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.

TOO HIGH — "As a former Nebraska resi dent for many years and a real booster of the state, I am wondering how long it will be before you price yourself out of business. Eleven years ago when I first started coming back to Nebraska to hunt the permit was $10. It's now $25.

"You talk about mixed-bag hunting. This is fine, but why not set up the seasons so you can have a mixed-bag hunt in one trip?

"In the 11 years of hunting in Nebras ka we have spent over $6,000 and if this money isn't welcome, just keep raising the price of your nonresident permits and you'll lose it.

"If you are interested in out-of-state money and welcome out-of-state hunters, why not bring this to the attention of the Game Commission?" — James E. Frauen, Dodge City, Kansas.

TRADE-INS —"I think our camping grounds and highways could be cleared of beer cans very easily if our lawmakers would make people trade in empties for the right to buy more. The county or state could destroy the empties, instead of clearing them off our roads and parks. Our recreation areas would be full of old tires, batteries, and other things, too, if there were no trade-ins for them.

"I would also like to see a law whereby people over 65 be permitted to hunt or fish without a permit. Most people over 65 don't have much money and only get a chance to go hunting once or twice a year. They don't feel like paying the price for a license when they can use it so little. Anyone who has paid taxes for 65 years or more needs some kind of break." —Frank Hughes, Wood River.

CANDIDATE — "I am a sophomore attending William J. Bryan High School in Omaha. I was very much impressed with your article in the January 1969 NEBRASKAland, To Swim A Giant.

"I am a member of the Bryan swim team, a backstroker by coincidence. I am not All-American or exceptional, but three years ago I swam a lake in Wisconsin over three miles in length. The water was choppy, but I have learned fairly well how to cope with the problems.

"I feel confident I can swim Big Mac. This would be a tremendous challenge for me and I am enthused about at least giving it a try. If at all possible, please write me and tell me if arrangements can be made for this summer. I would appreciate it if you could tell me roughly how much it will cost, or if I will receive any backing. I am very serious and would appreciate this very much." —Dave Vickers, Omaha.

The young gentleman who completed the swim was an excellent swimmer and benefited from detailed planning, equipment, and personnel for the big swim. The Ogallala Chamber of Commerce played a big role in the swim and it is the office that should be contacted for information on what possibility may exist for future swim aspirants. Write to Harry Hagge, do Ogallala Chamber of Commerce, for this information. — Editor.

SAVE TREES —"I am a Nebraskan now living in New Jersey. But I hope to return to my home state one day.

"I spend my vacation in Nebraska every other year and have noticed efforts to attract tourists to the state. My suggestion is this. Since Arbor Day was founded in Nebraska and since the state has a shortage of trees compared to other great tourist states, much effort is needed to plant more trees and preserve what few there are.

"Each time I return, I see fewer trees. What the Dutch elm disease doesn't kill the farmer's chain saw surely does. I'm sure a farmer could spare a majestic cottonwood for what few stalks of corn it shades." —Dennis Kastl, Ridgefield Park, New Jersey.

SNOW JOB-"That snow job your Bob Snow did on the snows in the excellent January issue (The Day of Snows and Blues) made great reading on a chilly night. But I was amazed at the way the snows cooperated. Down here they have become very spooky in contrast with the Canadas and whitefronts, or speckled bellies.

"I reckon your decoys and callers simply are superior. That crack could

cost me my Texas citizenship/' —Jay Vessels, Austin, Texas.

CAUGHT TWICE-"On a Saturday in October, Dad and I were fishing at Paw nee Lake, north of Emerald. At about three o'clock I hooked a snag. When I freed my line I cast again — and snagged again. I kept pulling on the line until it came in. And at the end of it was another rod and reel. I began reeling in again and at the end of that line was a 2%-pound catfish. —Robert A. McMahon, Lincoln.

HOSPITALITY GREAT-"Keith Treece and myself of Albuquerque, New Mexico, had a fine hunt in NEBRASKAland. We took 16 pheasants, 9 quail, and 2 rabbits in our 6 days of hunting in southwestern Nebraska.

"We made use of private accommoda tions, selected our area to hunt, and planned everything from your magazine with the aid of the Nebraska Game and Parks Commission.

"Nebraska hospitality was just great from the start to finish of our first hunt ing experience in the state, and you can bet we will return next year.

"We wish to thank and commend you on your efforts in making our trip a most successful one."-Mike O'Bryant and Keith Treece, Albuquerque, New Mexico.

I am most delighted to hear that you had such a productive hunt and also pleased that you found the Nebraska hospitality outstanding as it always is.— Editor.

WANTS BLIND —"I am a young reader and am writing in reference to your January 1969 NEBRASKAland. After read ing The Day of Snows and Blues I decided to try and get a blind on the river for the next hunting season. Would you please send the address of the Platts mouth Waterfowl Management Area so that I may apply for such a blind?" Curtis Muncy, Lincoln.

Actually, the procedure is to pick up a formal application from either the Game Commission in the State Capitol or from the Plattsmouth Area, complete it, and mail the pre-addressed form. The mailing address is just Plattsmouth Waterfowl Management Area, Plattsmouth, Nebraska. 68048. -Editor

BOYHOOD STAMPING GROUNDS

SURVIVAL-"I have just started to read your magazine and I was wondering if you will put in an article on survival? I am 14 years old." - Lewis Seberg, Hastings.

NEBRASKAland has published several articles on survival and will probably have more. — Editor.

"CORNSHUCK KATE"

A DOLL is a doll, unless she's "Cornshuck Kate from the Cornhusker State", for this little lady is fashioned out of corn husks by the highly creative hands of Mrs. Frank Wilson of Rising City. About six years ago, Mrs. Wilson bought two crudely-made husk dolls as trip souvenirs. Since she does a lot of creative work anyway, such as oil and watercolor painting and making elaborate jewel and shadow boxes out of goose and duck eggs, the husk dolls sparked her interest and Cornshuck Kate resulted. Last year, she fashioned over 850 dolls which a friend marketed for her.

According to the artistic Mrs. Wilson, replicas of Kate are simple to make if you follow certain steps. First collect and clean the husks, then soak them in warm water for a half hour or so. Keep the husks wrapped in a damp towel while you are working with the others, but wipe each one with a dry towel before using it.

Cut a six-inch pipe cleaner in two and stick one end of it into a styrofoam ball the size of a small candy sucker. Find two cornshucks that are smooth and white instead of coarse and discolored. Lay one flat, and lay the "sucker" on it with the styrofoam ball at the narrow, upper end of the husk for the doll's head. This ball has a rough surface, so take a piece of white cleansing tissue about an inch and a half square and put it over the styrofoam for the face area. Lay the second white husk like a blanket over the tiny person you are creating, and with some white thread tie clusters of husk just above and just below the styrofoam head, making sure the part of the husk over the face is smooth. Be certain to tie each knot three times so it does not slip. Then clip the threads.

Now, find a little white husk for the arms. Cut off the end so it is a fraction longer than the remaining three-inch length of pipe cleaner. Put a spot of glue in the center of the little husk, roll up the pipe cleaner, and tie the middle and each end. Raise one flap of the doll's skirt, put some glue underneath the neck, position the arm shaft, and secure it by sticking a straight pin through into the styrofoam head.

Hunt through the husks again, this time for a discard. Fold the reject into a bundle and stick it under the front flap to make a chest. Tuck a wad of cotton under the back flap to give some body to the back. Pull the flaps down snug and overlap them so they lie smooth, then tie under the cotton to cinch the waist. Trim the bottom of the petticoat to 8 NEBRASKAland the doll's toe length and shred it with a kitchen fork to give it more flounce.

Now, find two good, wide husks to make the overskirt. Tie one to the back and one to the front at the neck and waist. Knot a thin strip of corn-shuck around each joint where threads show. If you plan to hang your doll, tie a piece of yarn around the neck, knot it, and then leave a long loop.

Snip the shuck short at the back of the neck, but trim the one in front of the face a little longer to leave enough for a ruffled collar. To make the hair, trim the shucks extending from the knot at the top of the head by clipping it to neck length. Glue and pin these shucks to hold them tightly to the back of the head. Take some corn silk, shape it with your fingers, give it a couple of squirts of hair spray to hold it together, and glue it on. Then take a needle and thread to tack the hair more securely, tucking the hair in as you sew.

Use pinking shears to cut the apron and triangle hat out of calico. Tie the apron on with thread and knot a thin strip of husk around the doll's waist for an apron band. Glue the hat on and pin it for extra hold.

When your doll is dry, usually the next day, mix clear varnish with oil paint on a piece of aluminum foil. Paint blue eyes, brown brows, red lips, and a black dot for the nose on the face. Use a wide, rough brush and plain old dime-store rouge for rosy cheeks.

Mrs. Wilson ties the skirt down the first day to keep it from spread ing while the cornshucks dry. Some times her husband makes little coffee grinders and brooms to go with her dolls.

For variation, Mrs. Wilson makes little angels the same way, except instead of trimming the cornshucks off at the top of the head, she shreds them with a fork, ties them back and down, and waits a day until they dry. Then she unties them, heats her curling iron in the chimney of a kerosene lamp, and curls the hair, the wrists, and the bottom of the skirt.

She cuts wings from cornshucks and puts them in a book with a flat iron on it to make them dry flat. The next day they are sprayed with gold paint.

You might not build up the profitable little business that Mrs. Wilson enjoyed, but making dolls can be a rewarding and entertaining way to spend the winter evenings.

Roundup and What to do

MARCH SHUFFLES in with activities unlimited. Its entertainment includes everything from the aesthetic pleasures of eyes and ears to the vital excitement of sports. The more subdued action of this month is personified through the concert, and NEBRASKAland's Hostess of the Month, Miss Patricia Ann Johnson, finds this music to her liking.

Patty is the daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Harold Johnson of Minden and attends Nebraska Wesleyan University where she is affiliated with Alpha Gamma Delta social sorority.

Student Education Association, pep club, and cheerleading keep her busy during the school year. Other honors include the Dean's List, ideal pledge in her sorority, May Fete attendant, and beauty-queen finalist. Patty was a finalist in the Miss NEBRASKAland pageant.

The concert agenda begins with the University of Nebraska Sinfonia Jazz Concert in Lincoln on March 7, followed by the University of Nebraska Orchestra Centennial Concert on March 13. The music scene switches to Omaha on March 18 for the Omaha Symphony Concert and on March 19 the Morning Musicale. End-of-month happenings in the music world include the Symphony Orchestra Concert in Lincoln on March 25, the University of Nebraska Collegiate Band Concert in Lincoln two evenings later, and the Southwest Conference Music Clinic in Holdrege on March 28 and 29.

March happenings in the sports world are far from meager. Basketball action winds up this month when the University of Nebraska hosts Kansas State for the last home game on March 1 at the Coliseum in Lincoln. Creighton University in Omaha meets Marquette University on March 1 and then faces St. Bonaventure on March 5 for more skirmish on the courts. Nebraska high schools climax the basketball season with the state tournaments held in Lincoln March 13 through March 15.

Professional ice hockey thrills thousands of spectators each season, and the Omaha Knights are doing their best to keep it that way. The pucksters confront a heavy schedule of seven at-home ice battles as they begin with a game against the Fort Worth Wings on March 2 and end the month for the home crowd with the Oklahoma City Blazers on March 23.

Other sport flurries take shape when Omaha hosts the National Athletic Interscholastic Association Wrestling Tournament March 6 through March 8. Season efforts will also materialize at the State High School Gymnastics Meet at Lincoln on March 7 and 8.

Racing fans will hail March 21, when the ponies kick off the 1969 racing season at Grand Island's Fonner Park. The meets that begin the next day after the debut of spring will continue until April 30. The track will be silent on Sundays and Mondays.

