Region is running better than ever, at least four times better than on the same day last year. Among the petroleum companies assisting, Phillips Petleum reports better than 11,000 sales on their credit-card plan." —Maurice D. Arnold, Regional Director, Bureau of Outdoor Recreation, Denver, Colo.

PAY ME LATER-"I first saw Nebraska in June 1921. From the mountains and timber of Kentucky I came into the state near Beatrice, thence north to Omaha.

"Wheat, not grown in my home state, was just beginning to ripen and made a panorama never to be forgotten.

"Starting to work at $55 per month in an unfamiliar country is a difficult undertaking. Not so in Nebraska. Good people everywhere, kind, helpful, and trusting. Within a short time, people would come, hand me $5 or $10, and say, Tay me someday when you have regular work.' They fed me when hungry and no money to pay. Times have changed since 1921, but the fine people of Nebraska have not.

"I have lived or worked in nearly every state west of the Mississippi in the intervening years. Somehow when crossing the state line into Nebraska, I have a wholesome feeling that I again am home."-B. F. Wells, Des Moines, Iowa.

12 NEBRASKAland

14 NEBRASKAland

squirrel TALK

Come-hither appeal fails to impress, so Hastings' pair use hot-line approach. Blue River targets get message by Warren Spencer

A CHILL WIND knifed through the Little Blue River Valley as 15-year-old Mike Schuffelbein slid into position beneath a towering cottonwood. He shifted position to scan the branches above and settled back to wait. Thickening clouds cast a late November pall over the valley, but Mike didn't have much time to study the weather as a sharp "squack" sliced through the morning. The youngster slipped his hand into his pocket to pull out a hard-rubber device with a soft-rubber bellows on one end. Cupping the squirrel call in his left hand, he tapped the bellows with the index finger of his right. A soft chatter answered the squacking.

Some 30 feet in the air, a fluttering along the branches betrayed a big fox squirrel. Mike tapped the call again and the buck swung around to find the source. The youth edged his .22 semi-automatic into easy firing position and waited. Inquisitive about his new-found neighbor, the bushytail crept over the limb and began to scan the ground.

Mike's first bullet slapped bark a fraction of an inch from its mark. The squirrel was off in one leap, weaving his way along the maze of branches. Then he stopped to flatten against a branch. This was a mistake — his last one. By then the lead was flying fast and furious as Mike zeroed in on the tiny target. Seconds later, the big buck was kicking his last on the leaves of the valley floor.

That's how things went for two days as father and son, John and Mike Schuffelbein of Hastings, pitted squirrel hunting skills against each other in the woods along the Little Blue River. John, a soft-drink distributor in Hastings, is well known for his squirrel hunting. But this time he was trying a technique that is relatively new to the sport —calling. With the aid of the call, a hunter can often attract bushytails he might otherwise overlook.

As a staff writer for NEBRASKAland, I asked if I could tag along as an unofficial scorekeeper in the father-and-son competition. John agreed, so photographer, Allan Sicks, and I headed for Hastings.

It was cold when we pulled off a secondary road bordering the Little Blue and headed into the underbrush. Near the river, a substantial stand of timber looked worth a try, since it offered plenty of feed for the nut munchers. We planned to move into the woods NOVEMBER, 1968 15  

and sit for a spell, then move up the river if nothing developed.

John cut loose with the call and the sound echoed down the valley, answering itself with each reoccurrence. Here and there, a bird twittered indifference to the sounds, but the squirrels ignored them. John tried again with the same results. After nearly 30 minutes, we decided to move on, thinking we would stumble over a target, but the wood lot was a complete washout. Trudging back to the car, we decided to try a nearby shelterbelt.

John had obtained permission to hunt the belt earlier, so there was no problem there. However, getting the squirrel population to co-operate was another matter. Mike took over the call and was the first to score as he dropped the inquisitive buck that opened this story. Half an hour later, we were skirting a narrow strip of woods when John stopped dead in his tracks. His 12-gauge flashed to his shoulder and with a resounding bang he shredded bark and limb a good foot behind a fleeing bushy tail. John swore his second shot took the little fellow, but if it did, he ended up inside a tree to lick his wounds. The score stood at Mike, one, John, one —maybe.

Two squirrels are pretty slim pickings for a shelterbelt that stretched for nearly four miles. There may have been more, but only the two showed. On the walk back to the car for a swig of hot coffee, John mused that most of the squirrels were probably sitting in the car waiting for us. He wasn't right, but he was close enough.

Mike saw the target first. It was perched in the roots of a fallen tree not 15 feet from our car. Maneuvering into position for a shot, the youngster spewed bark and dirt all over the squirrel as his bullet struck short. John was closing in fast and snapped a shot as the animal blazed up the windfall like a red streak. It was a miss. Mike met the "tree rat" at the other end and reversed the animal's direction with two quick shots. John ended the contest with one right-on shot as the squirrel broke over a hump in the tree. One apiece.

Back at the car, John recalled that several times in the past, he had seen a big fox squirrel in a tree not far from our spot.

"He will probably be there today, but I never had courage to shoot him before. He always seemed too easy. Let's try him," he reflected.

Mike, still playing eagle eye for the group, spotted the bushytail as we passed his favorite tree. Evidently, John was figuring on squirrel stew the easy way. He was out of the car in a flash and hit the ground running. Mr. Squirrel had other ideas, however. He snaked around the tree and sprinted for a hole and safety. Mike took a couple of shots and missed. The shots accomplished one thing, though. They confused the squirrel and chased him back down the tree where John met him with a blast that practically blew him into another hole. The squirrel was unhit. However, he did meet his Waterloo inside the tree. The hole was a dead end and completely visible from the ground. John switched to a .22 pistol and five shells later decked his target to go one up on his son.

After lunch, John, with other commitments for the afternoon, let Mike try his luck alone. The youngster decided the other side of the road we had worked earlier might be a likely place. There wasn't much chance to call there, but he was behind and wanted to catch up. Mike may not have picked the best squirrel country, but he did pick some of the most rugged. We trekked almost five miles up and down hills, over and under fallen logs, and up and down cliffs. No squirrels.

John rejoined us about an hour before sunset. He suggested a timber patch a few miles away. The area frequently harbored squirrels and since our luck wasn't batting too high, we decided to try it.

Parking the car on a ridge, we strung out along the edge and dropped into the little valley one at a time. John took the far side while Allan, Mike, and I made like drivers. There wasn't much sense calling when we were coming in from the top. Two sharp cracks told us John had something going behind the trees, but the absence of any yells told us he wasn't scoring.

Suddenly, Mike opened up with his .22, spacing out rounds at a furry flash streaking through the limbs. One slug connected. The squirrel sagged, leaped again, then wedged himself into a fork. Mike was trying to shoot away the perch as his father hustled up. A quick explanation brought a quicker response as the elder Schuffelbein brought down squirrel and branch with one shot from his 12.

With Mike out of ammunition and the sun deciding to call it a day, we headed for Hastings and some welcome warmth. Plans were made for the next day as we rolled along.

A light cover of snow greeted us the next morning as we headed out. John and I decided to head up the 16 NEBRASKAland river while Mike and Allan worked down toward us. That way there was less chance of infringing on each other's territory. John selected a tree and settled down. A light tap on the call brought a barely discernable tail twitch from above. Another series of squeaks brought a squirrel into view and the Hastings hunter dropped him to widen the lead on his son. John's shot must have spooked the whole area because it was the last chance he had until late in the morning. Allan and Mike reported in, saying they didn't get a shot.

Mike was still confident that we could find squirrels where we were the afternoon before. John agreed and we headed back, using the same technique as before — John and I as one team, Mike and Allan as another.

Several attempts with the call proved fruitless, so we decided to walk. It was one of our wiser decisions. Watching John more than the trees, I saw him stiffen, skip a step, then break into a full run. Jamming on the brakes, he pumped a shot into a tree. A squirrel bit the dust. Since I hadn't seen the first one, I was hardly prepared when my companion swung around the tree and dropped another. The walk to our rendezvous with the others proved uneventful, but John had a good lead on his son, thanks to his double. Mike, however, was hanging tough. He crested a small rise just in time to bag a ground-foraging bushytail. The squirrel never knew what hit him.

Although the mechanical caller hadn't been a world beater, it was partially effective. All of us were confident practice would put squirrels in the stew.

The contest was a disaster for Mike. His brace of squirrels weren't even close to his dad's score, but he wasn't too put out. The fun and companionship generated by two days on the Little Blue were reward enough.

THE END NOVEMBER, 1968 17

Gold Fever

In 1905, Tuckers made a living from Nebraska's placer. Sixty-three years later, Sioux City panners try again. by Harold Jeffrey as told to Peg Jones

TELL SOMEONE there is gold in Nebraska and he's likely to guffaw in your face. In fact, I would probably call a man crazy if he tried to tell me such a thing, but I saw it myself—right outside of Martinsburg in 1905.

People thought it was folly then, too. "Gold," they would say, "sure there's plenty of gold around here," and get back to their plowing. It just didn't impress the adults of my community that brothers Art and Bill Tucker were finding gold on their uncle's farm.

A native Nebraskan, I've lived 61 of my 71 years outside of Martinsburg, 8 miles west of Ponca, and I have firsthand memories of many of the things in the Nebraska history book and many that aren't. It was one of these little-known facts that brought me to the old Tucker place, now owned by Al Book, to watch three Sioux City, Iowa rock hounds in search of gold. Now, the three eager men, kneeling near the small stream, looked as though they had stepped out of my memories of 1905 as I watched them pan for gold. But there was one difference. These goldbugs were panning for the fun of it, while the young men I had known sluiced for precious nuggets to earn beans.

Art and Bill Tucker had been running their sluicing operation for several months in 1905 when my father hitched up the team and asked if I wanted to go see a gold mine. As excited as only an eight-year-old can be, I nodded yes and clambered aboard. Visions of gold bricks pranced through my mind as the wagon jolted along. Gold meant you were rich, you could buy anything in the world with gold-even a lifetime supply of licorice whips. The horses usually clomped along at a pretty good speed, but that day they couldn't get me to the gold mine fast enough.

It took about an hour for my father and me to get to the spot where Art and Bill were sluicing for gold 18 NEBRASKAland

on their Uncle Charlie's farm. I didn't know what sluicing meant, but I was sure it must be something terribly complex that yielded plenty of heavy gold nuggets. I hopped out of the wagon before the last hoof hit the ground and ran to the stream. Big men, but still in their late teens, the Tuckers certainly didn't look like the grizzled old prospectors I had heard about. Their sluicing operation was primitive, nothing more than a wooden flume tilted at a slightly downward angle. The bottom of the crude flume was corrugated and reminded me of house shutters. Bill would shovel gravel from the bed of the stream onto the top of the flume, then Art would release a little water from the rough-hewn dam they had constructed. The water would rush down the box, flushing gravel out and hopefully, leaving gold stuck in the flume's vents.

