For the Record... EARTH DAY-PLUS ONE

Earth Day 1970 swept across America last April 22 like a prairie fire pushed by a hot, summer wind. Fed by the fuels of shame and frustration, it seemed to sear every conscience.

Some cynics say the fire died as quickly as it came —that the enthusiasm for improved ecology subsided as soon as the TV cameras pointed elsewhere. The outward signs of a prairie fire may soon disappear, but glowing embers remain which can burst into flames again. Earth Day left many such embers, and despite the cynics' claims, it is leaving its mark. Some of these embers burst into flame again in the form of new laws, agency programs, and citizen concern.

In Nebraska, an examination of the full scope of environmental problems with a request for recommendations was ordered. The study resulted in a bill now before the legislature, proposing a broad, state environmental agency.

Aside from this commissioned study, state agencies continued their efforts to measure the impact of pollution and other forms of degradation. The Game and Parks Commission completed a study of pesticide pollution and advised the public of the presence of residues in channel catfish in every major watershed in the state. A study to measure the impact of waste heat discharged into streams was also launched. Analyses to determine the amount of mercury in pheasants was carried out. These and many other efforts are providing understanding and a sound basis for corrective steps.

Our concern for environment is entirely legitimate; the survival and welfare of wildlife hinges on it. In fact, wildlife has become recognized as a delicate barometer for sensing changes in the environment.

On the national scene, certain federal legislation has been passed since Earth Day. For example, the numerous agencies which previously dealt with many fragments of the environment have been brought under a single Environmental Protection Agency where they will, hopefully, be able to act with unity and power.

The question of air pollution graduated in Congress from a topic of innocuous discussion to a tough legislative mandate requiring new automobiles to be 90 percent free from pollution by 1975. Programs were also set into motion to save some of the quality of surface waters. A significant Environmental Policy Act passed with measures to improve the handling of solid waste. Administrative actions were also taken, including stringent control of off-shore oil leases, prosecution of oil spillers and mercury dumpers, protection for whales, and delaying construction of the Alaska pipeline.

But if these gains suggest the battle has been won, the thought can be dismissed. The biggest efforts to date have, at best, served only to curb pollution — a long way from stopping waste and degradation, and even further from reversing the destructive trend. Corrective legislation is still fought bitterly by special-interest groups seeking freedom to continue polluting, and appropriations to implement actions are still too small. Even measures considered by some to be bold and visionary may be timid and futile in solving massive problems basic to the environment dilemma. Such a problem is the soaring human population.

If society has no motive other than affluence and recognizes no beneficiary except itself, it is doubtful that the needed steps can be taken. But laws are tools to implement the will of the people, and the fact that some meaningful bills have been passed means that motives are changing to some degree. A case in point is the debate over the supersonic transport. Although a final decision has yet to be made, the issue displayed a new willingness to consider the environment despite the possible loss of traditional ideals like international prestige and economic gain.

And so, the hot spots left by the prairie fire of Earth Day 1970 do not cover the entire nation by far —they are only scattered, but they still burn on.

It is unlikely they will be extinguished because they are drawing the attention of a receptive public whose understanding of the environment dates back to Earth Day, 1970.

Speak Up

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

REAL PEOPLE-"Following is a little praise for the fine people of Nebraska:

"Through the years, people in NEBRASKAland have grown more human with each step of that slow process which has brought them knowledge, selfrestraint, the art of friendliness, warm but not hasty, ardent, and full of definite power, but not running about to be pleased and deceived by every new thing.

"Nebraskans like the moo of a cow, the roar of a tractor in the fields, the laughter in the gathering places. They like rough faces browned by the sun, hardened in manner by a course of life of change and danger, loving the beautiful but rude hills and fields, and the crack of a shotgun, living to begin something new every day.

"NEBRASKAland, a fine magazine, helps bring this history to life in each issue — truly a great loss to those who do not receive it." — B. F. Wells, Des Moines, Iowa.

HARDENED HISTORY-"Congratulations on the beautiful photography and appropriate text on the Chimney Rock story, Tombstone of the Oregon Trail, January 1971.