Hobby and interest shows attract many visitors, and March offers them a potpourri of come-and-see activities. Grand Island will sponsor the Third City Home and Recreation Show early in the month, while the Home and Sport Show at Columbus will be held in late March. Omaha's Home Show, March 25 through 30, will attract those interested in the "what's now" of interior decorating and exterior architectural form. Collectors of coins and paper money will delight in the Nebraska Numismatic Association meeting in Omaha on March 22 and 23.

Drama, too, finds its way to the March NEBRASKAland entertainment scene with "Carmen", scheduled for March 6 through 8 at the Omaha Civic Opera. "The Killing of Sister George" will begin simultaneously at the University Theatre in Lincoln, Beginning on March 7, the Omaha Playhouse will host "A Delicate Balance" and on March 14 and 15 the Omaha Broadway Production schedules performances of "You Know I Can't Hear You When The Water's Running". Back in Lincoln, the Community Playhouse will top off the month with "The Cresta Run" on March 21 and 22 and again on March 28 through 30.

March in NEBRASKAland means the ending of many seasonal activities and the beginning of others. The first day of spring, March 20, brings with it new life and renewed energies. With this spirit, the multitude of activities offered this month are enough to satisfy anyone's yearning for something to see and do.

WHAT TO DO

TWIST OF FATE

AN AUTO accident in Lincoln , and a near drowning in Columbus are widely separated in distance, yet by a bizarre twist of fate, both have amazing similarities.

Marylin Marti, a Lincoln dentist's assistant, and her sister-in-law, Mrs. Bette Marti, had been vacationing with six of their children at the Marti summer home beside Wagner's Lake at the edge of Columbus. This is how Marylin describes what happened there:

"That morning we had been in Columbus, shopping. It was a windy day, but pleasant, and as we un loaded groceries, Julie, Bette's youngest child, must have toddled down to the lakefront. A child with no fear of water, she apparently waded into the surging lake where choppy waves pushed her down. And for her mother and me a routine check on the children became a meeting with terror —Julie was gone.

"A fruitless search of the house and backyard ended with the screams of Julie's mother. I sprinted to the lakefront and all I could see were the 17-month-old's yellow rubber panties, floating on the choppy lake. Forming an air pocket, the panties were probably all that kept her from sinking out of sight as she floated with her head and feet down.

"Bette plunged into the water and struggled to her baby, still scream ing. I followed at top speed.

"I lost my footing once where the lake bottom dropped off and by the time I scrambled up, Bette was coming back, holding her little girl high above the water.

"I could hear the other children yelling, 'She's dead! She's dead!' but I knew this was not the time for signing her death warrant. So I just took her and waded to shore with Bette following.

"I had read about mouth-to-mouth resusitation and had seen films on T. V. — I just had to try it.

"Remembering my year-and-a-half's nurse's training, I cleared her throat and began blowing. I could just remember I had to keep blowing and Julie had to breathe. She just had to.

"By then I was conscious of a neighbor standing near and holding Bette. I distractedly heard the man encourage me, 'You're doing just fine, Marylin.'

"I didn't know how long I worked over the little girl, but suddenly she made a sound. I really kept blowing then. It was beautiful.

"Soon she made another noise. And she squirmed a little —then some man took her. The rescue squad, summoned by our neighbor, was there, and I heard someone say, 'She'll survive.'"

Meanwhile, in Lincoln, Jim McCauley, a city motorcycle officer, was busy with a two-car collision, an injury accident. He tells it this way:

"It was a right-angle accident. An older model car, carrying four girls headed for the neighborhood swim ming pool, collided with a compact car. Miss Roxene Gummerson, who was driving struck her head, and swallowed her tongue as a result of the impact.

"When I reached the scene, I could see her breathing had stopped. I glanced at the other girls. They were all right and the man in the other car had only a minor scalp injury.

'I had used my knowledge of mouth-to-mouth resusitation before and I knew what to do. I dragged the girl out of the car instinctively, calling for a pillow, a blanket, or an in ner tube. I wanted anything I could use to prop her body and tilt her head for clear breathing.

"After clearing her breathing passages I automatically began trying to revive her as years of police and Air Force training had taught me.

"I couldn't think. I could only blow and wait, blow and wait. I wasn't excited— not then.

"Although I have saved two other lives that way before, I couldn't be sure the girl would revive. Each time is a new struggle with new odds.

"She didn't respond at first. After about seven or eight breaths she gasped and began breathing for herself. It was weak at first. But gradually it got stronger. I knew then she would survive."

Roxene did survive. She had had a close call, but she escaped without permanent injury. Julie, too, is still a healthy, active child and still has no fear of water despite her narrow escape.

Later, when news of the two accidents got out, Jim and Marylin compared notes. By coincidence, the two mishaps occurred on the same July day at approximately the same hour. Even more remarkably, both victims were saved by mouth-to-mouth resuscitation by a brother and sister who luckily had learned their life saving techniques well.

WINTER'S WONDERS

JANUARY'S ICY FIST was socking it to us and some 16 inches of powdery snow made moving more of a question than "just walking". Dead Timber State Recreation Area was the setting as Dr. Jim McCabe, his family, and myself, all of Lincoln, searched for dormant and animate life forms. Steve Kohler, a Nebraska Game and Parks Commission photographer, was along to film our finds.

Our early-January visit to Dead Timber had several objectives. All of us were bored with winter's "indooritis" and wanted a change. Secondly, it had been bitter cold and this had triggered conjectures on how the lesser life forms survived such trying conditions. Then, too, I was a little loud in my scorn that such a close-to-home place as Dead Timber could offer adventure of any kind, especially in midwinter. More knowledgeable and imaginative people around the office said it could, so I had an I'11-show-them chip on my shoulder when we started out.

Dr. McCabe is an instructor at the University of Nebraska's College of Dentistry. He and his family are outdoor people and when I heard about some of their past experiences from their neighbor, I invited them to go along. Jim is a tall, lithe individual who has the physical grace and intellectual curiosity of the born naturalist. His wife, Maria, is one of these rare people who can adapt to and enjoy any out-of-the-ordinary situation. Casey, 9, is the youngster of the family and is constantly trying to keep up with his brother, Jeff, 12. The older boy has a strong interest in natural history, but both lads share their parents' love for the outdoors and their sense of adventure.

As soon as the car slid to a stop on the snow-packed road the four McCabes were out and ready to tramp the woods. I took a few minutes to study the unique features of the state-recreation area.

Dead Timber is one mile east and one-half mile south of Crowell, Nebraska, on U.S. Highway 275. It is located on the Elkhorn River and supposedly got its name from the many dead trees that once studded the area following a forest fire. A small dogleg lake is one of its features. Like all riverine influenced terrain, Dead Timber has a wealth of water-oriented and dry-land vegetation to match its timbered areas.

Confessing to my limited knowledge of families, genera, and species of the animal kingdom, I had armed myself with a series of field guides. Even during the near 70-mile drive to Dead Timber, our seekers spotted 5 pheasants, 3 squirrels, many song birds, and 1 dinosaur.

We were rolling along the snow and ice-splotched highway jabbering away when Jim or "Pops" as the family refers to the man of the house, interrupted with a, "Look, Casey, quick, another dinosaur!" Ooh's and aah's followed. I knew my knowledge of nature's many creatures was limited, but this was unbelievable. Straining my eyes, I scanned the surrounding snow-blanketed terrain for a "dinosaur". Surprisingly, I soon found it.

"It's only a baby, though, Pops," Casey lamented.

It was fancy, true, but to a certain extent, the old-time, one-row corn picker did resemble the ancient reptile. Its dark body was etched into a seemingly endless sea of snow which accented its long skyward-stretching neck.

A few minutes after our arrival, Jim, assuming the responsibility of group leader, readied our forces. After getting the green light from everyone, he headed out into the wilderness. The temperature was nudging the lower 20's. Within minutes the entire family was inspecting an ancient tree. They worked and pried at the bark until it gave way. I personally couldn't find much of interest in the tree and was scrutinizing a rabbit track when I heard Jim say, "Well, here are a bunch of sleeping spiders and a few June bug grubs, or at least that's what they look like."

I was astonished that the hunters had produced results this fast and rushed to see the finds. The sleeping spiders were odd lookers, at least in my opin ion. True to his statement, the dental instructor was MARCH, 1969 15   holding his knife blade near a frozen grub. The experienced nature narrator began to talk about this obvious evidence of dormant life. He fired questions at Casey and Jeff. Both boys answered with expertise, and when something arose they didn't know —their parents explained and thus added to their already impressive arsenals of knowledge.

I expected the spiders and June bug grubs to be the only evidence the tree would offer and grew impatient as the McCabes kept prying at it. Finally, they found a beetle of some sort, but it had been an apparent victim of overexposure. Suddenly, Jim threw me one of the June bug grubs. It was rock hard and had the feel and texture of a marble.

'You can't tell me that this thing can ever be a living creature?"

"Sure," Jim replied with certainty.

"Let's dissect one," Jeff blurted. So we began a more intense study of the grub worm. Jim's knife served as the scalpel and it was obvious that an anesthetic was unnecessary. Soon the worm was sliced into numerous pieces. It was frozen solid — so firm that crystalization was visible. "Something like that come to life, no chance," I said with confidence.

I had slipped the first marble-hard grub into my coat pocket. We had arrived at Dead Timber at about 10 a.m. I glanced at my watch and it was now about 10 after 11.

As we trudged our way through the burdensome snow, around fallen trees, under the hanging vines, and through the assorted shrubs, we kept a careful watch for signs of animate life. Finally, Jim called another halt at the base of a giant tree. Again, the family began prying and working at the bark. The elderly tree yielded a variety of frozen bugs and beetles along with a well-woven sack of eggs. The eggs were probably those of a spider but we weren't certain. Suddenly, our investigation into the dormant insect world was shattered by a shriek.

"A mouse, a mouse," Maria exploded. I wheeled just in time to see a little brown field mouse skitter under a snow-covered log. The spider eggs were forgotten in this new excitement. Mice don't usually generate such wild enthusiasm, but this was no ordinary situation. We were searching for winter life, and everyone had different ideas about what to look for. The discovery of the little rodent immediately sparked suggestions on how to capture him.

We cased the animal's hideout and discovered dozens of well-marked trails and elaborate tunnels. An abundance of long-stemmed brome grass was included in his tiny estate. Jim dropped to a knee and began carefully digging away the snow in an attempt to corner the mouse while Casey and Jeff closed in to prevent an escape. As the doctor worked, he pointed out the many possibilities that the mouse Could pursue for safety. Several minutes of suspenseful search ing were ended by Jim's statement, "I guess we had better abandon the project, we're completely destroying the little fellow's shelter."

"Do we have to?" queried Casey.

"Shhhhh," Jeff said. "Let's listen for him."

"Get serious, partner. Listening for a mouse in snow." Jim derided.

"Yeah," quipped Casey, inflicting further injury to the already insulted Jeff. "Haven't you ever heard of 'quiet as a mouse'?"

The mouse project was finally abandoned, and we moved on to encounter a variety of lichens and other parasitic life forms clinging to tree trunks and branches. We checked old stumps, holes, under fallen logs, and even some discarded and rusting barrels for life. The boys swung on vines and frolicked in the snow. More discoveries were made including abandoned bird and squirrel nests. Indications of rabbits were all about, but we never did see one.

For the next hour or so our adventure was rather routine. I stayed in the background and observed. There was no "generation gap" in the McCabe family. They kept at their work, trying to disprove the idea that life vanishes in the winter. Evidence to support their contention grew at convincing speed.

As our miniature exploring party continued to comb many of Dead Timber's 150 land acres, we came to a small clearing. Thousands of cracks stippled its snowy carpet, proof that many different animals had traveled through and about the opening. We identified the deer and rabbit tracks, but for the most part, we could only make educated guesses as to the identity of the others who had trafficked there.