I watched the operation anxiously, looking closely for some glitter that would indicate gold. The Tuckers continued this process, never unearthing the nuggets I expected, but they did scrape around in the vents and find a few flakes of dull gold. Bill removed a small medicine bottle from his pocket and flicked the few specks into it. I looked at the half-filled bottle and shook my head in amazement. It sure as heck wasn't gold bricks, but it was GOLD right in Dixon County.

My father was not overly impressed with the amount, but he did shake his head with understanding when the Tuckers told him that it was enough to pay their wages, which wasn't much in those days. In fact, it took only 140 grains or about a third of an ounce to pay both of the young men the going wage of $2.70 for a 10-hour day. We climbed back in the wagon to start the slow trek home, leaving the Tuckers to continue their gleaning.

Within a year, the Tuckers gave up the project and sought more profitable (Continued on page 53)

NOVEMBER, 1968 19

HORSES, HORSES, HORSES

Mares, stallions, and colts of all kinds abound in Nebraska by Lana Jacobs

NO MAN LIVING can remember Nebraska untouched by horses because those days are almost beyond the reckoning of time. The vast plains of the American West were not meant to remain horseless, for with the coming of the Spanish to the New World in the Sixteenth Century came the horse. And soon, the Indian realized that here was mobility far beyond anything he had ever known. Through theft from careless soldiers, capture of strays, and the trapping of feral horses, the Indian acquired a new and important asset to his way of life. By 1750, most of the western tribes advanced to a new life on horseback.

Before long the Indian became the greatest horseman of all time. He could mount or dismount with his steed on a dead run, and he early learned the knack of slipping down on the horse's far side, so that no more than his heel was exposed to his enemy's arrow. Through indiscriminate breeding the western horse became a hardy and colorful part of the prairies. Before the white man came in ever-increasing numbers, the red man and his NEBRASKAland

  paint pony were a proud and unbeatable team.

By the early 1800's, an estimated two million alert and sinewy horses ran wild across the prairies. The "manada", a mustang stallion and his harem of mares, ruled the range and became a distinguished part of the legends of the West.

But the mustang's individual glory did not last. Soon the Easterner plodded West to tame both range and horses. Mated to the animals of the east, the mustang transferred his ancient lineages of Arabia, the Barbary Coast and Andalusia, and the gift of survival to the offspring of this new union. From these two diverse strains came the bronco—the arrogant beast that helped turn the prairie into cattle country. Bronco-busting became a cowboy necessity, and with the ever-growing demand for horses, the wild herds quickly dribbled away.

While the horse was both servant and companion to the cowboy, he was even more important to the pioneer. For a century—1730 to 1830 —Conestoga wagons and a new breed of horse with the same name provided transportation to and from the West. Horse-drawn stages, buggies, and wagons were the modes of transportation, communication, and entertainment.

Draft animals became field workers and road builders. A horse known as "Blind Tom" was reputed to have hauled every rail the Union Pacific laid during the race from Omaha to Promontory. Besides the broncs of the cattleman and cowboy, horses played a key role in the success of the short-lived Pony Express. More than one rider owed his life to the stamina and speed of his wiry mount.

The Civil War created a tremendous demand for and a tremendous wastage of horses. By the spring of 1865, army buyers offered as much as $170 each for sound cavalry and artillery animals. Indian and range wars took their toll, too.

NOVEMBER, 1968  

But once peace was restored, the equines made a great comeback and by the turn of the century practically everyone relied on horsepower. From 1900 to 1910, the national horse population increased by 70 per cent, from 13 million to 23 million animals. But a new threat was on the horizon. The internal combustion engine was soon to wipe out jobs for millions of horses. Populations declined rapidly for a time, then stabilized, and began a slow increase.

In spite of today's automation, Nebraska still remains a very horse-minded state. In 1959, last year that a horse census was taken, Nebraska had 68,281 horses and mules. Horse fanciers are certain the number has substantially increased since then. Here, the need for work animals has changed to the desire for pleasure mounts, though a few farmers and ranchers still use the horse for work. The stolid workers of half a century past have given way to the racer, the pleasure mount, and the show steed.

Through generations of intensive selective breeding, the thoroughbred has become a complex machine designed to run at top speed. This high-strung speedster thrills nearly one million spectators each season in NEBRASKAland and nets over $2% million in purses, to say nothing of his contribution to the tax coffers of the state. Racers of M. H. Van Berg of Columbus, Nebraska, won more races and money in 1967 than any other stable in the United States.

The quarter horse is a born racer, but he is more even-tempered than the thoroughbred. With the muscles of a weight lifter and well-placed short legs, he is bred to run short distances (the quarter mile) at fast speeds. A sturdy mount that can unwind like lightning, he also stands unexcelled as a cow horse for fast-paced ranch work and rodeos.

Many horse shows in the state give owners an opportunity to show the results of months of training. One of the mainstays of the show circuits is the American Saddle Horse. This saddler carries his small head high and proud on a long neck that arches up gracefully from close-knit shoulders. Three-gaited and five-gaited animals present poise and alertness in every nerve and muscle.

NEBRASKAland    

Closely related to the American Saddle Horse, but considered a separate breed is the Tennessee Walking Horse famous for his smooth gait. This breed is a favorite of women and children because the usual jolting ride is eliminated by the light springiness of his legs.

Because they are judged strictly on performance, any suitable breed or combination of breeds may be jumpers or hunters. Jumpers must score the fewest faults after circling a course with jumps similar to those found during a fox hunt. A good hunter must give a safe and steady ride while facing obstacles and distractions normally encountered during a hunt.

Unexcelled as a saddle horse, the pure Arabian remains unchanged from his ancestors of a thousand years ago. A pure Arabian is distinguished by deep, wide jaws, delicate nostrils, and an aristocratic profile.

One of the most versatile of breeds is the Morgan, descendant of a dark-bay stallion named Justin Morgan. His distinguishing characteristics are a smooth, precisioned trot, naturally animated knee actions, and well-knit strength. Blessed with this combination, the Morgan is a great saddle, ranch, drill, or posse horse.

The broad-backed draft horse, much greater in strength and size, once handled monumental work loads. Today, this one-ton animal finds glory in parades, where huge Clydesdales and Belgians delight viewers in a big way.

Other parade favorites come in varied colors. Glinting palominos show coats the color of newly minted gold coins. White-rumped Appaloosas shine true to their colorful American Indian heritage. Indian paint pintos display sharply defined spots on a darker body.

The western horse endears himself to all because he is all things to all people. His breed and antecedents are often questionable, but no one faults him for that. Like man, he is a mixture.

THE END NOVEMBER, 1968

MOBY DICK OF DE SOTO BEND

Man and monster meet in an epic fray when Howard Morris hooks "snag by Bob Snow

AS THE ALUMINUM boat bucked the brisk, early spring wind, Howard Morris was content with fishing at De Soto Bend National Wildlife Refuge near Blair, Nebraska. It was now 12:30 p.m., and in less than 3 hours of trolling, he and his wife, Edna, had boated 30 crappie and 2 largemouths. Few anglers could ask for anything more and most would settle for considerably less.

With a pushy wind bullying the boat, Howard tightly clutched the steering handle as the craft putted toward several old pilings. Suddenly, a gust of wind shoved the 14-foot boat sideways, the lines went slack, and the minnow-baited No. 4 crappie hooks settled on the bottom. Automatically, the Des Moines, Iowa, angler gunned the six-horse outboard to swing the boat back into position. Howard's light bass rod took a slow and deliberate bow as its six-pound-test line straightened out.

"Must be a snag," the silver-haired man mumbled to his wife as he threw the motor into neutral.

Picking up the rod, he tugged once, then twice. His line was hooked solidly, and the dejected fisherman weighed the merits of breaking off or saving the terminal gear by maneuvering toward the snag. Suddenly, the snag swam away.

"Snags don't move, do they?" the surprised sportsman queried his wife as he looked at his arcing rod.

With the drag set loose, line was sizzling off the open-face reel faster than dollar dresses disappearing at a ladies-day-only sale. Howard applied rod pressure, stretching the monofilament to its limit, but De Soto Bend's Moby Dick swam on, apparently unaware of his fragile attachment to the upper world. As the fish peeled off more and more line, the angler threw the boat into gear. Holding the rod in his right hand and steering with his left, he followed the monofilament as it zigzagged through the water.

Edna had always been the crew and Howard the captain on past fishing trips, so she lacked boating know-how. As she watched her husband battle the wind, the lunker, and the boat, her only contribution to the fight were words of encouragement. Both had agreed that now was hardly the time to learn the fine points of boating. One small mistake might cost them the fish.

Howard knew that chances of landing his catch without experienced help were practically nil, but he made up his mind to stick with the fish long enough to raise him for a quick peek. As the fish bulled his way through the murky water, and Howard strained to checkmate each frenzied outburst, questions raced through his mind. What kind of fish was on the other end and how big? Where was he hooked and would the barb hold? Could the rod stand up under the constant pressure or would the six-pound-test line snap? More important, would he tire out the fish or would the monster tire him out?

Howard had fought the fish for nearly 30 minutes and his arms and wrists were feeling the strain. The lunker, on the other hand, was peppy and still staying deep. A fishermen's fisherman, Howard has cast lures all over the United States including some deep-sea fishing. But even as he mustered all the fishing knowledge he had built up over the years, the Iowan knew that De Soto Bend's Moby Dick was a lunker to end lunkers. Howard's hidden foe had the brute strength of an elephant and the determination of a migrating mallard. All his skill as an angler was being tested by this one lone fish, and he wasn't too sure he was ready for this reckoning.

As the boat cruised up the lake and back at speeds from trolling to wide open to keep up with the now runnine, now sulking (Continued on page 56)

WESTERNER OF ALL SEASONS

Few men ever become a legend in their own lifetime as did Nebraska's James H. Cook by Jean Williams

NEAR THE WATERS of the rippling Niobrara River in western Sioux County, Nebraska, stands a grove of giant cottonwoods, and within that grove, a house. Inside this two-story, white frame abode with its porticos and veranda lived a man who was both friend and host to his fellowman for over 50 years.

He knew and understood Indians better than many in his time. In conflict with them, he acquired none of the animosity so common to those who fought the red man. Instead he showed compassion and fellow peling for them. In time, both Sioux and Cheyenne ame to regard him as their fiercest, yet closest friend.