"If Chimney Rock is no longer protected 'by the flat cap of sandstone', cannot state government or the Nebraska State Historical Society protect the top by some application such as cement?

"It would not be visible from below and would preserve the rock for future generations. Some form of technology such as helicopters should make this possible.

"The National Monument at Casa Grande, Arizona has not only been repaired with steel and concrete, but also has a roof!" — Bill Robinson, San Diego, California.

ONLY ONCE-"In the January 1971 issue of NEBRASKAland, you have an article entitled, How to Corn Game. Sodium nitrate is listed twice in the recipe and I am wondering which measurement to use." —Mrs. T. W. Burris, Columbus.

There is only one listing for sodium nitrate in the recipe in question. Sodium nitrite is just below sodium nitrate in the copy, thus fostering some confusion. An error which we would like to correct is found in the same recipe. While calling for one teaspoon of minced onion, it should say one medium onion minced. — Editor.

HEAVEN HELP US-'I hope for your sake that Otis Wade, emeritus professor of geology and anatomy is not a Ph.D." — John Rhodes, San Jose, California.

SUPER SCENES-"This is to let you know I really enjoy NEBRASKAland. I especially like the beautiful scenic photos and those of game animals. Are any of the photographs available on Super 8 movie film? If so, what is the price and where would one order them?" — LeRoy Falken, Eagle.

We do not have Super 8 film of our photographs available and to date we have not contemplated such reproduction. Some future date may find them available, however. — Editor

COYOTE KILLER-"When I was about 10 or 11, we lived on a farm 10 miles southwest of McCook. Times were hard and feed was scarce around 1913.

"To herd our cattle, I rode a pony and took two shepherd dogs along. One morning it was foggy and I saw a coyote sneaking along by the cattle. The dogs also saw him and were on him before he knew they were near him. I rode over and got off the horse, thinking I would hit the coyote with the snap on the bridle rein. But the coyote tried to bite me so I remounted and rode away to pick up a post. Returning, I dropped the post on the coyote, hitting him on the head and stunning him. Then I got off the horse and killed the coyote with the post." — Anna Bobinmeyer, Culbertson.

WHOOPS — "In your article, Shadows In The River, January 1971, I don't see any life jackets in the boat and the youth is standing up. After reading Brush With Death in the same issue, this scares a person." — Arlo Miesbacll, Rulo.

Author Steve Olson assures that there were life jackets available, though they do not show in the photo. In their attempt for spoonbills, the brothers Schuckman were forced to stand or kneel in the widebottomed pram to gain a view of the water. — Editor

TO SELL A STATE-"Your recent editorial promoting tourism in Nebraska (For the Record, December 1970) prompted the following thoughts."-Mrs. Lorene Moranville, Bayard.

DUPED —"Regarding your article on purple martins on page 12 of the February issue of NEBRASKAland, I am wondering if you are not the victims of some misinformation.

"The 'great purple martin hoax' of a couple of years ago was largely perpetrated by some very slick advertising by a gentleman engaged in the manufacture of birdhouses. From this came such statements as, 'A single purple martin can eat its own weight in mosquitoes per day'. A law suit of the cease and desist nature came about, and despite the use of the nebulous word 'can' in the advertising, the manufacturer was ordered by the court to stop the use of misleading advertising.

"Leading ornithologists say that although the purple martin is a voracious eater and certainly could eat 2,000 mosquitoes per day, in actuality mosquitoes do not make up a significant part of the purple martin's diet.

"It would be interesting to know the source of the author's reference information since no doubt this misinformation has spread to numerous official publications. It really wouldn't surprise me if he got it directly from the U.S. Department of Agriculture."-Glenn Thompson, Holdrege.

The 2,000 mosquitoes per day" figure is frequently quoted in popular literature about the purple martin, and was, in fact, originally made by the birdhouse manufacturer. Although the figure is open to question, martins do eat mosquitoes along with numerous other flying pests. Regardless of eating habits, they are nice to have around.-Editor

DEER CROSSING

CRESTING THE HILL on U.S. Highway 83 south of North Platte, I headed down the gradual decline to where the highway snakes through an S-turn before straightening out on its way to McCook.