It was now 12:30 p.m. and we had been shuffling around in the deep snow for over 2Vi hours. After a short discussion, we headed to the car for a break. Maria broke out a lunch of dried apricots and crackers and our hungry forces soon exhausted the supply. Winding around the area's only open road we came to a small bridge that crossed a portion of Dead Timber's 50 acres of water. A small area was ice free and our approach startled a duck. She lifted off the open water and disappeared in the distance. Our seemingly knowing photographer stated the duck was a goldeneye and no one challenged him. I only knew that if I was that duck I would be in Acapulco rather than Dead Timber.

A few minutes later, we sighted more evidence of animate life forms. Several squirrels, less than a hundred yards ahead, were preparing their Saturday 16 NEBRASKAland dinner. From an adjacent cornfield the bushy tails were dragging ears of corn out in the open. The squirrels seemed unconcerned about our presence until we attempted to inch close enough for pictures. Then they hurried to their winter homes before we moved in. We tramped back to the car and continued on the winding road. However we soon stopped.

We were heading north and paralleling a narrow, ice-covered lake when we stumbled onto what Jim described as "some little creature's last stand". Marks in the snow indicated that a large bird, we guessed a hawk of some type, had pounced upon a mouse. The bird's wings had marred the once smooth snow. There were no tracks leading to the scene of the last stand, so we rationalized that a mouse had burrowed up from beneath the snow only to meet his end.

We walked for awhile and then moved onto the windswept ice for its easier walking. Our next item of interest was a colorful red and white suspension bridge over the lake. For Steve, this was a photographic must. A short distance from the bridge there was a tiny, ice-free opening next to the bank and while the photographer "worked" the bridge, we hurried over to investigate the little pool.

Jeff armed himself with a quarterstaff and began to poke around in the water when Jim came up with a surprising, "There's a whole herd of tadpoles in there." Sure enough, tadpoles were swimming in the five to eight inches of the clear, icy-cold water.

A slow trickling spring kept the area free of ice, and even though the water was cold, the tadpoles swam about as though it were spring. A colony of free floating aquatic plants was also flourishing in the open water. The duckweed-type vegetation sported a deep green which mocked the winter's snow. Directly behind us was more plant life —a climbing bittersweet.

It was nearly 2 p.m. when we took the ice avenue back to the car. Plants and sticks had left quarter-size openings in the ice and Jim pointed out the tracks where birds had landed, walked over for a drink, and then took off.

Twenty minutes later we were leaving Dead Timber State Recreation Area. I broke out and distributed my field guides. Jeff and Casey read aloud some interesting facts about various citizenry of the outdoor world, and Jim and I flipped pages for look alikes of tracks and larvae we had seen. The McCabes were not experts in identifying each little critter of the outdoor world, but they were right or close to right in most instances. Their outdoor knowledge was impressive, but in a way insignificant to me. The important fact was, that in this "super hurry" world of ours, here was a family that had a simple method of slowing down to enjoy nature's many marvels. Jim, Maria, Casey, and Jeff didn't have to rush off to the Grand Canyon or Yellowstone Park to enjoy nature in a big way. They find their adventure in Nebraska.

About an hour and a half later, Steve and I were back at the office ready to call it a day. I reached into my coat pocket in search of a dime and there, forgotten, was the tiny June bug grub. I gently pulled him out and the little fellow wriggled with life. I almost choked on my previous words about "coming back to life". Nature has brought the creature from a solid frozen state back to life. I carefully placed the squirming grub in a cotton-lined tin container.

Unfortunately, the grub died the next day. I supposed he died because of an unnatural and too-speedy thaw, but he was an object lesson for me, the guy who thought that winter was a barren time.

to take

[image]

the big ones

THOSE FAMILIAR WITH fishing know that it is always fun whether they are casting flies on a clear, fast stream or roosting beside a slow river or a quiet lake on a warm summer night.

Some people go after fish with uninhibited zeal while others are content to let the fish come to them, but all participants in this fine sport, male or female, young or old, are fishermen. And, they know there is more to angling than just putting a baited hook in the water. There is the anticipation of the outing and making preparations for it. Then, there is the fun of actually fishing, possibly with the companionship of an old crony. But the enjoyment does not end there, for each excursion adds to a repertoire of fishing stories which can be recalled and recounted over and over.

Possibly some stories tend to become exaggerated, picking up additional texture with the passage of time. To substantiate claims and to recognize those taking big fish, the Nebraska Game and Parks Commission established a Master Angler Award program in the spring of 1966. Since then, more than 1,000 awards have been earned by skilled (and sometimes lucky) anglers. These citations support many boasts.

Everything about the Master Angler program reflects an improved fishing situation in Nebraska. More species and bigger fish are now being caught in the state. Tnis is shown by the number of state records broken during the past year and the steadily increas ing number of awards given out. More anglers are also taking an interest in the award program and are trying for fish big enough to qualify.

To encourage this, NEBRASKAland talked with several top anglers who have won numerous awards for one species of fish. An attempt was made to glean fishing tips from these experiences that would help others. Some specific and valuable advice was given during these talks. Advice which will help other fishermen add to catches and perhaps aid them in coming up with a Mr. Big.

First to be considered is the largemouth bass as he is available in virtually all parts of the state. It is generally agreed that largemouths are the most popu lar game fish in America. But wanting to catch bass and catching them are two different things. The average bass fishermen takes some, but not many and few big ones.

Learning the habits and patterns of bass plays a highly important role in the taking of good ones. Expert bass men use certain techniques that are almost foolproof. Normally, the consistent bass taker uses 18 NEBRASKAland relatively few lures to outsmart largemouths. Most recommend some sort of surface plug for bass in the early mornings and late afternoons and on heavily overcast days.

Largemouths dislike bright, sunny days. When it's bluebird weather bass hang out under lily pads, logs, rocks, overhanging brush, and almost anything else that make shade. Slipping a surface lure over one of these bass lairs often produces, so it is wise to plug every likely-looking spot.

Normally, underwater lures are best for daylight fishing. Experts say the artificial worm is one of the best and it does pay off when properly used. Users recommend that plastic worms be rigged with fairly large weedless hooks and no sinkers, which enables the bass to move off with the worm without feeling any drag. If a weight is necessary, a small slip sinker is considered the best.

In medium-depth water the artificial worm should be cast close to trees or other cover. In some waters, especially if they lack secluded nooks, the bass will congregate like catfish in dark, cool holes. Check out the inlets and outlets of lakes or ponds because natural foods are often concentrated there. Let the worm settle to the bottom, and leave it there for a minute or so. Then start a short retrieve, pause for an interval, and then retrieve again. The entire procedure should be slow, even deliberately slow. Normally, the bass will not "hit" the worm, but will suck it in and move away. A moving line may be the only clue to a bite. After several seconds of this pickup-and-move game experts say to, "sock it to him", with a hearty heave on the rod.

Timing is quite critical with the artificial worm, for if the hook is set too soon it will be jerked right out of Mr. Big's mouth. Setting the hook requires a little muscle, so a hefty rod and stout line are companions for the rubber worm. Some anglers may squirm at using heavy gear, for it has become a vogue to use extremely light rigs. This is fine for unobstructed water and playful fish, but light tackle will lose more largemouths than it takes. Big bass are tough, and stubborn, and usually hang out in hard-to-fish areas.

Anglers who consistently score on largemouths often check the stomach contents, especially if they are fishing unfamiliar waters. This will be a sure clue as to food preferences. Minnows may work best in one place but not in others. Live bait or lures that resemble frogs or mice will often reap rewards. Of all the natural baits, crawdads are probably the best bass getters. Live nightcrawlers are not considered an A. No. 1 bait which makes the success of the artificial worm somewhat paradoxial.

The plastic worm will catch every other species, too, including selective feeders like trout, voracious eaters like northern pike, big walleye, channel catfish, and even bluegill and an occasional bullhead.

Successful fishing for walleye is about 50-50 mixture of luck and skill. They move about and today's hot spot may be tomorrow's blank. However, there are clues to their whereabouts at various times during the year, but pinpointing these places requires luck.

Being gregarious, walleye form into groups of about 20 to 40. An angler stumbling upon one of these schools will find that nearly every fish in it is the same size, and if they are big, real action follows. Walleye spawn on rocks or rubble, and are caught off the face of rock dams, especially in the spring. Before and after spawning, walleye hang out pretty much all over the lake, usually in medium-depth water until warm weather sets in. Often they prefer the same type of habitat as largemouths. Deep water is the place to try in the summer, and if there is a sharp, rocky dropoff, so much the better.

Different lures produce better at certain times of the year and at different reservoirs, but most Master Angler walleye catchers credit the thinfish, flatfish, and Rapala for their success. Spinners, spoons, and jigs are worth an experiment.

Those interested in trout have to decide whether to go the route of the fly rod or do the trolling bit. All but a handful of Master Angler rainbows taken in Nebraska this year came from Lake McConaughy, and trolling in deep water accounted for most. The same lures used for walleye pay off for trout, so anglers have a double chance to score.

White bass, like walleye, are residents of the big reservoirs and are taken on spoons, jigs, and spinners. Spring spawning runs are prime times to catch a batch. In spite of the tremendous number of white bass caught, very few Master Angler awards were earned for them in 1968. There may be several reasons for the lack of entrants in the white-bass category, but it seems likely that 2V2-pounders are more numerous than is indicated by the few dozen awards which were presented. The state-record for white bass is 4 pounds, 15 ounces and was taken in 1962 by Frederick Baldwin of Grand Island from a sandpit. His prize is almost twice the minimum required for the Master Angler award.

Many winners of Master Angler awards are repeaters — taking several (Continued on page 50)

...and away we go

BY JOVE, it's about time the popular sport of hound baiting started in Nebraska. Let me introduce myself—the name's Fox, Franklin P. Fox, and I am an expert in the sport of baiting hounds. Of course, I under stand humans call this sport fox hunting. Personally, I find the term disgusting, but MARCH, 1969 21   since I'm sure more humans than foxes will read this, I will, in deference to my two-legged friends, try to call it that.

Being a Nebraska fox, the red kind, I was quite unaware of this sport and of the important part my kin played in the lives of the English gentry. A British cousin, over here on an exchange program, soon changed my sweet ignorance to painful desire as he told me tales of scarlet and black-coated gentlemen, be-derbied ladies, and yapping hounds playing hide-and-go-seek with him always "it". In great detail, he told me of the fun that could be had baiting the hounds, then losing them in the dust, always the star of his own show. My English guest mentioned that hunters who wear scarlet coats are pretty dedicated and wear the red as badges of distinction. Those who aren't quite as "in" wear black.

As soon as he left, I began my search for my very own pack of hounds to bait. Soon, I heard through the grapevine that there was such a group in Omaha called the North Hills Hunt. Instantly, I headed there and then waited patiently in the bushes to be "discovered".

The fox hunters were everything I expected — scarlet and black coats, derbies and breeches (I thought they were just baggy pants), and

boots polished to a high gleam. The hounds jumped around a lot and acted very undignified for the occasion, I thought. They wouldn't be too hard to outwit, I decided, and lit out in front of the group. With a single Tally-Ho, we were off and I was on my first adventure.

Looking back over my shoulder, when time permitted, I watched the sleek horses, their riders hugging the mounts' necks, sail over fences, brush, and logs. One after another, the fox hunters glided over the countryside, the horses never missing a beat, the derbies never moving an iota. My English cousin was right; it was a beautiful sight, and me, the star of the show. An impertinent cry of a fast-gaining hound snapped me out of my reverie and I poured on more steam.

That eventful day I stuck to the basic of hound baiting —running through brush, logs, and culverts. Today I have polished my technique somewhat, but not too much. I hate to discourage the hounds or make them look bad in front of their masters. But upon occasion, when it becomes evident that it is time again to remind the hounds just who is running the show, I run a couple of circles and then hide 24 NEBRASKAland in a bush to watch the hounds try to figure where my trail starts and ends.