Although he was attached as a scout to the Army, Bluecoat compadres gave him the honorary title of captain. To professors from leading universities in the United States, he was regarded more as colleague than amateur in the field of paleontology. Cattleman, Kin-kaider, and horse thief were welcome at his table,

In 1960, 18 years after his death, Captain James H. Cook of Agate Springs Ranch, Nebraska, was recogzed for his contributions to the development of the West on being inducted posthumously into The Great Westerners Hall at the National Cowboy Fame and Heritage Center in Oklahoma City.

If the spirit of this man does move among the cottonwoods as rumor has it, then White Hat, so called by his Sioux friends, most likely gave a rousing whoop and holler when he learned that his dream of many years was well on its way toward becoming reality in May 1965. Land containing the fabulous deposit of fossils he came upon and identified in 1886 was officially designated by the 88th Congress as the Agate Fossil Beds National Monument.

Cook knew whom to notify concerning this find, and how best it was to be utilized for the good of his fellowman. Through his courtesy and hospitality to authorities in the field of geology and paleontology, this deposit was recognized for its true worth. All these experts were given equal opportunity to share in this treasure trove and to remove specimens from it to their respective schools. The goodwill that Cook built with these men and the publicity which resulted from the excavating brought world-wide focus to Agate Springs.

Until his death, the captain had hope that one day laymen could visit the quarries in their natural state while at the same time paleontologists would be working to uncover more of these fossils from its hills. Although his son, Harold Cook, and daughter-in-law, Margaret Crozier Cook, worked to make this dream materialize, the first, so identified, and the most spectacular Tertiary fossil quarry in North America, would not be now a national monument had it not been for James H. Cook himself.

Had not this "mite from Michigan", as he sometimes called himself, inherited both a sense of adventure and a continuing desire for knowledge from his grandfather, the famed British explorer, Captain Cook, who discovered Hawaii in 1778, the West would have been minus one of its greats.

Two years after his birth in Kalamazoo, Michigan, on August 26,1857, Cook's father, also a ship's captain, put him in a foster home after the boy's mother died. The captain recalled in his book, Fifty Years On The Old Frontier, that this family was responsible for his moral and spiritual guidance.

Travelers visiting his foster parents brought wonderful tales of western lands and wide open spaces which sparked young James's desire to hie to the country of big game, longhorns, cowboys, and Indians.

At 16, Cook with a young friend left Michigan for Kansas to "get broke into the cattle business". A stay at Fort Harker merely whetted his taste for cowboying. Deciding to go south to Texas longhorn country, the youngster parted with his friend who preferred to stay in Kansas.

Arriving in San Antonio, Cook saw the Alamo, met famed Bigfoot Wallace, who not only filled his ears with truths and big windys, but grew to like James so well he gave him a fine colt. In this wild and wide open town the aspiring cowboy met one of old John Slaughter's foremen who promised to take him to the cattle baron's ranch headquarters after he had had his fill of "red-eye and Spanish monte".

Slaughter, whom Cook mistook for a Mexican, hired him upon arrival. Soon Cook was learning to throw a lasso, lullaby a herd, and had his first brush with Indians —the Comanche.

Because Cook proved to Slaughter that he could "shoot the eye out of a squirrel and lasso a cow", Old John let him sign on to trail longhorns to Kansas. He found the trail-end towns of Kansas lively, and the buffalo hunters, freighters, trail-dry cowboys, and tough women fascinating.

"Everybody except the clergy either packed a gun or two, or kept them in close reach. All disputes of any importance just had to be settled with a gun or knife. A man or two for breakfast was not considered an uncommon event," Cook said later.

The next year found the now trail-hardened cowboy at the end of the cattle trail in Ogallala. Cook arrived in Nebraska confident that life had much to offer.

While trailing he met outlaw "Doc" Middleton and became acquainted with "Jim Murry", who later retook NOVEMBER, 1968 33   his real name of Jim Dahlman. In time, Dahlman became the famed cowboy mayor of Omaha. Here, too, Cook had a head-on introduction to Captain Frank North, late of the Pawnee Scouts. North was buying cattle to stock the Dismal River Ranch that he and Buffalo Bill Cody owned when Cook's wayward mount crashed into North's horse. The collision caused the veteran soldier to lose his seat and land sprawling on the ground. Later, Frank North and his brother, Luther, visited Agate Springs and both men spent hours talking to Cook about the Indians.

In later years Dahlman and Cook played numerous pranks on each other. Once the mayor of Omaha was visiting in Crawford, so he with a passel of old cowboy friends staged a midnight holdup at Cook's ranch. The captain took it in good humor, but deflated his "guests" by welcoming them with coffee instead of gunfire.

Although Captain Cook did not regard Doc Middleton as a good cowboy, he liked him. After Doc had served his sentence at the penitentiary in Lincoln, and had a saloon in Ardmore, South Dakota, he came to visit Cook. His host was so gracious and Doc was so proud of being treated as an honored guest that the once-notorious outlaw cut a lock of his long hair, put it in brown wrapping paper with a note addressed to Cook, and presented it to him when he left.

The captain took a holiday from cattle trailing in 1875, when he left Ogallala and headed west to Fort Laramie, Wyoming. Here, he met Baptiste "Little Bat" Gamier, a part French, part Sioux scout for the army who immediately accepted him. Shortly thereafter, Cook accompanied Gamier to the Red Cloud Agency, then situated near the present town of Crawford, Nebraska. During their journey over ground covered with needle and thread, buffalo grass, and bluestem, unmarked by other than wagon ruts or hoofprints, Little Bat taught Cook how to talk in "sign" and Sioux so that he could communicate with Chief Red Cloud of the Oglala when they reached their destination.

Like Little Bat, Red Cloud also extended his friendship to young Cook. While at the agency, Cook met his first "bone man", Professor O. C. Marsh of the Smithsonian Institution and Yale University, who arrived with an escort from Fort Laramie. The professor was seeking fossil bones and came to get Red Cloud's permission to explore the Oglala lands for this purpose.

Red Cloud, thinking that the professor was another white man seeking "yellow lead", refused to grant Marsh's request. During this time, Cook had met Marsh, and in course of conversation learned the reason for his visit to the agency. Realizing how important this permission was to Marsh, Cook went to the chief and explained that the professor was looking for "stone bones" like the one he wore as an amulet.

Red Cloud understood and gave his permission. As a result of James Cook clarifying the purpose of Marsh's visit, he cemented a friendship between Red Cloud and the white professor. Red Cloud confided to Marsh some of the problems he was having with the government concerning his people. Marsh became so concerned that he in turn took Red Cloud east with him so that this headman of the Oglala could discuss the problems with the Great White Father in Washington. Red Cloud and the professor never forgot that young Cook brought about their friendship.

While in Cheyenne in 1879, James Cook met two other men who would also play an important part in his life —Wild Horse Charley Alexander and Dr. E. B. Graham. Wild Horse Charley talked him into turning hunter, and Dr. Graham introduced him to his daughter, Kate. Cook hunted and (Continued on page 51)

34 NEBRASKAland NOVEMBER, 1968 35

THE GREAT "WOLF" HUNT

Outdoor epic turns to slapstick when capricious critter makes a movie scene more than wild by Dr. John P. Merritt

EVERY TIME I see a coyote, I remember one that outsmarted 16 greyhounds, a rancher and his 5 sons, and completely discombobulated a movie-making outfit. Besides making fools out of those directly concerned, this four-legged Machiavelli surprised half a town, spooked a team of mules into a burst of unaccustomed speed, and rubbed salt into wounded prides by emitting a lilting howl that sounded too much like a laugh.

Back around 1907 or '08, a motion picture company made a deal with Gib Kendal of Tekamah, Nebraska, to film a "wolf hunt". The outfit planned to use Gib's hounds and a half-tame coyote he had around the ranch. Gib had 5 sons and 16 greyhounds, and he often remarked somewhat facetiously that their IQ's were about the same, but the hounds could run faster.

The Kendal boys and their father often hunted coyotes with the hounds, and Gib had recently added two sleek greyhounds to his pack. He planned to star these two new dogs in the wolf hunt. One hound was brindle color and marked somewhat like a tiger, so Gib named him Tiger. The other was long and sleek and bluish-gray. One of Gib's boys said the hound could run like a blue streak. Gib couldn't think of a better name, so Blue Streak it was.

This moving picture bunch was on the lookout for the unusual, so it brought its equipment to the Kendal ranch and prepared to film a real honest-to-celluloid wolf hunt. The crew of producers, machine operators, film men, cameramen, technicians, and six extras made quite a showing. After arriving at the Kendal ranch about 9 a.m., they started shooting. They "shot" the 16 hounds in a group, posed Gib and his 5 sons, and ran some footage of Mrs. Kendal feeding Tiger and Blue Streak. They tried to get some pictures of the coyote, but he was a bit on the temperamental side and didn't take kindly to stardom. He seemed to know that something ominous and foreboding was about to happen. It was only after great difficulty that suitable pictures were made of him.

Gib had his boys hitch a span of excitable mules to a low truck wagon with wide, iron wheels. One of the sons held the skittish mules while Gib dragged the luckless coyote from under the chicken house-the animal's favorite resting place-tied a half hitch in the varment's chain, and unceremoniously threw him in the wagon where he was secured to the seat. The rancher then brought up his famous greyhounds, Tiger and Blue Streak, and tied them to the endgate. Mrs. Kendal climbed up to the wagon seat and Gib handed her his shotgun. He settled himself beside his wife, accepted the reins from his son, and started for the northwest corner of the Nelse-Morris ranch where the pasture was short. Gib's five sons followed on horseback, and behind them came the picture people and their equipment.

About half of Tekamah came to see the filming of the epic. It was a festive occasion and the sports in 36 NEBRASKAland the crowd were laying bets on how long it would take Blue Streak and Tiger to do the coyote in. The plan was to let the "wolf" out of the wagon, give him a suitable start, and then release the hounds. The cameras would follow the chase and then close in for the thrilling climax of coyote versus dogs. When the outfit reached a selected spot, Gib made a suitable speech extolling the virtues of his hounds, handed the reins to a convenient son, reached into the wagon bed, and dragged the dismayed and dissenting coyote over the side.

The cameramen gave the O.K. sign, the extras were ready, and as the cameras started whirring, Gib released the coyote. Dumbfounded at his sudden freedom, the animal ran 50 yards, sat down, and nonchalantly scratched the back of his neck with his hind leg. The extras were champing at the bits waiting for the director's "roll 'em!"

Everything was all set for a thrilling sequence, but the coyote just yawned. Gib was practically in a lather

"I'll sting that varment with some buckshot. That'll get him going!" he yelped, reaching for the shotgun.

He fired, and hell let out for noon.