It was pitch black. A heavy, predawn cloud cover hid the stars, inking out any trace of moonlight.

I work for Wells Fargo Armored Service Corporation and deliver federal cash letters and bank data from one prairie town to the next. As usual, I had made several pickups in North Platte that particular Friday morning last October, so it was 5 a.m. as I headed south along my route, which swings down to McCook, west to Imperial, north to Ogallala, and back along Interstate 80 to North Platte where I live.

Blackness closed in around my station wagon as I left the soft glow of the city behind. The rest of the world was still asleep as far as I was concerned. I was on schedule, and was just swinging right into the first curve at a safe 60 miles per hour when a deer suddenly sprang from the darkness into the beam of my headlights.

There was nothing I could do. Almost simultaneously I jammed the brakes as the car slammed the buck broadside. The animal doubled up and the antlers disappeared beneath crumpling grillwork.

At that point the road drops off on both sides with a cable guardrail on the left side. The highway veered right, but the bulk of the animal under the car momentarily lifted the front wheels from the ground and sent the vehicle hurtling toward the abysmal blackness looming beyond the shoulder. The rear wheels were still grabbing pavement when the front of the car smashed into the rail, dead center on one of the heavy, wooden posts.

Everything stopped —the screech of rubber on asphalt, the scrape of crumpling metal on metal, the thud of a heavy vehicle against a solid stump — silence of near-death rang in my ears.

Dazed for a moment, I soon discovered I was unhurt except for a bump on the head. I tried to get out, but the fenders were jamming the doors. I finally squeezed out and found the mangled deer at my feet.

He was a mess. Half of his body was under the car and the half I could see in the beam of my flashlight looked terrible. His side had been ripped open and broken bones protruded in all directions. He had been a handsome three-pointer and the only solace I found was in the fact that he died instantly.

Taking stock of the situation, I realized how lucky I was. The car was equipped with a steel bracework built behind the driver's seat. Only that protective barrier stopped the metal boxes in back from hurtling forward against my head. They were strewn about on the passenger side down to the floorboards.

There was nothing to do now but wait. The car wouldn't start because the entire front end was jammed back against the engine and the frame was sprung. Finally, after about 10 minutes, a car came by. The driver, a policeman from a nearby town, took me to North Platte where I made arrangements for the car to be towed in. On the way, I wondered what happens to animals killed on the road, and discovered later that the Game and Parks Commission supervises the disposal of carcasses. On rare occasions, if an animal is merely crippled but must be shot, the Commission tries to save the meat to be given to some institution, but that seldom happens.

Since the mishap I have been much more aware of the animal road-kill problem. I often see deer along my route and I always give them a wide berth if they are near the road.

Also, the State Roads Department has put up "Deer Crossing" signs at both ends of the S-turn south of North Platte. Probably more than anyone else, I know exactly what they mean.

HOW TO: MAKE A SUNDIAL

WANT A CLOCK that never needs repairing and is as reliable as the sun? It was invented several thousand years ago. Man's oldest timepiece — the sundial — is still the most dependable, although its function today is more aesthetic than practical, adding desirable accent to a yard or garden.

The dial face can be made from almost any durable material. Sheet lead scribes easily but is soft and must be worked with care. Copper, zinc, brass, or aluminum (available at sheet-metal shops; check plumbing or graphic-arts supply stores for sheet lead) are excellent choices but more difficult than lead if you must hand scribe. Even weather-resistant woods may be used if you wish to rout or wood-burn. When deciding which material to use, remember that the style (or gnomon), which casts its shadow onto the dial, must be rigid enough to remain absolutely perpendicular to the dial and retain a true edge, or accuracy of the instrument will suffer. This means that if you make the dial out of lead, for instance, a harder substance should be used for the style and this, in turn, anchored in some manner below the dial plate.

The dial illustrated is made from copper. The graphic process artists use in printmaking (called intaglio) is used to etch the lines and numerals into the dial face. This process is relatively simple and more accurate than hand scribing, and renders a more professional, evenly cut line.