Although I don't like to talk about it, once in awhile I throw caution to the winds and get cornered for it, then I go to ground or take to a tree. Although it is tough on the fur, it is a lot safer than being worked over by a pack of insane hounds. Luckily, the huntsman is a man of honor and authority, so once the hunters catch up with me, the dogs are pulled away before some eager hound digs me out.

Whenever I get tired of the game, I simply turn to my bag of super tricks and get the hounds off my trail for the day. Only in emerfencies, however, do I resort to streams or ighways to hide my trail. I hate to get my feet wet. And as for crossing a highway, well frankly sometimes I think I would rather face the hounds than one of those moving vehicles.

Although my career does have some drawbacks, like not being able to get any life insurance, I love it just the same. Fresh air, plenty of exercise, and a lot of fun out-witting the hounds. But, by jove, it looks like I'll have to cut this short, here come the hounds. Tally-Ho!

DUCKS ON A PADDLE

BLUEBIRD WEATHER, 10 a.m. start, and a visible lack of airborne ducks would make most hunters scuttle their shotguns in favor of the Sunday afternoon pro-football doubleheader on television. But John, Jr., and Lee Nelson are young, energetic, and love to shoot, so weekends are reserved for hunting. Using a little imagination and their canoeing skills, the two North Platte brothers were confident they could overcome the unfavorable hunting factors.

For John, 17, and Lee, 14, Sunday sunrise duck shoots are usually out because the younger Nelson carries newspapers. So, the boys' plan to overcome the late-morning disadvantage was simple. Instead of ducks coming to them, they would go to the ducks by drifting the river. The brothers compete in summer canoe races, so handling the craft was no problem. But was this unique type of jump shooting legal? They checked with the District IV Game Commission office in North Platte and learned that it is legal to shoot from a floating craft that is being "propelled by paddle, oars, or pole".

After talking with their father, John, Sr., and other experienced hunters, the boys decided to float the Middle Loup River, an unfamiliar waterway for them. Fall freezes had iced many Sand Hill ponds and pushed the ducks to larger impoundments and the rivers. The Middle Loup with its many protective bends and large marshes was holding a good duck population and appeared to be one of the better rivers in the area for the drift. Although the waters are public, the banks are private. If the boys dumped a bird on shore, they would need landowner permission to retrieve it. They asked for and obtained permission from adjacent landowners to drift hunt several miles of river.

Although this concept of drift hunting was an experiment, the day would not be wasted, ducks or no ducks. The two brothers liked canoeing almost as well as hunting, the weather was comfortable with the mid-November temperature in the high 40's, and there was always a certain amount of adventure in floating a strange river. As luck would have it, the unseasonably warm weather and apparent lack of moving ducks might work in their favor. For the drift hunt to be successful the ducks would have to be sitting tight. After John, Sr., informed his sons that he would meet them downstream for lunch, the boys nosed their canoe into the Middle Loup, just east of Thedford.

The Nelsons adopted some effective shotgun safety rules for canoeing. Only the bowman would shoot, and and sternman, his gun unloaded, would handle the canoe. Lee started in the bow with the understanding that after the ninth grader got a shot John would take the front position. The first half mile was scenic but uneventful. Grass meadows fell down to the river bank and towering hills of the Nebraska National Forest, Bessey Division, abruptly sliced into the horizon. Although the current pushed the canoe along at a good clip John didn't have much trouble maneuvering it.

As the canoe swung wide around a bend, 10 mallards squacked and splashed a panicked getaway. Lee raised his 12-gauge autoloader, but the surprised ducks were out of range. The boys had learned their first lesson in drift hunting from the gun-shy mallards. Wary ducks aren't going to let you get within shotgun range if they see or hear you. The canoeist must hug the inside bank on bends to stay out of sight.

A whisper sounded like a roar in the late-morning quiet along the Middle Loup. The distant hum of cars on Nebraska Highway 2, the faint whisp of rushing water brushing aside a (Continued on page 56)

S.D. BUTCHER, Pioneer Cameraman

WHEN WINTER is just two frosts away, and the only material a man has for building shelter is the tough prairie sod, he isn't going to arrange for a photographer to record his efforts. He's going to rip up that sod, block it out, and raise the walls of a home as quickly as he can. If the builder is of philosophical bent, he may reflect on the historical and social significance of what he is doing, but chances are he won't. And so it was with the homesteaders who flocked into Nebraska in the 1880's. They built sod houses and worried not about such nebulae as history or heritage.

Fortunately, an itinerant photographer, Solomon DeVore Butcher, realized the significance of what the early homesteaders were doing and preserved Nebraska's sod-house heritage through camera lens and written word. Four thousand of his photographs, mainly glass negatives, are now in the archives of the Nebraska State Historical Society in Lincoln. The acquisition of these negatives by a state agency is a story in itself. But in brief, they were obtained through the efforts of a director of the Legislature Reference Bureau who was also director of field work for the Nebraska State Historical Society. Negotiations began in 1911 and culminated in 1913 when Butcher accepted $600 for his collection.

The photographs reveal the square sturdiness of the sod house, its windows of greased or brown butcher paper, and its doorways of buffalo hides or blankets in exacting detail. But even more importantly, Butcher's photographs capture the hard determination, optimism, and resourcefulness of the people who called such structures home.

Today, this early cameraman's pictures of Nebraska's sod-house era are almost priceless and are in great demand for illustrating historically oriented books and magazines. Yet the man who took these photos never made more than a bare living from his work and died a self-considered failure. Although he was poignantly aware of the historical significance of the period, his hopes to profit from it were never fulfilled.

Solomon DeVore Butcher was born in West Virginia in 1856 and moved to Illinois in 1859 when his father accepted a job with the Illinois Central Railway. The family lived there for 20 years before migrating to Nebraska in 1880. The elder Butcher managed to give each one of his five children second ary schooling, a rarity for that time.

Young Butcher became exposed to the mysteries of a camera at 18 while working for a photographer in Winona, Illinois. But 28 years would pass before this would evolve as his vocation. The young man possessed a gift of gab, liked people, and desired to "see the elephant on the other side of the mountain". Until he died in 1927, Butcher would be constantly traveling to find that wonderful and elusive pachyderm.

The first leg of this vagabondage took him to Chicago before he turned 20. Soon, he was traveling for a patent medicine firm located in Ohio. Butcher's approach to this business differed from those of his contemporaries. He had no medicine wagon, nor did he mystify his customers with feats of magic, or display Indian chiefs or maidens, who supposedly conjured up the magic potion that he sold. He drummed from town to town on the railroads and made street-corner presentations or beguiled housewives with door-to-door sell ing. During this interlude his average income was $125 a month.

When his parents and his married brothers and sisters decided to migrate to prairie country of Nebraska and take homestead claims in Custer County, Butcher left patent medicine and city life behind to join them.

The Butcher clan claimed land some 22 miles northwest of Broken Bow near Gates. Here the photographer-to-be became exposed to the most primitive living conditions he had ever experienced. His bent was not turning sod or laying blocks for a house. After batching for eight days when his family went 100 miles south to Grand Island to get supplies, Butcher declared he had had enough of pioneering, bid his folks good-bye, and headed north to Minnesota. He is said to have attended a medical school in Minneapolis. In any event, he married Lillie M. Barber in May 1882. A year later, the young couple decided to retry homesteading in Custer County and use photography for a supplemental income.

Butcher took a homestead claim on the Middle Loup River near his father's and began haphazard construction of a sod house. Between times, he taught at the Predmore District School.

When the house was finally completed, the young couple lived in what was probably the most unique photo studio in the West. The (Continued on page 51)

Escape to Solitude

LONG YEARS AGO, genies were the perfect servants. They could be summoned with a wish and dismissed at a whim. They accompanied their masters on all sorts of fabulous adventures and protected them from all sorts of perils. They had the ability to transport their owners at the speed of light to distant lands, and to seirve as trusted but unseen companions whenever the need arose. These fabled genies are all gone now, but they left a great substitute in their stead. It is called solitude, the servant of the mind—an agent of escape, and a very special companion.

Those who have not discovered the wonderful companionship of solitude need only to look at the next 10 pages to know that it is all about them waiting to serve. The genies of old were very personal and very loyal to their patrons and so is solitude. It has the power to let a man be alone but not lonely, the wizardry to let a man be physically here, but mentally there, and to grant him the opportunity to cleanse the mind and refresh the body without conscious effort.

Solitude comes wherever and whenever it is summoned. It works its soul-renewing magic equally well in city or country, hill or plain. It has no favorites and no preferences. This unseen companion serves the young, the old, and the in-betweens with equal devotion, yet it is peculiarly their own. Solitude is every one's personal genie.

Some believe this wondrous agent is approachable only in the far reaches. Perhaps it is more recognizable in the isolated places, but this servant of the mind is not confined to place or time. It is as much a companion of those who walk the crowded streets of Omaha as it is of hikers in the canyoned lonesomeness of the Wildcat Hills or the crenelated buttes of the Pine Ridge. Solitude shares a busy office in Omaha or the saddle of a Sand Hills cowboy with equal devotion, for it is a very individualistic possession.

The old wizards of bottle and lamp could whisk their patrons to lands and times almost beyond imagination. Solitude has much the same gift, for it can cross years and miles in the span of a thought. A moment's reflection, and an old lady is again a girl while a youth becomes a man with accomplishments and honors beyond compare.

Solitude is ready to serve everyone in NEBRASKAland. It is ready to stand at the elbow of a Lake McConaughy fisherman, or stride the rolling slopes of the Devils' Nest with the hunter, or sit beside the harried businessman. Fortunate are those who know and accept its greatness.

Leg of Rabbit

THAT SATURDAY was near perfect for rabbit hunting. A pretty three-inch snowfall covered the ground with an ermine fluff sequined with millions of silvery crystals. The sun was new copper in a sky of cloudless delft. Temperatures were in the 20's and there wasn't a whisper of wind.

I gulped down my breakfast of pancakes, eggs, and coffee and got out my old .22 rifle and what was left of a box of long-rifle hollow points. Stepping outside I whistled up Mugsy and Shep. They knew what was up and were wagging their tails so hard they shook all over. Mugsy was half beagle and half small bulldog. Shep was mostly collie with just enough shepherd to distinguish him from a purebred.

Our house was at the edge of Riverton, Nebraska, along the Republican River and Thompson Creek. The surrounding country was full of small game and we depended upon it for part of our winter food as well as sport. The dogs were anxious as we headed north along the creek. They coursed back and forth among the willows while I walked along the bank which varied from 3 to 10 feet high.

Mugsy's shrill yip yip told me that he had started a rabbit in the willows. From where I was standing, I could watch the entire chase. Wise in the ways of cottontails from past hunts, I knew they nearly always lead the dogs in a circle. This one had been chased before and he didn't worry too much about the dogs. He ran a short ways, then backtracked and crisscrossed until poor Shep and Mugsy were completely bewild ered. While they were up the creek trying to figure out how a rabbit could disappear so quickly, the sly, old rascal was slowly slipping back along the bottom of the bank where I was standing. I let him get within 20 feet then notched the front sight in the rifle's back V until it rested right on the rabbit's eye. The hollow point rolled him over.

I felt pretty good. We had the first rabbit up and it looked like he wouldn't be the last. As we worked up stream, I could see thousands of fresh tracks but in the next half mile we didn't see another bunny. Then just as I was rounding a bend I heard old Shep let loose with his "arf arf' in a stand of elm and Cottonwood. I hurried over to find him barking into a hollow log which was about 10 feet long and as big around as a 5-gallon can. I was sure I would get my second rabbit as I had seen them do this before, but when I got down on my knees and looked in, I got a surprise. A small, 40 NEBRASKAland angry opossum was backed up about midway into the hollow. His small beady black eyes sparkled with defiance as he hissed and spit, trying to persuade us to leave him alone. He was classed as a varment and I could have shot him, but I don't believe in killing just to kill. We decided to humor the little fellow and continued on our way.