The scandalized mules jerked the reins out of the younger Kendal's hands, and with ears laid back headed for a far country. They ran as though Old Nick himself was prodding their breechings with a red-hot pitchfork. Tiger and Blue Streak, still tied to the endgate, had to keep up or strangle as the rig became a dwindle in the distance.

Suddenly, the producer felt a sharp pain in the pocketbook as he surveyed the developing chaos. His precious film would remain forever unsullied by the great wolf hunt. The director turned apoplectic purple and rued the day he entered such a frustrating business, while the townspeople had hysterics as the expected drama dissolved into slapstick. All the young Kendals learned some lurid additions to their vocabularies, and the extras stood around wondering if they were going to get paid for the day's fiasco. Gib and Mrs. Gib's reactions were not recorded and perhaps it's just as well.

Friend coyote loped a few yards and resat. He surveyed the commotion with the air of one who finds his handiwork good, pointed his nose to the sun, sneezed a sneeze of satisfaction, and ambled toward the river.

That night after everything was sort of sorted out, the Kendals heard a coyote's long, drawn-out howl. A howl that sounded suspiciously like a laugh. THE END

Colorful World of fish and game management

The unusual is commonplace for biologists whose job is to ramrod this state's wildlife population Photography by Lou Ell, Richard Voges, Steve Kohler

WHEN A MAN'S profession is wildlife management almost anything can happen. Ask Bill Bailey: he was once undressed by a 40-pound fawn. Bill was attempting to crate the deer for transferring and instead of tranquilizing the animal he decided to pick him up without the drug. All went well until the biologist had the fawn cradled in his arms. The animal exploded in a series of wild kicks, ripping Bill's pants from pocket to cuff on the first thrust. The next kick split the game handler's shorts.

But the unusual is commonplace in the colorful world of fish and game management. To most, the 77.000 square  

miles called Nebraska means cities, patchquilt farmlands, and rolling cattle country. But to the biologists of the Nebraska Game Commission, this gigantic piece of real estate is a Febold Feboldson-size ranch. Within its imaginary boundary fence roam nearly 75,000 big-game animals, 7 million upland game birds, 2 million waterfowl, and 9 million head of small game. Add to this 11,000 miles of streams, more than 3,300 lakes, 42,000 farm ponds, and a fish population in the billions, and the job of ramrodding the spread means several thousand man-hours of work each year.

Some men are scientifically attempting to conquer the moon, but the game biologist grapples with a galaxy of problems relative to the here and now. The game handler slips into this often secluded world of animal and fowl with no less than a college degree, but his true training comes from experience in the field. From the pine-needle carpets of the Wildcat Hills to the grim-visaged bluffs of the Missouri River, the biologist, in partnership with nature, foresees and oversees his immense herd of wild stock with a total disregard for normal working hours or conditions. His reward for overtime is seeing a mother turkey teach her young to catch bugs, a prairie chicken dancing for a lady friend, or a hen mallard squiring her ducklings across a marshy pond.

On clear, cloudy, snowy, or rainy days he roams far afield spot-checking game. Even after September's amber sun closes its eyes for the night, a state-licensed car bumps over the pasturelands. A four-point white-tailed buck, momentarily hypnotized by the white-eyed monster, recovers to scamper over a hill as the driver records another sighting. From late-night counts on deer, to early-morning whistle* counts of quail, to miles-long walks over look-alike ridges of the Sand Hills spotting grouse, game men watch over Nebraska's born-free wildlife with the patience and persistence equaling that of any Hereford-rich rancher. When work in the field is complete, biologists take their findings into the office and after long hours of figuring and refiguring 41   they arrive at what is an accurate census of the game populations in Nebraska.

But game biologists don't have a monopoly on odd-hour work. As thunderheads, oared by far-off streaks of lightning, glide across the prairie, the roar of a small generator quiets the ominous voice of the night sky. As spotlights illuminate the waters ahead, two fisheries biologists plunge long-handled nets into the water collecting fish stunned by a harmless electric shock. After the size and species of a fish is recorded, he is released unharmed. Because of this effort and other management methods, the old adage that fishing is as effective as baiting corn on a hook, throwing it into a 300-acre field, and waiting for a bird to pick it up, is only partially true in Nebraska.

A fisheries biologist handles more fish in one month than most anglers see in a lifetime, and what he finds beneath the blue waters of the state's impoundments would surprise many. Buffalo, walleye, and other large fish have been taken in Game Commission nets that far outstrip present state records. After data on these finny monsters is recorded, they are released with the hope that one day they will provide some sportsman with a once-in-a-lifetime thrill. These people have netted fish with lures hanging from their mouths, lips scarred from past battles, and weights in their stomachs.

Although man has co-existed with wildlife since the beginning of time, he is just now starting to understand the relationship between himself and the wild kingdom. At best, fish and game management is an experiment in hope —hope that native and nonnative species will continue to thrive in Nebraska. Wildlife research is a relatively new science, but it is preserving our wildlife heritage.

There is only one way to measure success in wildlife management. The job is well done if it provides a maximum amount of pleasure to the outdoorsman and still protects the future of the resource. The men and women of the Nebraska Game Commission, charged with managing the state's wildlife, are dedicated to that goal.

THE END 42

FLOAT YOUR OWN STICK

Each state special-use area has its own appeal. One could be your bit of Eden by Charles Davidson

TODAY'S YOUTH are saying, "Do your own Thing'," meaning that everyone should be independent in thought and action. The philosophy isn't new, for even the mountain men who crossed Nebraska a long time ago had a similar expression for their philosophy. It was "float your own stick".

Among state agencies concerned with accommodating public wants, however, this freedom to do one's own thing causes headaches. The Nebraska Game and Parks Commission is aware that public tastes and interests vary widely and is working hard to meet these diverse desires. Many residents and visitors have a thing about Nebraska's state parks, but parks may not appeal to all. For them, special-use areas, administered by the Commission's Land Management Division, may be their "bag".

Although some of Nebraska's 63 special-use areas are well developed and well utilized, others are perfect "get-away-from-it-all" spots for those who enjoy roughing it. Still others offer only hunting or fishing, with little or no public-use facilities.

Unfortunately, few take advantage of such delightful out-of-the-way places like Basswood Ridge and Schlagel Creek Special Use Areas. In fact, most areas receive unbelievably little pressure. Some people may refrain from visiting them, believing they are refuges. They are not.

A definition of a special-use area is not easy, for it does not fit into any one classification. They may be public-hunt areas, controlled-hunt areas, fishing-access areas, or multiple-use areas allowing fishing, hunting, camping, sight-seeing, bird watching, or other activities.

Generally, Nebraska's public-use areas are divided into five classifications: state recreation areas, state parks, state historical parks, state wayside areas, and the state special-use areas. The special-use areas, which didn't come into being until 1959, already comprise more acreage than any other single category. Perhaps, they can best be described as land-and-water spots set aside primarily for fishing, hunting, or wildlife management. There are exceptions, for a few border on recreation areas.

Limited public-use facilities are provided at these sites and most are open to campers. Special-use areas differ from the recreation areas and state parks in that they lack many of the facilities found in the other classifications.

Financing also differs. Special-use areas are supported from the game-and-fish fund plus federal aid 44 NEBRASKAland whereas parks and recreation areas are financed by state appropriations and some federal funds. Important consideration is given to public hunting and fishing, and except for a few refuges at certain periods, most special-use areas are managed to this end. Four water-fowl-management units, which double as sanctuaries during migrations, are included in the special-use category.

Size is not a factor in designating special-use spots. They can range from less than 4 acres, as with Blue Bluffs Special Use Area near Milford, to the 3,659-acre Ponderosa in the Pine Ridge. Though not a qualification, nearly all are located around reservoirs, or have natural lakes, streams, or man-made lakes.

Among Nebraska's more spectacular special-use areas are the Gilbert-Baker, Peterson, Metcalf, and Ponderosa in the Pine Ridge. These tracts are carefully managed, but the trick has been to let the developments blend in. Once away from the access-parking areas it is hard for the casual observer to recognize any management practices at all, but they are present.

The first concern in managing these areas is providing the sportsman a quality hunt. One way this is accomplished is by planting trees, shrubs, and food plots throughout the areas to attract and concentrate more game. Another is plowing up small plots and allowing the natural succession of weeds to come back. In the Pine Ridge areas, trees for the production of mast, specifically for turkey utilization, have been planted. Until such plantings in the Ridge reach the stage of utilization, grain-type food plots, especially oats for turkeys, have been planted to negate the present mast shortage. Food plots of tame sunflowers have been most successful for deer.

Surveys, including turkey-crop analysis to determine food-plot utilization, flora-and-browse surveys to estimate present carrying capacity of the land, and pellet-group counts are used to determine numbers and usage. Random game observation and deer and turkey trapping and tagging are also used to determine the needs for and evaluate management practices.

Other surveys help determine hunter use and harvest. Hunter manipulation is an important part of management. For example, to achieve a better quality hunt, hunters on most areas enter only at specific locations. Closing off a road in the Ponderosa Special Use Area during the spring turkey season resulted in toms being taken very close to the trail.

Many management techniques applied to special-use areas (Continued on page 50)

NOVEMBER, 1968 45

HIDDEN PARADISE

If the simple pleasures are your wish, this spot on a tranquil creek might be just what you want by Judy Koepke

WHEN OLD MAN WINTER drops in for what seems to be an interminable stay, special vacation daydreams can brighten your spirits during his dreary visit. A favorite feature in your get-away-from-it-all yearnings could be Hidden Paradise, a little bit of Eden tucked away near Long Pine in the ravines of the Pine Creek Valley in north-central Nebraska. This summer retreat, which soon may be deep in the clutches of winter, is one of NEBRASKAland's many dream spots that spice snow-season leisure with anticipation of green trees, canyons, sun, water, fish, and fun.

In your mind's eye, imagine droning along U.S. Highway 20 through the rolling dunes of the vast and seemingly endless Sand Hills where trees are miles apart. As you round the curve on the blacktop road near Long Pine, catch your breath at the startling steep hills, black-green with the long-needled ponderosas that stud the valley. Highway 20 skirts north of the friendly town, so follow the paved access road into Long Pine, then take the main street south for a half mile, turn west at the painted sign, and drive the twisting gravel road until it drops into a dream nook, hidden below almost-sheer walls of crumbly, yellow, magnesia rock.

This steep road leads down to playtime pleasure that lasts from mid-May to around Labor Day. Disorganization is the resort's unique attraction. You can do what you want when you want. Tensions of the workaday world float away while you forget everything except the refreshing joy of the moment.