Study the accompanying diagram. Notice that the actual dial face contained in the triangle is rectangular. This resulting shape is incidental and does not mean that some other shape —a square, circle, or heart — cannot be superimposed over the diagram. Only the hour lines radiating from point A are critical. Notice also that a dial of any size may be constructed from a modestly sized diagram simply by extending the hour lines. The dial pictured is 12 inches square.

A perfect straightedge and an accurate, preferably oversized protractor are needed. A compass (and a draftsman's angle) will be needed, as well as a hard-lead (6 or 8H) pencil to facilitate accuracy.

Begin by drawing the horizontal line FAG (this will be the 6 o'clock line). Midway along this line draw 10 NEBRASKAland perpendicular AC (this will be the 12 o'clock line).

Draw AD so that the angle DAC is equal to the latitude of your location. (Lincoln is 40 degrees, 50 minutes.)

From B on AC draw BE perpendicular to DA.

Make BC equal to BE, then make AG and AF equal to AC.

Draw lines FC and CG. Through B draw a line parallel to FG, cutting CG at M, and FC at L. Through the points L and M draw the lines LK and MH parallel to AC. Using BC as a radius, draw arcs TV, PQ, SR from points C, F, and G. Divide these arcs into equal parts of 15 degrees each (this is a critical step in which even a small error will magnify itself as the hour lines are extended, the reason why a large protractor is recommended). Draw lines from F, C, and G through the points thus found until they cut lines KL, LM, and MH. Draw lines from A through the points found on KL, LM, and MH. Also, draw lines from A through the points L and M. These will be the required hour lines. Extend to desired dial size. Check the accuracy of the plotted hour lines. The 1 o'clock and 11 o'clock lines, for example, should be equidistant from point B, the 4 o'clock and 8 o'clock lines equidistant from points K and H, and so forth.

Should you desire, the hour lines may be divided into halves, quarters, and so on by further subdividing the arcs TV, PQ, and SR.

Add numerals and any desired artwork.

The completed tracing is now ready for transfer onto the dial plate.

You are now ready to begin the etching process. This three-step process begins by covering the dial surface with what is called an etching "ground". This protects the copper from acid. Asphaltum hard ground is made from equal parts of liquid asphaltum (available at paint stores) and turpentine. Stir the ingredients well and stand the plate against a vertical surface. Roll or paint with a soft-haired brush, using horizontal strokes, working from top to bottom until the plate is evenly covered. The plate should then be placed on a stove or hotplate and heated slightly, allowing the solvent to evaporate to insure a hard, smooth coating. Do not forget to protect the back and edges of the plate as well. Varnish can be used here. The backside will not need to be heat treated, since a smooth surface is not necessary.

The copper plate, with its ground coating, is covered with carbon paper. Tape the tracing to the dial surface, being careful to keep the tracing square with the plate. Now, transfer the lines, via the carbon paper, onto the plate. Carefully scratch a narrow line through the asphaltum with a scribe or thin blade to expose the copper to the acid.

The second step requires a glass or plastic pan into which a hydrochloric acid solution is poured. Mix one-fifth of an ounce of potassium chlorate, five ounces of hot water, and add one ounce of hydrochloric acid. Exercise care so as not to

Pattern, contributed by Jess Williams of Lincoln, allows no margin for error if accuracy of clock is to be maintained APRIL 1971 11   splash the acid. Safety glasses should be worn as a precaution. Should any acid touch skin, flush promptly with cold water; unless your skin is sensitive, no burn should result.

The time required for the acid bath depends on how deep you wish the etching to be —two or three hours are necessary for a good "bite".

When the desired depth has been reached, remove the plate and wash clean. The asphaltum coating is removed with kerosene and the etching process is completed.

Final step is to construct and attach the style. The angle of the style is equal to the latitude of your city or town. Length of its base is variable. The illustrated model employs the full length of line AB. There are several ways to attach the style. Brazing (welding) is best, but the most expensive; soldering is also good (use a 50-50 solder for strength) but difficult, especially if the dial plate is large and will respond to the heat of the torch by buckling; epoxy glue is used here.