I saw two more cottontails right away, but both ducked under driftwood piles before I could shoot, so I decided to cut west across the hill to a series of narrow draws. These were grown up with wild sunflower and other weeds and offered excellent rabbit cover. The dogs were 50 feet or so in front as I came up to the first draw. I walked slowly until the dogs were into the weeds and making noise, so the bunnies wouldn't notice me watching. I had no more than stopped at the upper edge when Mugsy and Shep opened up. Mugsy had his nose right down in the snow and following the trail while Shep was leaping high trying to see the fleeing bunny. Every time he saw any movement he would come down headed in the rabbit's direction and running hard. This cottontail knew what he was doing and after crossing and recrossing the trails, he lost the dogs, but I could see him hopping slowly along the far bank. Every so often he would stop, raise up, and sniff the air while listening to the dogs down in the draw.

He was perhaps 50 feet away and it looked as though he was heading for a hole in front and about half way up the bank. I wanted him to get closer, but if something startled him he would be in that hole before I could shoot. He stopped and raised up again, so using a little more than a full bead I squeezed the trigger. Rabbit No. 2 was on his way to the skillet. At the shot, two more bunnies leaped away.

Both headed toward the dogs. One ran right past them, but Shep spotted the other and the chase was on. Since I had scared this one out of his hiding place it wasn't likely he would come back, so I moved on down a hundred feet or so to where the dogs were now raising the dickens. The brown, dried-up weeds were quite heavy there and the rabbit would sometimes pass within two feet of the dogs as he maneuvered. The draw was wider here and I wouldn't be able to get much closer than 50 or 60 feet, so I had to take a chance. Our rabbit stopped several times, but each time he would be either facing toward me or away from me. After what seemed like an hour, but was probably less than 10 minutes, he decided (Continued on page 55)

OMAHA'S OLD MARKET

A NEW HAPPENING comes to an old market. One man opens up a British import shop, others follow the pursuit of individual expression, and a new excitement begins.

At the turn of the century, the City Market in Omaha thrived as a fresh-fruit-and-vegetable distribution center, and the Eleventh and Howard Street district bustled with merchant life. The market prospered until the development of chain stores, when competition forced most of the local distributors out of business.

Then, this vicinity stood in the darkness of near isolation, with its antiquated buildings lining its time-worn red brick streets. Only a few merchants and temporary panhandlers remained.

Today, the same buildings and streets are there but isolation has shifted into vibrant camaraderie. Many interesting people are revamping the old structures into their Own Thing, enabling a rare form of exotica to gain a giant foothold. Ventures in the Old Market range from an art gallery to an avant-garde movie house to a French restaurant.

"Omaha needed a new type of meeting place because there is no neighborhood in the city with atmosphere. More and more parking lots have created less and less warmth," explained Sam Mercer, an at torney living in Paris, France, who owns much of the Old Market property.

And the atmosphere of the Old Market is much different from that created by any other renovation of old buildings in this state. Development manager Nicholas Bonham-Carter and industrial designer Cedric Hartman are preparing development plans. Most of the new merchants are changing very few basics. The rough interiors and antique facades are the same. Renovation comes through community clean-up projects and added personal touches. A giant Sunkist orange ad, breaking the monotony of a black exterior, is typical of the unique Old Market Thing.

When Percy Roche opened the shop in December, 1967, he became the first implant of the culture center. The British Import Shop at 1019 Howard Street retains turn-of-the-century atmosphere with its wood floors and rough-hewn display tables. A huge British flag dominates the interior of his shop, and this decor suitably complements his merchandise of British fashion and paraphernalia. The flair of Britannia also 42 NEBRASKAland

Percy was followed shortly by a host of other creative people. Dennis M. Kennedy, who teaches a film-making class at Creighton University, opened the Edison Exposure at 1014 Howard Street. This movie house is host to a week-end film society where viewing pleasure runs the gamut of everything from vintage film to experimental. The world premieres of John Lennon's Number Five and Yoko Ono's film, Two Virgins, were held at the Exposure last November. Such films as Jean Cocteau's Beauty and the Beast, and Rene Clement's Forbidden Games are shown

Film is not the only artistic expression in the market. The Gallery at 1102 Howard Street, operated by Mrs Tom Palmerton, is another showplace of creativity The gallery features painting, sculpture, ceramics, prints, drawings, and jewelry produced by some of the finest artists in the Midwest.

Above the Gallery is the Farthest Outpost of Roger Du Rand and Wade Wright, who lend themselves to the way-out world of the shop. Such items as hand-made jewelry, student art, posters, candles, flowers, and antique junk are sold. A special black-light room, scattered with fluorescent, psychedelic posters, is another feature. Wandering through the shop is an experience of sight, like a quick trip through a pseudo-hippie wonderland.

The Loft occupies the third floor, where John Soulliere and Chauncey Nelson have a workshop in painting, watercolor drawing, and batik, the art of printing in color on cloth. And above this floor is a private artists' studio for faculty members from the Creighton University Art Department who want to practice what they teach.

Up the street at 1112 Howard is another gallery. Walk in, sit down on the floor, drink coffee, talk to people, discover an artist's voluminous work, and you know you're at Dodson Benedec's Gathering. There aren't too many places in the city where this type of informality is possible. Carpeting, conversation-piece pillows, and sometimes people line the floor. The walls 44 NEBRASKAland are filled with Benedec's unsigned paintings, only a few of the nearly 1,000 works he has completed.

"People should buy paintings because they like them —not for the signature," he said.

His paintings are also unpriced. Anyone wanting a painting can take it home for a week or more, and if they like it well enough to buy it, they can deal with Benedec.

The Creative Person at 426 South Eleventh is run by Frank Patstone and features the works of artists who have not done enough to warrant private shows at other galleries.

Another place in the market where informality and friendliness seem to coincide is Reba, a dress shop at 417 South Eleventh Street. Owner Diane Johnson not only draws on the couture resources of the United States, but finds imports from London, Paris, and India as well. Old fruit crates, antique mirrors, and pop-art-fashion wall paintings provide the shop's distinctive decor. World-famous couturier signatures from New York department stores —embellish one wall in mural form. Instead of numerous small dressing rooms, Diane came up with the idea of one huge room decked with benches, antique mirrors, and more wall painting.

Next to Reba's is a music and coffee shop known as the Other People. Musician Pat Brougham has leased 419 South Eleventh Street and plans to have frequent sessions of live music.

True foreign influence will infiltrate the market area when the French Cafe, Chez Toussaint, opens for business. La cuisine francaise will be prepared completely from "scratch" by the expertise of French chef Monsieur Toussaint. Moallic Apollo Faison will take over as le maitre cV in the new enterprise. Authenticity of a Paris restaurant will be carried out completely, including everything from the French wines to the absence of cigarette machines.

Interesting old furnishings, archaeological finds, and Egyptian art can be found at Plain and Fancy, an unusual antique shop operated by Don Milhone. The ultimate in different interior decoration is their specialty.

At 1008 Howard, Lothlorien houses several shops where the visitor's own ideas are translated into many things. At Skins and Needles, Jim Yeager works leather and fur into any type of clothing, while his wife, Jessie, who operates the Fig Leaf, makes original and informal clothing. The Wicked World features candles of any size and color.

Another shop in the market is The Elysian Fields, a book store leased by Ellen Olsen. Tim Andrews operates the underground newsstand, and plans for a market newspaper are underway.

More and more merchants are joining the group, but the area welcomes others, too. Several artists have established residence, and living quarters are available.

But even with all of this, the Old Market is just beginning. To Sam Mercer, the Old Market has become an ideal place of no regimentation, a place for people of similar thoughts — "the last outpost of rugged individualists". The Old Market has become more than one man's dream come true —it has created mystique in Nebraska.

BLACK CRAPPIE

IF LAWMEN ever put the black crappie on the most-wanted list they would have to sift through a lot of aliases. Without a doubt, more common names have been coined for this fish than any other freshwater fish in the United States. Names such as calico bass, strawberry bass, papermouth, tinmouth, grass bass, and speckled crappie are but a few of the many local terms. Scientists identify the black crappie as Pomoxis nigromaculatus (LeSueur). Being a member of the Centrarchidae family, this fish is one of the numerous sunfishes. As a group, these are among the most sought after of all freshwater gamesters. Black crappie are found in most of the streams, lakes, and reservoirs throughout Nebraska. They appear to thrive best in relatively clear water while white crappie show more tolerance for turbidity.

This fellow with the unusual name is distinguished from his near cousin, the white crappie, by counting the spines in the front portion of his dorsal fin. Black crappie have seven or eight compared to only five or six for the white crappie. Although colors vary considerably depending on the water, some differentiating characteristics between the two can be noted. Both are silvery-olive with green to blackish spots on the upper portion of the body, but this spotting on the black crappie is quite irregular and usually darker than the normal pattern of seven or eight verticle bars on the back and sides of the white crappie. During the spawning season increased pigmentation gives the breeding males almost black heads and breasts.

In size, crappie rarely run over 2 pounds, however, the largest on record in Nebraska is 3 pounds, 15 ounces. Since crappie are difficult of practical identification, the Nebraska Game and Parks Commission uses only one classification in establishing records. The present record holder, caught by Delmer Butler of Sidney, Nebraska, came out of Lake McConaughy on April 29, 1962.

While not considered voracious predators, crappie are carnivorous. Adults prefer small fish, but also feed on insects and crustaceans. Young crappie utilize smaller forms of animal life such as microcrustaceans and other zooplankters.

Growth rates vary with the amount of food and space available, but under average conditions a crap pie will be about five inches long after his first year. At 4 years he may reach a length of 11 inches.

Most crappie have an average life span of three to four years. This short life is no detriment to the over-all population in a body of water. Crappie are highly prolific and one adult female is capable of producing 20,000 to 60,000 eggs. Spawning occurs in the spring when water temperatures have risen to 60 or 65°. As the spawning season approaches, the male crappie constructs a saucer-shape nest in three to eight feet of water. Egg deposition and fertilization occurs after the female is enticed to the nest by the active and aggressive male. Although not much is known about the incubation span, it is believed that eggs hatch in about one week. A raise or drop in water temperature probably affect the incubation period. Spawning usually occurs in May or June.

The term, "eating one's self out of house and home", literally occurs in crappie populations. Often the food supply is not great enough to allow good growth of individual fishes unless their numbers are controlled. This control is more likely to occur in large bodies of water due to a larger number of predators. Where predation is lacking, crappie often become stunted. Nebraska has no bag or possession limit on crappies.

These fish are extremely palatable and rank high as table fare. A favored method of angling is the live minnow impaled on a small long-shank hook. Crappie can be taken with artificial lures on fly, spinning, or casting rods. Small spinners or lead-head jigs of white or yellow are often most effective. This fish is quite sporty on light tackle.

Crappie are usually caught in 4 to 16 feet of water depending upon the season and the water temperature. The best fishing in a lake normally occurs in the spring before the fish population has spawned. With millions of fingerlings about, the angler's minnow will have scant chance of being noticed in the crowd. Dead min nows are not nearly as effective as live ones in crappie fishing.

Sunken brush piles, old pilings, and submerged snags are likely spots for crappie of both species. These fish have tender mouths and care should be taken when landing them to prevent the hook from tearing out.

Crappie are extremely sensitive to depth, so successful fishermen experiment until they find the exact depth and location that crappie are using. These preferences can change from day to day.