Hidden Paradise boasts about its Pine Creek water fun. Little kids, big kids, mom and dad, grandma and grandpa, everybody has a ball in this brook. If the usual water-safety precautions are followed, Pine Creek is shallow and safe enough for small children to have the time of their lives, yet capable of providing plenty of thrills for the hardier members of your vacation crew. The shallow creek runs right along and even tumbles through a miniature rapids across from the resort office and restaurant. Clad in sneakers and an old swimsuit or tacky shirt and shorts, you can lead the life of Reilly casting from the bank for brown and rainbow trout or just splashing through the creek.

Pine Creek starts as a tiny trickle from underground springs high in the hills. It meanders through rugged and untrampled terrain for 18 miles to the Niobrara River. About one mile of this relaxing stream curves and winds through Hidden Paradise. Although you must clamber around a few fences and tree limbs you can wander as far as you want to go. The legendary Seven Springs, located on a spot of spongy ground above the park, supplement Pine Creek's endless water supply.

These springs keep the water in the lower 60's year-round. A ribbon of steam in the wintertime, Pine Creek is just a bit cool contrasted with summer's heat. But it takes only moments to adjust, and as soon as you get wrapped up in the fun, you forget the chill. Bath time is no problem for mom at this summer retreat. She can just send the kids out to puddle through the creek and swish the dirt away.

A new world of nature unfolds before your eyes as you laze around the trout stream. Butterflies flit by in graceful flight patterns, and spider webs lace the under-parts of the more-than-a-dozen footbridges in the park. Squirrels explore the trees, while polliwogs fill every spring and early-summer pondlet. Watercress twines through the water, while sumac, wild grapes, and chokecherry bushes line the banks. So do pretty little NOVEMBER, 1968 47   touch-me-nots whose ripe pods burst open and scatter seeds when touched. Sounds of civilization are far away, except for an occasional car rumbling over one mw bnd?eS ^commodating this invader of the wild. Wrens sing like their throats are bursting, and attentive ears and eyes can pick out brown thrushes, robins, cardinals, downy woodpeckers, bluejays flickers and several varieties of finches. Last summer, a college teacher claimed she saw a pair of indigo buntings and was quite excited about it for Nebraska is not their territory. The wind whispers, whistles, and howls through the pines and cedars depending upon the season.

4 tr-5? Ca£ kee£ your C001 and have a ^od time, too, at Hidden Paradise. If a few hands of bridge sound NEBRASKAland like your afternoon cup of tea, set up your card table and chairs in the creek, don your swimsuit, and play away while you tan. Or you can set up archery targets on a sheer wall of the canyon. Hidden Paradise guests can play golf free at the Bassett Country Club grass greens. If you want another touch of civilization, a drive-in theater is about a mile and a half east of Long Pine on Highway 20.

Hidden Paradise is a favorite spot for annual outings. End-of-school picnics are often held there, too. The youngsters congregate in the dance pavillion and build their weiner-roast fires in holes they dig out in the sandy parking lot.

The younger members of the family never lack companionship on a Hidden Paradise vacation. Young people from Long Pine bring their horses down and give rides to the resort's young visitors. Around 25 children meet and mix daily in the park throughout the summer. When the smaller ones want an interlude of dry-land fun, there's a seesaw with tractor seats. When the older ones want a break from hiking through the beautiful canyon country, or from the water fun, there's a jukebox, pinball machine, and pop machine in the dance pavillion. Name-band dances on Sunday and sometimes Saturday nights attract teens for miles

The resort facilities, owned by Roland Miller of O'Neill and managed by Charlene and Brad Mumby of Exeter and their teen-age son, Ken, has 14 cabins and 7 motel units. Most of the cabins sleep six and come with dishes, pans, toaster, coffeepot, and bedding. Every evening the restaurant serves steaks, chicken, and seafood. Special party menus are available, too. The main dining room can accommodate about 125 and the bottle club 80. The party room, popular with many businesses and groups in the area, can handle 90.

About 40 privately-owned cabins are just a step from the creek or are built into the hillsides. Hidden Paradise is a mecca for some of the families who have come there every summer for as long as three generations. Most of the cabins are well-kept, modern, and each has its own exclusive personality. One is shaped like a little red barn.

One family likes Hidden Paradise so well, they stay all year. Mr. and Mrs. H. C. "Hank" Henning are spending their fourth winter there. They claim weather is not a problem. With a back access road to the park, they usually can get out one way or another. The Hennings keep a bird feeder filled with suet and a salt block beside a pan filled with horse feed. For the last three years, after most of the people have left the park, the same doe has brought a pair of twin fawns to feed there.

"She's not afraid of us," Mrs. Henning said. "She stays at the feeder when we come out."

The resort at Hidden Paradise started as an amusement park sometime around 1910. Paths down into the canyon were so steep cars couldn't go down, so they parked at the top of the hill and everyone walked into the park. It boasted a now-a-memory swimming pool complete with plunge. The first dance hall was only a wooden floor with no roof, and water had to be swept off after every rain. When it burned, a new dance hall was built. As the years went by, additions made the resort the unusual vacation spot it is today.

Winter-long dreams of warm-weather fun will shorten the cold season by leaps and bounds, and almost before you know it, it will be time to load up the car and head west or east or north or south to Hidden Paradise for that vacation you'll remember. THE END

NOVEMBER, 1968 49

FLOAT YOUR OWN STICK

(Continued from page 45)

are dull and procedural, but some are exciting. Using ammonium-nitrate blasting to increase the flow of natural springs and create surface water for wildlife is one. If the blaster isn't fast afoot, flying rock and clods raining from the sky can be his undoing. This technique, though still experimental, has been used successfully in localities with high water tables, on a couple of the Pine Ridge special-use areas for turkey, and on Ballards Marsh to create waterfowl-breeding potholes. Blasting is also used to create water holes which are supplied by windmills and lined with polyethylene to stop seepage. These are always located next to escape cover.

Often, these intensely-managed acreages make perfect test plots. For example, on the Ponderosa area, some experimental turkey-nesting sites have been made by cutting down pines. Success is yet to be evaluated.

Modern management is another name for hard work. A manager has to maintain buildings and signs, establish boundaries, repair access roads, control noxious weeds and introduce new flora, help hunters, and apply soil-and-water-conservation techniques to his area.

Management practices on the more than 70,000 acres of special-use areas follow a general pattern, but there are variants. Public use and the available game determines the management approach. Some are managed for big game, others for waterfowl, or for upland and small game, or other desirable species that inhabit the area. Where pheasant abound, food plots are put in to facilitate harvest. Where quail are the primary species, the hunter can expect to find planted legumes or woody plants.

One of the best land-management techniques concerns not so much what is done as what is not done. The no-grazing-or-mowing policy to provide nesting, roosting, or loafing cover is an example of this "not-do" policy.

Waterfowl management includes several relatively new techniques. One is the experimental burning at Ballard's Marsh. The object was to decrease the density of bulrush and common reed and open more water for migrating waterfowl.

Another experimental project is being conducted on the Clear Creek Waterfowl Management Area, a special-use area on Lake McConaughy. A goose pen has been constructed and 51 geese were added in hopes this flock will establish residence and provide natural reproduction in future years. Fourteen nesting structures have been placed on the area. The Sacramento-Wilcox Game Management Area also has a captive Canada goose flock project under way.

Still another waterfowl-management area, this one at Plattsmouth, has dealt with controlled quality hunting. Ten pit-type, well-camouflaged blinds were built around the perimeter for public hunting. Approximately 800 geese and 80 ducks were killed there during the 1967 season. It is felt the area is still doing its part in the refuge system by helping to return an adequate breeding stock, both in numbers and condition, to the breeding grounds while also providing sportsmen with quality hunting.

The Bazile Creek Special Use Area, just east of Niobrara on the Missouri River, has utilized a management tool the hunter may not recognize as such — logging. Large cottonwoods there have been harvested to improve wildlife habitat for quail, turkey, and deer. Research has shown that dense stands of mature trees are of little benefit to wildlife, and that most game animals prefer "edge" or small clearings for loafing, feeding, and rearing of young.

These management practices and others make the special-use areas what they are-beautiful, interesting spots to visit and successful places to hunt or fish. However, while management is keyed largely to the hunter and fisherman, some like the southwest-reservoirs special-use areas and portions of the Salt Valley lakes include something for everyone. Green Thumb areas where the public can plant trees, a children's farmstead where youth will be able to observe wildlife in the "wild", dog-training courses, and trapshooting are available in the Salt Valley complex. The south-west-reservoir areas are designated both special-use and recreation and all have excellent facilities. Among these multiple-use areas are several feature wildlife-and-flora-demonstration spots. The demonstration plot at Grove Lake Special Use Area was expanded last year to more than 100 flora species.