Many anglers consider crappie the ultimate in panfish and often spend hours searching out good crappie "beds". A special two-hook rig is often used to entice these flat-sided, rather dour-visaged fish and two-at-a-time catches are not unusual.

THE PARTNERSHIP

UNLIKE RIVERS that never flow back to their source, the annual money stream to our federal government does. More and more, the federal establishment is in partnership with the various states and their political subdivisions to assist in financing needed programs. Federal grant-in-aid programs are available for many different government activities at state and local levels. In fact, a recent catalog of federal-assistance programs listed 458 of them. The roster grows longer each year, resulting in a fiscal technology all its own.

These assistance programs are usually established by Congress to assist and stimulate action programs by states and political subdivisions. Fish, wildlife, and outdoor recreation come in for a substantial share. This assistance is becoming increasingly important in financing many different phases of these programs in Nebraska.

For example, federal reimbursements to the Nebraska Game and Parks Commission made up almost 20 percent of the total expenditures for fiscal years 1966 and 1968 and approximately 39 percent for fiscal year 1967. If the 1969-71 budget is approved by the Legislature as recommended by Governor Tiemann, federal-aid funds will comprise almost 25 percent of the total budgeted expenditures by the Commission during the next biennium. Obviously, federal-assistance programs are important to our fish, wildlife, and outdoor-recreation programs. Although others may be available for special projects, most of the assistance is provided by three programs. They provide a fairly predictable income to the state, although subject to Congressional appropriations.

The granddaddy of the three is the Federal Aid in Wildlife Restoration Act which was passed by Con gress in 1937. This program assists state efforts in restoration of birds and wild animals. Almost identical in its provisions, except that it is orientated to sport-fish restoration, is the Federal Aid to Fish Restoration Act passed by Congress in 1950.

The architects of these two laws held that those individuals who enjoy the harvest of the wild fish and game should contribute to a nationwide restoration program for our fish and wildlife. Federal-aid funds for the two programs are derived from an excise tax on sporting arms and ammunition and on sport-fishing tackle. Thus, those who benefit directly from perpetuation of hunting and sport fishing contribute the funds for these programs. Indirect benefits accrue to all citizens, however, through better management offish and wildlife resources.

Each year funds collected the previous year are apportioned to the various states through a formula based on the total license sales in a state and its total area, in relation to these same totals for all states. Nebraska's apportionments for fiscal year 1969 is $571,159 for wildlife restoration and $127,907 for the fisheries programs. Within the limits of the apportionments and of approved projects, the state can be reimbursed up to 75 percent of the cost for land-acquisition, development, research, management, and coordination projects.

Nebraska's apportionment is used for all of these purposes, with emphasis on acquisition, development, and research. Typical projects include the introduction of the Merriam's wild turkey, trapping and transplanting of antelope in the Sand Hills, and the development of the Plattsmouth Waterfowl Management Area. Other projects involve the acquisition and development of the Sacramento Wildlife Management Area, annual wildlife surveys and investigations necessary for management of our game species and of 48 NEBRASKAland harvest by hunters, and a 10-year study to determine minimum habitat requirements of the ring-necked pheasant. These are typical projects, but there are many others.

Funds apportioned under the Fish Restoration Act are limited. A substantial share finances research into new and better management practices and seeks a wider knowledge offish and their environment. Much development work is also accomplished. Lake renovations to provide a better sport fishery, acquisition, and development of angler-access sites, intensive investigations of certain fish populations of the Missouri River to provide needed management data, and re search into the problem of population controls for overly-prolific panfish are typical projects.

The Land and Water Conservation Fund Act of 1965 is the most recent federal-aid program. In a brief life it has had a big impact on outdoor-recreation programs at both the state and local levels. This act created a fund from which Congress appropriates money to provide urgently needed public outdoor recreation areas and facilities. It became effective January 1, 1965 for a specified period of 25 years; through the year 1989 to be exact. Appropriations are apportioned annually to the states and to federal agencies through a formula prescribed in the law. Grants are provided to states up to but not exceeding 50 percent of the cost of acquiring and developing outdoor-recreation areas and facilities. These projects must be in accord with a comprehensive state outdoor recreation plan. The funds are allocated to the state, but the law provides that a state may transfer funds to political subdivisions.

The Nebraska Legislature assigned administration of this program to the Game and Parks Commission. The Unicameral also specified that 40 percent of the annual apportionment to Nebraska should be made available to political subdivisions and 60 percent should be used for state projects. Recognizing the urgent need for this work at local levels, the Unicameral also authorized state grants-in-aid to political sub divisions of 25 percent of the cost of approved projects. Thus, under the program in Nebraska, political subdivisions can receive 75 percent cost sharing for eligible projects.

Congress dedicated certain federal incomes for the Land and Water Conservation Fund and this makes for stability in the program. These earmarked funds come primarily from the sale of admittance permits to federal surplus real property and the federal tax on gasoline used in motorboats.

The income derived from these sources has not come up to the level estimated when the law was enacted, hence the Congress amended the Act in 1968 by stipulating that $200 million shall be made available annually for the next 5 years. The 1968 enactment provides that if collections from the original sources do not reach $200 million annually the difference will be made up from oil-royalty income under the Outer Continental Shelf Lands Act. Assuming that Congress follows through with annual appropriations in this sum, the states will have a stable income for the next five years. In Nebraska this will be approximately $1,500,000 annually. This amount sounds big, but demands are growing and every dollar has a use.

Federal allocations since 1965 have totaled $3,518,110.73, of which $1,973,770.04 have gone to state areas and $1,594,340.69 to political subdivision projects. Thirty-two outdoor recreation projects have been completed, 25 for political subdivisions and 7 for the state. Another 32 have been financed and are in various stages of progress; (Continued on page 54)

TAKE THE BIG ONES

lunker fish each year. Some catch more than one species while others concentrate only on what they consider "the" fish. Gail McKie and Chuck Roberts of Lincoln, Nebraska, for instance, are among those wise in the ways of large mouth bass. While they occasionally angle for other fish, most of their efforts are devoted to bass. They go to known or suspected bass waters, use tried-and true tackle and techniques, and come up with an impressive number of hulking largemouths.

On the other hand, a good number of Master Angler fish are taken by accident. For example, Cletus Jacobsen of Big Springs, Nebraska was enjoying a few hours of casual fishing at McConaughy when he landed a northern pike weighing 27 V2 pounds. His catch is the state record. Or, how about Richard Anderson of North Platte, who stopped at Merritt Reservoir one evening to do a little trout fishing and caught a 13-pound, 6-ounce muskellunge? Richard's fish is the only verified muskie catch in the state and therefore in the record book.

Master Angler winners are the first to admit there is much yet to be learned about fishing. There are times, they will say, when the angler can catch fish using the most ridiculous lure. And, conversely, there are times when nothing will en tice a fish to the hook. That is the way it should be. There would be no zest to the sport without the element of chance and uncertainty, and no enjoyment without the rewards of success. But there are ways to play the odds, and to do so makes good sense. The time of day and season of the year are important. Some fish will not bite at times, and are most receptive to the fisherman's wiles at others. Spring is considered an excellent time for many species, including bass, panfish, north ern pike, trout, catfish, and walleye, but most continue to hit during the summer and fall as well. Most white bass are taken after early July when they school up in the reservoirs. Catfish are also dependable through the summer, as are walleye.

A study of the Master Angler files shows certain trends in the taking of lunker fish. For instance, the greatest number of big walleye are taken in June, followed closely by May and April. June is also the month for big northern pike, with April, May, and July tied for next best.

In the case of largemouth bass, anglers should have the best chance of catching a granddaddy during May, and the same is true for bluegill. Largemouths, however, were also dependable from April through August while big bluegill were taken in appreciable numbers only in May and June.

Rainbow-trout Master Angler awards were earned almost every month, but April and May hold a slight lead. In contrast, channel catfish are taken basically from May through August.

As fall rolls around, another surge of activity occurs as the fish prepare for 50 NEBRASKAland winter. They feed heavily to store up for the cold. In dead winter, fish movement slows down appreciably, but northern pike, perch, walleye, trout, panfish, and walleye can still be taken. Perch and northerns are perhaps the ice fishermen's best bets.

Nearly every kind of fish in the state is now represented on the awards list. Walleye, largemouth bass, and rainbow trout continue to outnumber the other species, but bluegill, smallmouth bass, and northern pike are on the increase.

Ranging in size from beginners of 3 to old pros in the 70's and 80's, Master Anglers' demonstrate the wide appeal of fishing. Some anglers may stretch the truth a bit, but a growing number of them don't have to. They have earned the rank of Master Angler and when they tell fishing yarns now, their stories are accepted hook, line, and sinker.

S. D. BUTCHER, PIONEER CAMERAMAN

building, made of lath and of sod, was 18 by 28 feet. The roof was made of boards with skylights and windows draped with cotton sheeting. As background for his portraits, Butcher utilized a wagon cover with its numerous holes, first carefully patched by his wife, and hung it from the roof. But after developing his pictures, he realized that the background detracted from his subjects. He corrected the situation with what was probably the most unusual "prop" in the history of photography. When a customer arrived, Butcher would gab while stripping the bed and attaching the springs and wagon cover to the ceiling. After getting his subject in front of the background, he would focus his camera, dash over to the springs and set them jiggling, then return and take the time exposure. This solved the background problem.

Nebraska's intermittent rains forced the Butchers to take refuge in his father's house nearby. The young Mrs. Butcher bore most of the brunt of the cleanup afterwards as she tried to dry and clean the mattress, bedding, and clothing after their muddy baths. S. D. as he was called did try to farm, but his soul was not in tune with it. Customers were never lined up waiting to have tintypes made, so he spent three years in frustration.

The first Fourth of July picnic held in the settlement was at Butcher's place and the photographer held a baby contest where he offered finished tintypes as prizes for three prettiest children. This netted him more customers and as he later recalled, "kept the gray-brown coyote over the hill and away from the door."

Butcher tried working as a hired hand and managed to get a postoffice authorized for his home. The office was named Jefferson for his father but three months of stamp sales netted him less than a dollar.

Somehow, Butcher had managed to add a room to his home so that he did have a one-room picture gallery and darkroom. One day he realized the importance of what was being done by his neighbors, and decided to do something about it. Bv this time he had obtained a view camera through his father's help and had purchased a franchise that entitled him to the Lightning or wetplate process of developing the plates. This process made it easier to develop and produce better negatives. Now, he was ready to bring a plan into reality.

After improvising a wagon to accommodate both himself and his camera and provide a darkroom as well, he was ready to go about Custer County compiling material for his proposed Photograph Album of Custer County which was later published as the Pioneer History of Custer County, Nebraska in 1901.

For seven years Butcher traveled the county making photographs of families in front of their sod homes as well as doing portraits and gathering material for sketches of each family. During this interval, he decided to combine the pictures with family histories and collect anecdotes concerning the area. No one knows how many miles he traveled, but judging from his output, Butcher must have been indefatigable.

In 1899, a fire destroyed his home and all his written material was lost. Fortunately, many of his glass negatives were not damaged. Instead of giving up, Butcher decided to try and regather the material.

One day, he stopped at the home of Swain Finch, a rancher near Arnold. After showing the Finchs some of his work, and telling them of his project, the rancher so admired the photographer's tenacity and determination that he agreed to back the book's publication.

George B. Mair, a colorful editor for the Callaway Courier, edited Butcher's new material and wrote a number of the sketches. In the process, Mair produced some tongue-in-cheek writing that has helped this book become a classic. After the photographs returned from the engravers in Chicago, Butcher went to Denver to talk to his publishers. One thousand books were printed in 1901 to sell at $6 a copy.

With publication of his book, Butcher moved his family to Kearney, set up a photo studio on Central Avenue, put his son, Lynn, in charge, and began roving

throughout the Sand Hills country. For the next two years he traveled as far north as South Dakota, as far west as Fort Robinson and then worked his way back to Kearney. While he was in the field, S. D. sent his plates back to his son.

These contained views of historic places, outlaw haunts, pioneers, and the Indians of Pine Ridge. The views were turned into photographs which were sold throughout Nebraska. Before S. D. Butcher and Son closed its doors when Lynn went to World War I over 2lA million photographic postcards had been sold by the firm.

During his intervals at Kearney, Butcher became acquainted with W. L. Hand, an attorney who dabbled in real estate. The lawyer sold the lensman on the idea of using some of his sketches in a booklet to promote land sales in Nebraska. Hand agreed to write and edit the material and pay part of the publishing cost.

The booklet titled, Sod Houses of the Great American Plains, was published early in 1904. The two men planned that Butcher would take the booklets to the Louisiana Purchase Exposition opening at St. Louis, Missouri in April, and use them to interest people to come to Nebraska and buy land. These booklets were 50 cents a copy. The plan was a good one but the timing was wrong. People, Butcher soon found, had come to gaze upon wonders of other lands, enjoy entertainments on the midway, and escape from the humdrum. They were not interested in real estate.

When the exposition closed in October, Butcher returned to Kearney with almost the same number of booklets he started with. Undaunted, the photographer decided to get more photographs and sketches to add to the material Hand was working on and come up with a book to be called The Cowboy Shorn of His Hoofs and Horns. Butcher took orders for the books and collected money which was placed in escrow in one of the Kearney banks. Hard times hit and the book was abandoned so Butcher went back on the road. He kept sending plates back to Kearney for his son to turn into postcards.

By 1911, he was in correspondence with Addison Sheldon, director of the Legislative Reference Bureau in an attempt to sell some 4,000 glass plates to the state for $1,000. Sheldon realized the historical importance of the collection, and even borrowed $100 from a Lincoln bank to make an advance to Butcher until the full amount could be approved by the legislature. Finally in 1913, Sheldon obtained approval of $600 for the purchase. Butcher took it. Since that time his sod-house pictures have been used to illustrate books, newspapers, and television documentaries on the West, but only a select circle of western buffs are aware of the man who was responsible for the pictures.

After his first wife died in 1915 and his son went into service, Butcher moved back to Broken Bow, and worked for a flour mill company. He still worked at photography (Continued on page 54)

A Hunter For Breakfast. A hunter in a Canadian wheatfield covered himself with straw and waited for dawn. Only his shotgun and one hand extended above the blind. Suddenly something bounced off his head and struck his hand. The startled hunter watched a fox speed away. The fox had actually bitten his hand, then evaded the two quick shots the hunter fired after him. Now the hunter wonders just what kind of tasty morsel he looked like to that brazen fox. — Canada

Unusual Stray. After being assigned to pick up a stray dog, a California patrolman routinely proceeded to the specified destination. He picked up the dog and chained it in his car, thinking it was an ordinary German sheperd. However, the pound attendant identified the stray as a full-grown, 75-pound female wolf. Need less to say, the patrolman cringed a little when he first heard the news. He later found out that the wolf's original owners abandoned her under a new city ordinance which prohibits keeping predators as pets. — California

One-Way Traffic. A New York hunter bagged a big buck and was slowly but surely dragging it out of the woods by the tail. Another hunter noticed the proceedings and began to watch. After some time he walked over and asked his fellow sportsman why he didn't drag the deer by the antlers instead of the tail. The puffing hunter replied, "Because I'm not going in that direction."—New York

The Muddy Missouri. The Missouri River, alias Muddy Mo, has a well-deserved reputation for being something less than crystal clear. Some old-timers claim it's the only water in the world you have to chew before you can drink. Since the days of Lewis and Clark, the Missouri has been regarded as "too thick to navigate and too thin to cultivate". The river's muddy reputation could be exaggerated to some extent, but recently an old riverman put the lid on when he said he had seen the Missouri River so muddy that "you could stand on the bank and watch coon tracks float by!" — Missouri

Anti-Bird Man. There are many bird lovers across the nation, but at least one Rhode Island man is definitely "anti-bird" after this episode: He was showing off his cooking skill by barbecuing steaks on his outdoor grill when a big sea gull made several passes at him. Thinking the bird was after his steaks, the fellow threw a rock to discourage him. The gull, in return, made a graceful bank, dipped down to the patio, and flew away with the poor guy's glasses. -Rhode Island

A Very Fat Fox. Talking about the one that got away, an Ohio hunter finally shot and killed a red fox he had been baiting for some five months. During that time, though, the fox became plenty fat by picking the trap clean of 4 chick ens, 50 blackbirds, 16 ducks, 15 pigeons, and 6 rabbits. — Ohio

Double Trouble. Running into trouble once is once-too-many times for anyone, but what about the guy who bumps into the same type of trouble twice. And, bumping into trouble is exactly what happened to an Oklahoma resident. The fellow was driving to Oklahoma City recently when he collided with a deer. Then, exactly one week after the accident, the same man was driving the same route. Bang, he hit another deer within five miles of the previous crash. Chances are the driver now stays home. — Oklahoma

Resettlement Project. A surveying crew in Vermont discovered a bald eagle and her five eaglets nesting in a tall spruce tree. The spruce had to be cut down to clear land for a new interstate highway. After the crew checked out the situation, they proceeded with operation "resettlement". They sawed off the part of the tree holding the nest and transferred it, eaglets and all, to another tree far from the road line. A crewman wiring the nest firmly in place was "buzzed" several times by the mother eagle, but she finally accepted the new address. - Vermont

Migraine Maker. Among hundreds of letters, telegrams, and phone calls, both pro and con, received by the Department over the recent quail season changes was one from an irate state hunter who phoned to protest the increase in quail days. He was violently opposed because, as he said, "I don't want them out-of state hunters in here shooting my birds."

Trying to be as nice as possible, we explained there had been an open public hearing prior to the Commission's action, and he could have attended it and expressed his opinion at that time. "No I couldn't," he retortedly angrily. "You guys held that thing when I was pheasant hunting in Nebraska." Of such stuff are Department migraines made. - Outdoor Oklahoma

Eek! A Mouse. The capybara of South America is the world's largest mouse. He weighs as much as 100 pounds, measures 4 feet in length, and stands nearly 2 feet high at the shoulders.-Pennsyl vania

S. D. BUTCHER

and became involved with several different companies trying to promote sales in the Rio Grande Valley of Texas. None of the land schemes brought the money he so badly needed. Again he went in search of his elephant by moving to Franklin County, Nebraska. Here he lived with his second wife while he concocted Butcher's Wonder of the Age, a patent medicine most likely based on the formula of the one he had sold in earlier years. Again, his timing was bad, even though he did obtain glowing testimonials concerning the fantastic and multiple cures it produced.

His last venture in the final two years of his life was his Radio Magnetic Oil Finder which supposedly located oil pools. Again glowing testimonials were obtained, but Butcher didn't make any money. Apparently discouraged, the aging photographer moved his wife and stepdaughter to Greeley, Colorado, where he died in May, 1927.

He died believing himself a failure, but he wasn't. For Solomon DeVore Butcher's collection of sod-house photographs made a vital contribution to American's heritage.

THE PARTNERSHIP

12 for the state and 20 for political subdivisions.

Projects for political subdivisions have ranged from acquisition of a 355-acre metropolitan park in Omaha to acquisition and development of a 1-acre "tot lot" in Scottsbluff. Valentine, Mullen, Paxton, and Milfbrd have completed swimming pools under the program. Crofton, Alliance, and Ashland are presently constructing municipal pools.

In addition to the 64 projects that have been completed or are in progress, 38 have been scheduled for fiscal year 1970, provided that federal and state appropriations are forthcoming. The program has been extremely popular with Nebraska towns and municipalities. They have responded magnificently to the challenge, and are providing many needed outdoor-recreation areas and facilities for their citizens.

Typical state projects include the acquisition of lands for Fort Robinson, Indian Cave, and Ponca State parks, the acquisition and development of recreation and wildlife lands surrounding the lakes of the Salt Valley Flood Control project, the development of Johnson Lake State Recreation Area, the devel opment of Martin Bay at Lake McConaughy, and many more of a like nature. This act and the program under it will provide the means for bringing Nebraska abreast of national progress in this field during the next two decades.

There are other grant-in-aid programs of which the Game and Parks Commission has taken advantage. For example, the Commission is using approximately $20,500 each year under the Commercial Fisheries Research and Development Act. These funds are devoted to development and use of fisheries resources in the state. One of our basic problems in management of large reservoirs is control and utilization of rough-fish populations. These fish are not generally sought or taken by the angler. Efficient harvesting techniques and commercial outlets for rough fish will make better use of a large resource and provide better habitat for sport fishes, hence better fishing for the angler. One such project is now under way on the North Platte River just above Lake McConaughy. Feasibility of trapping large numbers of rough fish through the use of electrical fields and traps is being tested there. If the technique proves feasible, and preliminary results are encouraging, more efficient utilization of carp, carp suckers, and gizzard shad will be possible, and sport fishing will be improved in our large reservoirs. Federal funds finance 75 percent of the cost of this research project.

The Open Space Land Program, administered by the U. S. Department of Housing and Urban Development, ,is directed towards acquisition, development, and preservation of open-space lands in urban areas for permanent public use.

Up to 50 percent matching grants are provided. Lands acquired may be used for parks, recreation, conservation, scenic, or historic purposes. Developments which are eligible for assistance are lim ited to the lands acquired under the program and may include landscaping, water, and sanitary facilities. Assistance is not provided for major construction items such as amphitheatres, dock facilities, swimming pools, or golf courses.

Open-space grants may be made to any state or local governmental agency which has the authority to acquire and preserve lands for open-space purposes and is legally authorized to receive financial assistance from the federal government. To be eligible, however, the participant must have a comprehensive plan developed, or in the process of development. In other words, the projects financed must be a part of a comprehensive plan for the urban area, hence planning is a pre-requisite.

The City of Lincoln has acquired two city parks under this program. Lancaster County is presently acquiring over 1,200 acres for a wilderness park. Hastings is acquiring a 7-acre park, while Nebraska City is purchasing an additional 65.5 acres for expansion of its city-park system.

Nebraska is a leading state in organized small watersheds under the Watershed Protection and Flood Prevention Act of 1954. Potential exists for development of many small reservoirs under this program, and these reservoirs are usually adapted to local or regional recreational use. Fortunately, much of this activity is in eastern Nebraska where there is a great deficiency of water areas having recreational values. The Department of Agriculture, through the Soil Conservation Service, shares up to 50 54 NEBRASKAland percent of the cost of land or flowage rights for certain reservoirs which can be managed for public recreation. Cost sharing is also available for development of minimum basic recreation facilities including access roads, campgrounds, picnic areas, launching ramps, beaches, sanitary facilities, parking areas, and water-distribution systems. Any state or local agency with the authority to carry out, maintain, and operate the improved ments is eligible to receive assistance.

The Mud Creek Watershed Conservancy District in cooperation with the Nebraska Game and Parks Commission is acquiring and developing an outstanding recreation area under this program. The City of Norfolk is actively working to acquire and develop a city park, based on a 49-acre reservoir. Other projects are in the planning stage, but the recreation potential under the Watershed Act has hardly been tapped. Recognizing this potential, Nebraska agencies and the federal government are cooperating in an active and progressive multiple-use program under the Watershed Act.

This, in truth, is the key to successful federal grant-in-aid programs anywhere. Nebraska has an outstanding record in cooperative effort by federal agencies, the Legislature, the governor, state agencies, and right on down to the last political subdivision. All are concerned about soil, water, wildlife conservation, and recreation projects. We seek the maximum in multiple use for public projects. We are acclaimed nationally for this cooperative effort. With this admin istrative attitude and approach, Nebraska citizens are getting their money's worth from grant-in-aid programs for soil, water, wildlife, recreation development, and conservation purposes.