MAIL ORDER CUSTOMERS PLEASE READ THIS • When ordering by mail be sure to include enough money for postage and insurance. We refund any excess remittance immediately. 25% deposit is required on all C.O.D. orders. You save the C.O.D. fee when you make full remittance with order. NEBRASKA CUSTOMERS please include the 212% Sales Tax. Solid State 6-Band Radio Operates On AC and DC 14 Transistors 5-Diodes I -Thermistor Reg. Sale $59.95 $49.95 • ( ITEM #ON-118-6BR ) - - Solid state, 6-band portable radio that covers AM, FM MB SW, VHF-1 and VHF-2 bands. Lets you choose music, news, radio "hams", weather, forestry, conservation communications, aircraft, police, etc. Has pushbutton channel switching, slide rule dial, big 5" speaker for full, clear sound. Ferrite bar and telescoping antennas. Complete with earphone, batteries, AC cord (7 lbs.) 4-Track 3-Speed Stereo Tape Recorder Fine Quality MAIL ORDER SHOPPERS... send your orders in early. 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ON-118 Lincoln, Nebraska 68501 50 NEBRASKAland SPECIAL USE AREAS N: Restricted to non-power craft. R: Restricted to 5mph boating. 0: Open boating. Hunting Fishing Picnic-Tabels Drinking-Water Fireplaces Sanitary-Facilities Shelter Houses Camping Boating Land Water/ Marsh Name and Location ALEXANDRIA, 3 miles E, Vz S of Alexandria • N 344 46 AMERICAN GAME MARSH, 19 miles S of Johnstown • 40 120 ARCADIA DIVERSION DAM, 3V2 miles S of Comstock • 773 109 BALLARDS MARSH, 20 miles S of Valentine • ------ • • • • • 938 340/260 BARTLEY DIVERSION DAM, 3 miles E of Indianola • • • • • 53 — BASSWOOD RIDGE, 2 miles NW of Homer • • • ------ 320 — BAZILE CREEK, 2 miles E of Niobrara • • 0 4,000 7,000 BEAVER BEND, 3Va miles NW St. Edward • • 25 2 BIG ALKALI, 17 miles S, 3W of Valentine • 0 47 842 BLUE BLUFF, Vz mile N, 1 E, 2 S of Mifford • • • • • 3 1 BOX ELDER CANYON, 4 miles S, IVi W of Maxwell 9 1 BURCHARD, 3 miles E, Vz N of Burchard R 400 160 CORNHUSKER, 5 miles W of Grand Island • • • • • • • • • • 814 — COTTONWOOD CANYON, bVz miles S of Maxwell 15 40 ELM CREEK, 2 miles S of Elm Creek N 190 22 ENDERS RESERVOIR, 5 miles E, 4Vz S of Imperial 0 3,643 1,707 FREEZE TRACT, 6 miles SE of Odessa • N 71 60 GILBERT-BAKER, 4% miles N of Harrison • • • 2,452 5 GOOSE LAKE, 22 miles S, 4 E of O'Neill 0 48 300 GROVE LAKE, 2 miles N of Royal • R 1,524 67 HANSEN MEMORIAL PRESERVE, 6 miles N of Curtis 79 1 HAYES CENTER, 12 miles NE of Hayes Center R 79 40 HEDGEFIELD, 1 mile E of Holland • • N 70 44 HULL LAKE, 5 miles SW of Butte N 25 5 JEFFREY LAKE, 5 miles S, 3 W of Brady 0 15 1,100 LIMESTONE BLUFFS, 6 miles S, 2% E of Franklin • 479 Vz LOCH LINDA, 2 miles W, 6 S of Grand Island • 25 35 LONGBRIDGE, 3 miles S of Chapman • • • • N 108 86 MEDICINE CREEK, 6 miles N of Cambridge • 0 6,716 1,768 METCALF, 14 miles N of Hay Springs • * 1,317 — MIDWAY, 6 miles S, 2 W of Cozad • 0 38 1,300 MILBURN DAM, 14 miles SE of Brewster • 317 355 NEWARK INTERCHANGE, 1-80, SE Quadrant of Newark Interchange N 34 14 PAWNEE PRAIRIE, 8 miles W, 5Vz S of Pawnee City • 792 8 PETERSON, 9 miles W of Crawford • 2,400 — PINTAIL MARSH, 3 miles W, Vz S of North Side Harvard • 40 /240 PLATTSMOUTH, Vz mile NE of Plattsmouth • • • • • 1,281 / 29 PLUM CREEK, 2 miles W of Johnson Lake • 8 — PONDEROSA, 21/2 miles S, 4 E of Crawford • 3,659 1 PRESSEY, 17 miles S of Broken Bow 1,524 — RAT AND BEAVER LAKE, 28 miles S, 6 W of Valentine • • 0 204 33/5 RED WILLOW DIVERSION, 9 miles N of McCook • • • • 56 150 RED WILLOW RESERVOIR, 11 miles N of McCook 0 4,320 1,628 SACRAMENTO-WILCOX, IVz miles W of Wilcox • 2,239 1/1,000 SCHLEGAL CREEK, 11 miles S, 4 W of Valentine • 599 11 SHADY TRAIL, 4 miles S, 1 E, 1 S, Wz E, Vz S of Milford • • • • 2 1 SHERMAN RESERVOIR, 4 miles E, 1 N of Loup City 0 4,721 2,845 SIOUX STRIP, 2 miles SE of Randolph • 25 — SMARTWEED MARSH, 2 miles W, 2Va S of Edgar • 6 /34 SMITH LAKE, 23 miles S of Rushville • R 420 200/20 SOUTH SACRAMENTO, 3 miles W, 3 S of Wilcox • 85 182 SOUTH TWIN LAKE, 19 miles S, 3 W of Johnstown • 107 53 SUTHERLAND RESERVOIR, 2 miles S of Sutherland • 0 36 3,017 SWANSON RESERVOIR, 2 miles W of Trenton 0 3,957 4,974 TEAL, 2 miles S of Kramer • • 66 27 WANAMAKER, 1 mile W of Imperial 160 — WELLFLEET, Va mile SW of Wellfleet • R 115 49 WEST SACRAMENTO, 6 miles W of Wilcox • 43 /117 WHITETAIL, Vz mile W, 3 S of Schuyler • • 185 31 WILLOW LAKE, 22 miles S of Valentine • 170 240/30 WOOD DUCK, 3 miles SW of Stanton • • • • • N 271 26 l WOOD RIVER WEST, 3 miles S of Wood River N 13 15 NJELLOW BANKS, 1 mile N, 3V2 E of Meadow Grove • 254

Just recently, large, brown signs with yellow lettering naming the available special-use areas have been erected by the Highway Department. For specific information on any of these, contact the Land Management Division of the Game and Parks Commission in Lincoln or one of the district offices. Hunter information maps are also available for a few of the larger ones.

Certainly, Nebraska's special-use areas offer everyone a chance to do his own thing, for each is in itself unique.

THE END

WESTERNER OF ALL SEASONS

(Continued from page 34)

guided in Wyoming's Big Horns for several years and saved $10,000 from his efforts. He returned periodically to Cheyenne to court Kate before going to New Mexico as a ranch foreman.

During his stay in New Mexico Territory, he returned several summers to visit the Grahams at their 0-4 Ranch in western Nebraska. After the army's campaign against the Apache, Geronimo, where Cook saw service as a scout, and before Kate Graham said "yes," he noted bone fragments protruding from one of the buttes near the ranch. Close examination and knowledge gleaned from Professor Marsh enabled the captain to identify the bones as fossils.

Shortly after, Cook married Kate and took her to New Mexico.

In 1887, the captain, Kate, and their firstborn, Harold, returned to the 0-4 to take up permanent residence. That autumn the young man purchased the ranch from his father-in-law. The captain named his spread Agate Springs, as this stone abounded in the vicinity.

In 1890, both Little Bat and Red Cloud called on him for counsel regarding the Messiah craze which had spread to Pine Ridge. Discontent among Sioux at Pine Ridge became a source of worry for the military and Cook was called to serve again as a scout. When the so-called Battle of Wounded Knee was over, Cook offered assistance and help to the red brothers in their time of tribulation.

From 1887 to 1891, the captain was mainly engaged in raising good cattle and fine horses. His latchstring was out to all travelers, the military from Fort Robinson as well as Red Cloud's people, and the Cheyenne of Dull Knife's band who camped near the cottonwoods and shared food at his table. He built a big frame house in 1892, and selected its furnishings when he and Kate visited the World Columbian Exposition in Chicago in 1893.

Professor Erwin H. Barbour of the University of Nebraska was the first to 51   collect aboveground fossil material near the hills, but it was 1904 before O. A. Peterson from the Carnegie Institute in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, dug and uncovered the deposit of bones. He named the bone-rich area the Agate Fossil Quarry. A year later, Dr. Barbour returned and named one of the buttes which he explored, University Hill. The other was named Carnegie for Peterson's exploration. Soon, Agate Springs gained international fame because of the petrified bones found there.

Through the years, Captain Cook kept strong faith and constant friendship with his Indians, and long after the death of the old chief, Red Cloud's people made yearly pilgrimages to Cook's ranch. As a token of their respect, Cook was one of few whites selected by the red men to serve as their agent since Red Cloud felt that his friend would give his people fair treatment. Unfortunately, Washington would not agree.

This westerner of all seasons outlived many of his friends. But until his death m January 1942, he never failed to welcome all who came to his door.

THE END

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IMPORTANT REMINDERS FOR HUNTERS

• It is unlawful to carry a loaded shotgun m or on a vehicle on a public road. • Target shooting from any public highway, road, or bridge is prohibited. • Permits are required of all nonresidents, regardless of age, to hunt any birds or animals in Nebraska, including varments. • Permission of the landowner or his agent is required at all times when hunting on private land, whether it is posted or not. • Night hunting is prohibited. • Permission of the owner or tenant of any inhabited building is necessary to nunt, kill, take, or pursue any wild mammal or wild bird within a 200-yard radius of that dwelling. • Hunters who bring dogs into the state must have a statement from their veterinarian attesting that the dog is free from infectious, contagious, or communicable disease. In addition, all dogs over four months old must be immunized against rabies. 52 NEBRASKAland

GOLD FEVER.

(Continued from page 19)

work. The flume became the victim of weather, time, and future landowners who used the lumber for farm repairs. Forty years later, the government built a dam on the stream, creating a small, but effective pond, and declared it a public-access area.

The "gold rush" never came to Martinsburg, and as years passed I didn't think much about it, until one day last summer a couple of Lincoln history buffs called asking about the gold. I told them the story, and invited them to see the old place for themselves. They asked if they could bring some rock hounds along to see if there was still gold there. I snapped at the chance.

Within a week I was leading a caravan of five cars and jeeps to the old spot. I chuckled to myself, thinking that the Tuckers would really get a kick out of seeing the mini gold rush they created 63 years later.

We covered the snake-like cow path much more quickly than my father and I had years before, but this time we had the added problem of bogging down our mechanized horses as black, rain-filled clouds threatened overhead. Upon reaching the spot, we made a quick exchange of names. The Sioux City group included Jerry Winn, George Marsh, Al Lux, Earl Davis, Glenn Anderson, Carl Wells, who spearheaded the expedition, his wife, Nova, their children, Ken and Lauri, Bill Diamond and his son Carl, and Bob Malisch.

The pond, flanked on two sides by steep, tree-heavy hills was a hundred yards or so away from the clearing. The rock hounds grabbed their pans, buckets, and shovels and headed for the pond and the small stream on the other side of the earthen dam. We had just barely reached the drop-off when the clouds let loose. I looked at the rock fiends, expecting them to scurry for cover and forget the whole deal, but I quickly found out that rock hounds are a different breed. The mere thought of rocks makes them break into a trot, and mention of gold into a run. Some of them good-naturedly donned their buckets and pans, while others put on floppy rain hats and started sliding down the already muddy slopes.

Carl Wells knelt at the puddle created by the overflow from the dam, and tried scooping some gravel from the bottom with his pan, but to no avail. He grabbed a shovel and started scooping the inky sludge into his foot-and-a-half-wide pan. The idea, he explained as he shoveled, was to dig to the bottom of the puddle, gathering mud and gravel, and hopefully, gold, then take the pan of mud to the other side of the dam to wash it down.

I stood back out of the way, much as I had in 1905, watching the modern-day prospectors. A moldy odor wafted up the slope as the men stirred up the decaying matter on the bottom of the stream. But the odor, like the rain, didn't halt the rock hounds.

Bill Diamond, a rugged-looking mustachioed rock buff, started wielding his shovel with abandon to fill his bucket. He would pan it all at once, he explained, and not have to make so many trips over the dam.

Bob Malisch had his pan filled in no time flat and clambered back over the dam to the pond and plenty of water for "swishing". I followed him to see his panning technique.