LEG OF RABBIT

to head back up the draw to where I had first flushed him. He had to pass about 40 feet away, so I waited until he was almost by, hoping he would stop. When he didn't, I let out a short shrill whistle. Instantly, he stopped and looked in my direction. That's when I collected my third cottontail.

I picked him up and put him on my stringer. A two-foot-long piece of No. 9 wire that I ran between the tendons in the rabbit's back legs and hooked in my belt. At that time, there was no specific statutes pertaining to hunting along rail road right-of-ways, so we headed south across the next hill, along the tracks for about two miles, then through another weed-filled draw that would bring me to within a quarter of a mile of home. The whole circle meant about seven or eight miles of walking and it usually took me the better part of the day to complete.

The dogs were a little tired by this time and stayed close as we worked along. These tracks paralleled the river and in most places were about 15 feet above the fields on each side. I always tried to hunt from high ground and let the dogs move the rabbits around below me so I could see them. The south side seemed to be the most promising since the sun was shining there, and I figured the rabbits might be out soaking up the warmth. We hadn't gone very far when I heard something big crashing through the weeds. I turned toward the commotion and a coyote nearly as big as Shep came running up the bank. Seeing me he stopped in his tracks and for a second neither of us did anything but stare at each other. Since I never carry a cartridge in the chamber of my rifle I had to fumble around trying to slip a shell into the gun. My cold fingers didn't help. The coyote must have sensed what was going to happen, for he leaped across the tracks and down the south bank toward the river about 50 feet away. The dogs were too surprised to do anything but watch, and by the time I fumbled a shell into the chamber, I just had time for one quick snap shot as he went over the bank. My try didn't do anything but make him run faster. He was across the river and out of range before I could load again. I shook like a leaf in a windstorm for a few minutes after he left.

I had only a couple of hours left before the sun set, so the dogs and I walked along a little faster. As we hurried along, I caught a glimpse of movement along an old tree which was broken about six feet above the ground and had fallen over with the bark still holding the main bole to the stump. Old Shep ran over, raised up, and started barking. His "arfing" told me he had a fox squirrel treed. The squirrel slid around on my side to keep out of Shep's sight and I zeroed in on him. He slowly lost his grip on the bark and fell right at Shep's feet. Mugsy was already halfway up the sloping trunk and when he saw the squirrel fall, he came down and stood looking at this strange "rabbit" until I came and retrieved him.

We headed up the last draw and just as we started, I met a friend coming toward me. He had two cottontails that he had shot before he hit the draw. According to him, he hadn't seen a rabbit in the draw. We talked for a few minutes and then took off in opposite directions. I wasn't expecting to get any more rab bits, if my friend hadn't seen any, then there wasn't much chance for me. I decided to hunt the draw differently and went right up the middle making all the racket I could while the dogs ranged in front of me. A patch of buff gray flashed 50 feet or so ahead, then I saw it again, a couple of feet below the rim to my left, and going in the opposite direction. It was a cottontail circling around behind us. He stopped for a second to check our whereabouts and I got him at about 40 feet.

With four cottontails and a squirrel I was feeling pretty good. Satisfied with the day, I really didn't expect to get my fifth bunny, but that one proved to be the most interesting of the lot. There are several narrow gullies at the upper end and just before we got them, Mugsy scared a cottontail from a pocket under a patch of dry grass. He went across the draw through the dried sunflowers, made a sharp turn, and headed for one of the little gullies. Mugsy put his nose in the snow and tracked Mr. Cottontail right up to the mouth of it. The dog let out a couple of sharp yips and Shep joined him. This rabbit was nobody's fool. This little gulley was actually a small tunnel washed out by rain enter ing the draw. Naturally, the dogs MARCH, 1969 55   thought the old rabbit was holed up in one of these tunnels, but he had scooted right on through and out the upper end. I watched him scurry across the open ground and back into another little washout. A neck shot finished him when he peeked out of the lower end.

We had made good time on this last leg of the hunt, so with only a quarter of a mile to go, I whistled in the dogs and headed home. Anticipation of how good those cottontails would be for supper helped me cover the distance in record time. If you have ever eaten rabbit legs and backs fried brown and crisp with homemade biscuits and gravy, you know what I mean.

DUCKS ON A PADDLE

drooping branch, and every so often the whistle of a wintering bird were the only intrusions. A lone duck heading upriver flared when she spotted the aluminum craft and three rooster pheasants flushed from some nearby brush. Lee watched and wished as John paddled around the bends.

As the water pushed the canoe toward the towering, wind and water eroded bluff, John paddled within grabbing distance of the bank. A mallard hen and drake that were peacefully swimming next to the bank, were momentarily confused when the canoe shot around the bend. Lee, who hadn't expected even one duck to get up within 10 yards, was shaken when the two mallards flushed within a canoe's length of him. He re covered in time to send a load of No. 5's after the drake. He fell and the teenager swung on the hen and brought her down.

The shotgun's report spooked six downstream mergansers. The boys were trying to play catchup with the elusive wounded drake when the fish ducks skimmed over the treetops, apparently unaware of the twosome below. The ducks were within shooting distance when John shouted an alert to his brother. By the time Lee fumbled his shotgun into position the fast-flying mergansers were out of range.

As John settled into the bow, he smiled with the knowledge that he would ride free until he downed his two mallards. Lee suddenly realized that his two ducks had come too soon and too easy. His only reward for the double was an afternoon of paddling. After rounding a series of sharp bends, the boys spotted their father.

"I got a double," Lee beamed as his father grabbed the bow and beached the canoe.

"I've seen a lot of activity in this area," John informed his sons. "There must be a marsh right across the river against those hills, because several ducks have gone down over there."

A series of shotgun blasts made the Nelsons look downstream. Seconds later, three mallards appeared on the horizon and headed toward the party.

"Don't move and maybe our hunt will end right here," Lee whispered.

There wasn't even a bush to hide behind, so the three crouched down and made like rocks. The ducks weren't fooled and veered toward the marsh on the other side of the river. A sandwich later, five pintails winged by just out of range and went in upriver.

"I think we can get to them, if we try a sneak by land," Lee said.

John agreed, then pointed to a truck that had pulled to a stop near the marsh. Two men got out and walked about 200 yards before one of them fired. John glanced upstream to see if the shots had spooked the pintails, but they were sitting tight.

"Your best bet is to use the brush on the other side for cover," John hinted.

The boys paddled across the river, quietly climbed out of the canoe, and picked their way through the heavy brush. As they topped a small hill, they looked down at the river. The pintails were either hugging the bank or had moved, because they couldn't spot the ducks. As the brothers eased toward the water the ducks got up 75 yards down-river from them.

"We should have guessed they would float with the current," John murmured as the two ambled back.

Although this was a drift for ducks, the going that afternoon was a push-and-tug affair. Marshes lined the river which was a duck-hunting advantage, but shallow water and a hard-to-find channel made the going tough. Experience had taught John to wear waders when canoeing, but Lee had played it smart and left his in the car. While John toiled, Lee playfully egged his brother on. Although the going was tough in spots, both John and Lee were amazed at the lack of barbed-wire fences across the river. So far their only obstacles were bridges that were high enough to float under.

John had just shoved the canoe off a sandbar and was lowering himself back into the bow of the craft when a mallard drake rocketed out of a stand of cattails. John turned and his 12-gauge autoloader barked once. The charge of No. 6's brought the duck down hard.

"Not bad shooting," Lee shouted, as his brother jumped out of the canoe and splashed toward the fallen drake. "One more and you and I are going to change places."

The meandering channel was hard to follow and John pushed 100 yards, then paddled 200 more, only to push another 50 to 100 yards. Three ducks winged out of a small marsh on the right and were gone before the boys could pick up their shotguns. The noise of pushing the canoe spooked other ducks from the backwaters. Finally, the canoeists found a channel that hugged the bank. Rounding a slight bend they caught a mallard drake off guard and John dropped him on the second shot.

A cold front was moving in and the weather had begun to cloud up, so John and Lee were glad the hunt was over. The experimental hunt had been successful. During the long drift they had seen more than 100 ducks. Next time, and there will be a next time, they should do better in less time, because they now know the river.

As the boys paddled in silence down the Middle Loup toward their pickup point, a doe wandered down to drink from the river. The canoe slipped within 10 yards of the deer and that gave the boys an idea. Would a canoe deer hunt work? It was a thought, especially for John, Jr., who is eligible for a deer permit while Lee has to wait until he's 16. With a situation like that, it's easy to see who was going to do the paddling.

NEBRASKAland TRADING POST

OUTDOOR NEBRASKAland of the Air

A SNEEZE TO most folks means catching a cold, but a sneeze at the Norfolk Livestock Market in Norfolk, Nebraska, just might mean that you have bought a fat cow. Such innocent gestures as a nod of the head or a flick of the wrist often mean a bid at this market which bills itself as the largest livestock-auction market in the United States. Beef cattle are the main attraction at the market which handles some 700,000 head each year, but the company's six professional auctioneers sell about everything that walks. Hogs, sheep, horses, and dairy cattle all have their special days at Norfolk.

To most folks, a juicy, mouth-watering steak is just that and they couldn't care less about its origin. Still, many people enjoy the color and romance that surrounds the thousands of Nebraska-raised cattle that go through the seller-auctioneer-buyer gamut before they reach the platter. Just watching the business in the nation's "Beef State" is enough to keep most observers on the edges of their chairs.

In 1968, the Norfolk Livestock Market handled cash transactions of over $73 million. Livestock is brought to the auction from as far away as Canada. Auctioneers rattle away for six days a week, but they are only a small part of the total 58 operation. All in all, the company has 120 employees who work as a team to keep the entire show rolling. The market is located on South First Street about one mile south from the center of Norfolk. All livestock is sold on a commission basis. This percentage varies according to the animal's classification.

In the jargon of the trade, a draft is a sale, whether it consists of one animal or several. On an average day the auctioneer moves 1 lA to 2 drafts through the ring every minute. The operation is set up on a circus-type format with a ring, bleachers, and a podium for the auctioneer. The auctioneer is the ringmaster and the buyers are the audience. Animals are herded into the ring and the auctioneer begins his chanting from the podium. Besides a rapid-fire tongue, the auctioneer needs sharp eyes for the bids are usually silent. A nod, a crooked finger, or a rubbed nose often indicate an offer. Helpers aid the auctioneer to spot bids.

The Norfolk Livestock Market adheres to the principles of the National Certified Livestock Market Association, and is supervised by the Packers and Stockyards Division of the U.S. Department of Agriculture. The Norfolk operation is 1 of 91 such cattle auctions sprinkled across NEBRASKAland. As the largest in the United States and possibly the world, the Norfolk market is truly a western-geared event that gives visitors a firsthand look at how the wheels of agribusiness click.

Farther to the west, another NEBRASKAland attraction awaits visitors to Cheyenne County. The Cheyenne County Historical Museum houses documents, pictures, household utensils, artifacts, hardware, and much, much more of yesteryear. Located in Sidney at 1028 South Avenue, the museum is only a few blocks south of U.S. Highway 30. The museum was founded less than a decade ago when contributions totaling over $15,000, and the city's donation of an old library building made it a reality. A mill levy meets the museum's operating expenses.

Although primarily devoted to the history of Cheyenne County, the museum harbors mementoes that characterize all facets of life on the early frontier. An impressive display of law-enforcement items was recently donated to the museum by W. W. "Bill" Schulz who served as Cheyenne County sheriff for 37 years before retiring a few years back. The donation includes guns and handcuffs used by law-enforcement agents over the years.

The Cheyenne County Historical Museum is under the auspices of the Cheyenne County Historical Association and is open weekdays from 8 a.m. until 5 p.m. in the summer and other times by request; admission is free.