1968 HUNTING SEASONS SPECIES reason OPEN s SEASON CLOSES DAILY BAG LIMIT POSSE S. SION LIMIT OPEN AREA 1 Cock Pheasant Nov. 2 Nov. 9 Jan. 19 Jan. 19 3 3 12 12 West of U.S. 81-North of U.S. 34 East of U.S. 81-South of U.S. 34 UPLAND GAME -J ' Quail* Nov. 2 Nov. 9 Jan. 19 Jan.19 8 6 18 18 West of U.S. 81-North of U.S. 34 East of U.S. 81-South of U.S. 34 Grouse Sept. 21 Nov. 17 3 9 Sand hills-Southwest •Quail must be shot only when in flight. WATERFOWL Ducks* Oct. 12 Oct. 20 Nov. 16 Dec. 12 3 6 > Entire State Mergansers** Same as Ducks 5 10 Coot Same as Ducks 10 i 20 Gallinule Sept. 1 Nov. 9 15 30 Geese*** Oct. 1 Nov. 9 Nov. 3 Dec. 19 5 5 Wilson's Snipe Oct. 1 Nov. 19 8 16 Rail (Sora and Virginia) Sept. 1 Nov. 9 25 25 •The daily bag limit for ducks other than mergansers may not include more of the following species than: (a) 2 wood ducks, (b) 1 canvasback or redhead, (c) 2 mallards Possession limit for ducks may not include more of the following species than: (a) 4 wood ducks, (b) 1 canvasback or redhead, (c) 4 mallards ••Not more than 1 hooded merganser allowed in the daily bag or 2 in possession. •••The daily bag and possession limit on geese may not include more of the following species than: (a) 1 Ross' goose, (b) in the alternative, 1 white fronted goose; 1 white-fronted goose and 1 Canada goose or its subspecies; or 2 Canada geese or their subspecies Cottontail Jan. 1 Dec. 31 10 30 L Entire State 5MMLL UAMt Qttot , Squirrel Sept. 1 Jan. 31 7 21 r Deer (firearm) Nov. 2 Nov. 9 Nov. 10 Nov. 17 son) y Special Permit Required Deer (archery) Oct. 12 Dec. 31 (closed during firearm sea BIG GAME Antelope (archery) Aug. 17 Sept. 27 Antelope (firearm) Sept 28 Oct. 5 Sept. 29 Oct. 6 Wild Turkey Nov. 2 Nov. 10 i QUnrmwr I Antelope and Deer One half hour before sunrise to one-halt hour after sunset. dMUU 1 INu 1 wj|d Turkey One-half hour after sunrise to one-half hour before sunset. HOURS All Other Species One-half hour before sunrise to sunset. Op,n araas for hunting do not include federal and state sanctuaries and refuges (unless otherwise specified), game tZZL cTareas dosed by any federal or state laws or city ordinances. WHEN HUNTING ON PRIVATE LAND, STATE LAW REQUIRES THE HUNTER TO OBTAIN PERMISSION FROM THE LANDOWNER OR HIS AGENT. WATERFOWL Their Biology and Natural History By Paul A. Johnsgard Introduction by Peter Scott All genera and species are pictured in 148 photographs and 16 drawings in this first single-volume study of the entire family Anatidae. "A collector's item for sportsmen and birdwatchers"— Publishers' Weekly. Cloth $8.95 NEBRASKA A Pictorial History Assembled and edited by Bruce H. Nicoll "A beautiful and useful book of paintings, drawings, maps, and photographs"— American Association for State and Local History. "Handsome ...excellent color work and uncluttered text. Notably well organized" — Denver Post. "A work every Nebraska family should include in their library. Nicoll puts his finger on Nebraska's central, shaping theme —its environment"-Dick Herman, Nebraska History. Cloth $6.95 Paper $3.95 THE CHRISTMAS OF THE PHONOGRAPH RECORDS A Recollection By Mari Sandoz "There have been many nostalgic accounts of Christmas remembrances, but none is quite as distinctive as this" —Western American Literature. "A good story for family reading on Christmas Eve" — Wyoming Library Roundup. "A jewel worth sharing" — Victor Hass, Omaha World-Herald. Cloth $2.95 University off Nebraska Press Lincoln 68508 NOVEMBER, 1968 53   Kip's drive-inn Serving the finest chicken, shrimp, seafood, soft drinks, sandwiches. One minute from interstate 80, Highway 47 to Gothenburg CALL AHEAD. Cover the States with Low Station Rates Before You Go. THE LINCOLN TEL. & TEL. CO. Show Your Colors FLAGS

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NEBRASKAland IS BEAUTIFUL Every litter bit helps destroy that beauty! Please help keep our highways and recreation areas clean

Malisch scooped enough water up to cover the mud and started the slow process of panning.

"This is almost all snails," he said, and as I looked at the mud-filled container, I could see what he meant. Half of what I had thought were rocks were really small, enamel-shelled mollusks.

As he swished the water around, Bob told me that he started panning at the age of nine in the Black Hills. He was no amateur, that's for sure. The water swirled around and around the pan in steady, even movements, until it was semi-solid with mud. He slopped the water out, peered closely at the left-over mud, then scooped up more water, starting the whole process over again.

He reached into a pocket and brought out a small bottle and handed it to me.

"Did you ever see them bring anything like that out of here?"

I looked over the small nuggets and let out a low whistle, "Nope, nothing as big as that, but the flakes did have the same dull sheen."

Bob smiled and returned the bottle to his pocket.

"Those are out of a Colorado gold mine. I didn't think we would find anything like that here, but I wanted to make sure."

The rain continued to come down in relentless streams. By now, hatless Bob was soaked, but he continued to pan.

'You know, you can just about find gold anywhere if you stick with it long enough. Glaciers came down this way thousands of years ago and left small amounts of gold all over the place."

"Was that how this gold got here?" I asked.

"I rather imagine so. Probably left here by the last glacier to come through — the Wisconsin Glacier. It didn't last long though, only about 150,000 years," Bob said with a chuckle.

The pan now held only black sand and a few bits of gravel. Bob scooted it around, hoping for a glint of gold. He held it up to the quickly fading light and scooped up a stone with some shine to it. It was only a piece of silicate, however, and he tossed it to one side. Pointing to ridges about an eighth of an inch deep on the side of the pan, he said, "If there's gold it usually ends up there since it's heavier than the gravel." He poked at the bits and pieces of rocks. "It looks like the snails might have gotten all the gold," he lamented.

I didn't know whether he was kidding or not, so I asked.

"Yep, the gold seeps down in the spirals of their shells."

"You think there might still be gold in here then?"

"Well, there's black sand and that's always a good sign. I will have to pan a little more before I could really tell for sure."

He looked up at the still cloudy sky. It was obvious we wouldn't get the chance for any more prospecting that evening. Several members of the group were already in their cars, and the remainder were glancing (Continued on page 56)

54 NEBRASKAland

Outdoor Elsewhere

Howl-Alongs. When the timber wolf howls, it isn't pursuing prey, but just trying to be sociable. In fact, Wildlife researchers at the University of Toronto say the timber wolfs howl could more accurately be called singing. The howling through harmonics seem to communicate the animal's emotional state. "Howl-Alongs" have been conducted in Algonquin Provincial Park in Ontario wilderness. Auto convoys leave the park museum with a guide in the late evening for an isolated spot. By howling into the night, the guide can usually evoke a like response from the forest depths. — The Conservationist, New York

A Dimpled Warden. Shooting snakes turned out to be a dangerous sport for a Colorado wildlife conservation officer. Recently he was on a rattlesnake hunt, armed with a .22-caliber pistol. He shot the head off one snake and the bullet bounced back, striking him in the right cheek. Minutes later, bleeding profusely, he shot another snake. You guessed it — this bullet bounced back and struck him in the left cheek. The odds against this ever happening again must be tremendous, but the officer uses bird shot in his handgun now. — Colorado

Emergency Raincoat. A plastic garment bag stored in your tackle box can be a life-saver in foul weather. When it rains, you can cut an opening for your head and arms and slip it on, or you can wrap it around your legs to keep them dry. On the ground it will afford a dry seat.— Missouri Conservationist

Toothy Prophets. Beavers have never been considered weather prophets, but they just may be. A Pennsylvania game warden reports very little beaver activity in his district in nice weather. The beaver dam can fall into disrepair and the pond become debris-ridden. But, just before every rainstorm in the area, the beavers turn out in force. They busily repair the dam and generally show concern about the water level. The warden has even had to protect a culvert under the road with iron stakes, because the beavers continually attempt to plug it up. Who knows, maybe the weatherman could make good use of these flat-tailed engineers. —Pennsylvania

SOS. The U.S. Coast Guard recognizes two new small-craft distress signals. The first is a simple orange-red flag of any size which is waved from side to side to indicate to persons on other boats, on shore, or in the air, that the signaling boat needs help. The other is a surface-to-air signal used by Canadian vessels for several years. It consists of a 72-inch by 45-inch fluorescent orange-red panel cloth bearing an 18-inch black square and an 18-inch black circle on the flag. Passing aircraft can readily see the signal when it is tied across a hatch or cabin top. — Outdoors

Where's the Catch? Two years ago, 38,530,460 fishing licenses were sold as compared to 1,926,523 marriage licenses. That proves, someone observed, that 20 times more people would rather fish than fight. — Minnesota

A Dirty Story. Water pollution is getting to be a nasty problem in many parts of the country, and here is a case in point. A skin diver in New York state was hired by a conservation council to take water samples from a polluted stream. The diver went about his task, but was forced to surface when he dropped his flashlight. The water was so dirty that visibility was only one foot —even with the light on. —New York

Saved By Violation. Two big-game hunters had been out in the woods of eastern Oklahoma for several hours and found themselves wandering about aimlessly in circles. One of the gunners grew uneasy, and finally, panic overcame him.

"We're lost!" he yelled at his partner.

"What are we going to do?"

"Take it easy," said his companion calmly. "Just shoot an illegal deer and the game ranger will be here in minutes." — Oklahoma

Bear Facts. A Jamestown, New York hunter stashed his lunch in a tree crotch and set out for the day's hunt. When he returned he found only this note: "Thanks for the coffee and sandwiches. Next time bring some honey." It was signed: "Your woodland friend, Yogi Bear."-New York

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GOLD FEVER

(Continued from page 54)

nervously at the muddy cow path that was the way out.

Bill Diamond had panned some of his mud, but he still had more to do and his time was running out. Carl Wells came over to Bob and me.

"We had better get going while we still can," he told us.

We all looked into the sifted gravel left in Bob's pan.

"Do you think it's worth another try?" Carl asked. "Perhaps without the rain?"

Bob and Bill nodded their heads vigorously, spewing forth little droplets of rain at the same time. We all agreed to meet again for further and hopefully, drier investigation of the Martinsburg gold.

If it hadn't rained, perhaps we would have found gold, but we'll never know until we go back. And I don't think these rock hounds are the type to let a gold mine slip through their pans. These modern-day prospectors will return and when they do, I'll be with them. You never can tell; maybe Martinsburg will have a gold rush yet—1968 style.

THE END The rock hounds went back and tried it, but again it was no soap, or rather no gold. —"Editor.

MOBY DICK OF DE SOTO BEND

(Continued from page 31)

fish, bystanders gathered to watch the two adversaries grapple for supremacy. Missouri Valley, Iowa Mayor, C. E. "Tobe" Baldwin, attracted by the battle, shouted an offer to help. Without hesitation. Howard waved him aboard. As the sportsman held the fish in check, the mayor scrambled from his boat into the 14-foot battlewagon. Edna quietly thanked the mayor for coming aboard, for signs of anxiety and tension had begun to show on her husband's face as he ran the boat and played the fish. Her woman's intuition told her this was more than fish versus man. It had resolved into a struggle between masculine pride and an unknown adversary that could crush her man's ego with a snap of the Monofilament.

With Tobe at the helm, Howard concentrated on playing the fish. The finny heavyweight had stripped off line during the boat-to-boat transfer and they had to gain some back. With Howard's command of "follow that line," Tobe jerked the boat into gear.

"Know what's on the other end?" the mayor quizzed as he maneuvered the craft.

Howard shook his head, then added, "With your help I might be able to find out. When I was running the rig by myself, I had almost given up hope of ever seeing the fish."

"Probably a lunker flathead," Tobe responded.

As the battle neared the one-hour mark, word of the outdoor drama spread. Several boats now shadowed Howard's craft as it moved up and down the lake. Respecting the situation, the onlookers seldom moved any closer than 50 yards as they watched the action. With the lunker's identity still a mystery, the gallery consensus was that it was a flathead.

The afternoon temperature was in the middle 60's, but beads of perspiration ran off Howard's forehead and periodically he had to wipe his brow to keep the stinging sweat out of his eyes. His shoulders and well-muscled arms tensed with each strenuous charge of the fish. Pacing himself, the tired angler used the lunker's brief rest periods to roll his shoulders and ease the numb ache of over-exerted tendons. From the start, Howard's easy-to-come-by smile had shown that he was enjoying each minute of the stamina test, but after an hour and 15 minutes the corners of his mouth were drooping with fatigue.

The sockdolager had dragged the boat for nearly three-fourths of a mile up and back through the lake and was working on his third trip. Howard attempted to put pressure on the fish by holding his rod high, but the finny brute reacted with an "I'11-show-you" attitude and reeled off 30, 40, then 50 yards of line. With only a 100-yard spool, the lowan called for speed and Tobe opened up the engine to gain on the driving fish. Now boat and fish were in an all-out chase, but still the underwater adversary kept stripping off line.

Howard's voice showed panic when he shouted, "I'm down to the arbor! Give me more speed, or we're through!"

Fortunately, the lunker's run for freedom didn't last long and slowly Howard gained back some much needed line. The fish would inevitably make another run, so the angler figured he needed at least 50 yards of monofilament on the spool to quell future breaks.

But the day's events were about to take another freakish turn. As the boat putted against the wind, the line stopped its lazy zigzag through the water. Howard applied pressure to the still taut line, but there was no response. After lVfc hours, the lunker had found a worth-while snag and had apparently used it to his advantage. Pulling beside the hang-up, Howard slid his hand down the line into the water.

"The line is tangled around a rope," he grimaced.

A nylon rope, attached to a lost anchor, had all but defeated the fisherman. Somewhere in the murky water ahead lay the still unidentified fish. Edna's eyes clouded with despair as she watched her husband furiously tug at the rope. Grabbing a knife, he sawed through the tough nylon. Sure that his opponent had won, Howard's grim smile faded as he untangled the monofilament. With the disappointment came a sudden awareness of a numbness in his hands and arms. When he was through, the lowan picked up his rod and started taking in the slack line. Unbelievably, the rod bowed.

"I've still got him!" Howard yelped as he watched the line scream off the reel. "Not losing him on that snag is the tipoff. I'm going to boat this sucker."

As the match neared the two-hour mark, Howard was spurred by the thought that this fish was meant to be his. The over-powering monster could have easily snapped the light-test line when the monofilament was wrapped around the rope. But for some reason, the tired fish must have decided to rest just after the tangle. Howard was enough fisherman to know that usually an angler makes his own luck, but after the near squeak (Continued on page 58)

56 NEBRASKAland

MOBY DICK OF DE SOTO BEND

(Continued from page 56)

with the sunken rope, he was sure somebody upstairs was giving him a helping hand.

Although the unknown Moby Dick had made a bad mistake, the rest had given him new vigor. Again, the finny speedster stripped off nearly 100 yards of line and the boat trio had to play catch-up. This time Howard wasn't shook. He had played the fish this long, and he wasn't about to lose him. Relentlessly, the angler gained back the precious monofilament.

"Tighten the drag and put pressure on the fish," Tobe suggested.

Howard took the advice, but at first the pressure didn't seem to faze the fish. Then suddenly the waters parted as the huge monster rolled to the top. The Iowan had his hoped-for sneak preview, but what he saw was unbelievable. Now, more than ever, he was determined to boat his tormentor.

"Did you see him?" the mayor asked seeing the shock on Howard's face.

"I saw him, but you'd never believe me if I told you," he shouted back. "Keep the boat running and you'll see for yourself."

The fish was tiring rapidly now and Howard was clearly gaining the upper hand. But it was no wonder. The lunker had fought with almost unbelievable strength for nearly three hours. When the end came, it came quickly. The exhausted fish was on its side when Tobe grabbed its long snout. Howard dropped his rod and with only a second's reservation took hold of the ominous-looking red gills and heaved a giant paddlefish aboard.

With the fish safely boated, Howard flexed his fingers and glanced at his watch. It was 3:25 p.m. For 2 hours and 55 minutes, man and fish had fought it out. Every muscle in Howard's body ached with the strain and tension of the head-to-head battle. As his tiredness receded, the Iowan reviewed what he knew about paddlefish. The fish feeds on small organisms in the water and rarely, if ever, takes a baited hook. This one was no different. Carefully, Howard reached down and removed the small, gold hook from the lunker's pectoral fin.

As the boat putted toward the dock, Howard stared at his formidable foe. When the lunker was first boated there were several minutes of exultation, but now there was a pain of regret for this huge fish that had provided him with a once-in-a-lifetime thrill. When he looked up, Howard saw an armada of small boats following them in. A crowd gathered at the dock to view the largest fish ever taken out of De Soto Bend Lake.

Howard's 55-inch paddlefish hefted in at 58 pounds and beat the existing record for the lake by 4 pounds. Edna choked back proud tears as she watched others congratulate her husband who seemed to be in a daze. She knew that mentally he was still out on the lake matching muscle and mind with the Moby Dick of De Soto Bend.

THE END

Where to go

Countryside Museum and Rock Shop, Pressey Special Use Area

ROGER WILLIAMS, Mr. Piano himself, signed the guest book this summer. "I'll never forget this museum. There's nothing like it in the world."

You will think so, too, even if you aren't a rock hound, when you visit Nebraska's largest rock-mineral and Indian-relic display at Spring Rock Countryside Museum and Rock Shop. Located a mile north of Springfield, it is easy to reach. Take Nebraska Highway 50 south off Interstate 80 about 5 miles to the lapidary shop on the west side of the road.

Resident connoisseur of precious stones and the art of cutting and polishing them is William Sass, a retired hardwareman. He favors rare rocks and has plenty to show you.

Double-terminated quartz crystals with six-sided points on both ends are extremely hard to find, but Bill Sass has the world's largest on display in his NEBRASKAland museum. The pinkish stone was found in the red clay on Crystal Mountain near Hot Springs, Arkansas. The master lapidary also owns something extremely rare in the quartz world: two tiny matchstick-size crystals of double-terminated quartz that grew together in an "X" formation.

Two onyx polar bears and a seal, custom carved in Mexico, are mounted on a chunk of quartz crystal that resembles an iceberg. Mr. Sass also displays a collection of jade, opal, tigereye, and onyx turtles that were carved in Hong Kong. His own skilled hands carved a carnelian bleeding heart centered with a teardrop.

He is proud possessor of an unusual agate. Nature weathered a baby's fair face on an agate that was found, appropriately enough, at a place called Child of the Sea, Oregon, in 1915. Nature gardened with care when she grew the blade selenite Mr. Sass has in his display case. The rock cluster looks like blades of spiny, brown cactus bunched together. Surely one of the most beautiful rocks in the museum is the chrysocolla azurite from Brazil. Exotic blues, greens, and rusts are stirred marble-cake style into the mineral formation.

The lifelong collector does his own cutting and polishing and a lot of custom work. Even so, he has found time to hunt up an amazing Indian-artifact collection. Relics range from bowls, pots, and pipes to awls, scrapers, knives, stone fish-hooks, tanning stones, and grinding stones — nearly every conceivable tool the red men used. Ceremonial arrow-heads from early cultures include eagle, buffalo, serpent, human-face, and turtle shapes. Among the unusual artifacts is a wicked-looking Sioux tomahawk that was used in Nebraska.

For those who prefer outdoor activity over indoor pleasures, NEBRASKAland has the just-right spot.

Pressey Special Use Area is a hunter's delight. Located 17 miles south of Broken Bow or 5 miles north of Oconto on both sides of Nebraska Highway 21, Pressey is a breeze to reach for hunters head-quartering in Lexington or Broken Bow. A five-acre plot parallel to the South Loup River can accommodate 25 to 40 camping hunters with ease.

Both mule and white-tailed deer provide fair sport. Wary ringnecks abound, and thunderbolting quail keep hunters on their toes. Squirrels can keep a hunter happy and rabbits are plentiful, too. All of Pressey's 1,600 acres are open to public hunting. Approximately 1,000 are grassy rangeland and the other 600 are river-bottom productions.

Generally, permission from surrounding landowners is not too hard to secure, so a hunter could spend an entire week right around the Pressy area.

Other activity is welcome at this special spot with its majestic cottonwoods. A mile and a half of the South Loup River that runs through Pressey provides some mighty good catfishing. Carp and bullhead also add to the angling fun. Shelter houses, fireplaces, drinking water, picnic tables, and trailer-parking facilities delight for outdoor-oriented families.

Spring Rock Countryside Museum and Pressey are quite diverse, but both give NEBRASKAland natives and their guests hours of pleasure.

THE END 58 NEBRASKAland