The style was cut with three tabs on its base and corresponding slots were cut into the dial plate; these provide additional holding strength for the glue. Since the style rests along the 12 o'clock line, the cut groove provides a glue channel for the base of the style.

Notice, in constructing the style, that line EB may be varied to suit personal taste. Some prefer to cut out the center of the style in the shape of a circle.

When the style has been cut and filed, carefully apply the epoxy to the base and attach. To properly support the style while the glue dries, clamp pieces of angle iron to either side. Check with a square to make sure it is perpendicular.

When the glue has cured —allow 24 hours — carefully remove any glue that has squeezed out onto the dial or style with a razor blade, being careful not to scratch the surface.

To insure stability, this dial was mounted to a sheet of quarter-inch aluminum by tapping in small brass bolts at the corners and on either side of the style. To preserve the copper sheen, you may wish to lacquer the completed dial. Others prefer to let it weather to a dark green patina.

The base for the sundial depends on how you wish it displayed. The classical pedestal, like those used to support birdbaths, are fluted or turned. Such concrete pedestals can be purchased at garden-supply stores. While the round pedestal is ideal for the round sundial, the square dial looks best on a square column; one may be made from brick for absolute rigidity, or a redwood 4x4. The base should be set in concrete to minimize ground heave.

When placing the dial, care should be taken to see that it is perfectly level. The slope of the style points to the North Star. Align the dial on the hours, say 1 o'clock, so that the shadow of the style falls on that hour line. Since sun time and standard time agree only four times a year — April 16, June 15, September 2, and December 25 —the dial will be fast or slow over clock time.

The corrections for the various days of a particular month can be computed from the printed table. The plus means that the dial is faster, the minus that the dial is slower than the sun. You may wish to make a plate of this chart and mount it on the pedestal for reference.

Since the dial will be enjoyed most during the summer months, set for daylight saving time. A base may be devised, of course, to allow the dial to pivot for correcting time changes.

A sundial such as this will, without doubt, become the focal point of your backyard, whether used as the centerpiece of a formal garden or an ornamental addition on your lawn.

Buffalo Bill's Wild West and Congresss of Rough Riders of the World

BUFFALO BILL'S Wild W^st show is coming home to NEBRASKAland! The famous exhibition that won raves on two continents has made the full circle back to its birthplace—North Platte. Not since the great showman-scout's death in 1917 has the world seen the likes of the show that confounded big-city drama critics and won the heart of the American public.

Now# with the expected completion of the new^arena on land that was once part of Cody's Scouts Rest Ranch, "Buffalo Bill's Wild West and Congress of Rough Riders of the World" will be unveiled. Slated to open with the "Old Glory Blowout" on July 31, Western authenticity will be the key to the re-creation, just as it was for the Colonel's original show. Ground was broken in December for the structure which will house the show, and June 1 is the target date for construction completion. Architects

for the Game and Parks Commission project were Hahn-Dunn-Gardner, Inc. and Hinde and Laurinat, Inc. both of North Platte. General contractor for the complex is Paulsen Building and Supply, Inc. of Cozad.

The stadium will seat 4,500 people, but was designed with the future in mind. There is ample room for expansion should the need arise. Stock for the show will be housed on the grounds, allowing visitors to tour the area and see the animals during the day. Parking space is planned to adequately handle the Wild West crowds.

The facility is located just across the road from Scouts Rest Ranch, and this state historical park makes an ideal setting for the arena and its Western doings. Throughout the summer, the Platte Valley will throb with the action of the re-creation of Cody's famed show. Performances are planned for Tuesday through Saturday evenings, with matinees on Saturday and Sunday.

While the arena will be the permanent home for Buffalo Bill's show, it will be available on a rental basis for other functions as well. Other groups or organizations will have access to it for such events as horse shows, circuses, dog shows, musical events, powwows, livestock shows, auto shows —the list goes on and on.

A professional entertainment specialist will produce the Wild West show under contract with the Game and Parks Commission. While modern production techniques will be employed, special efforts will be made to retain the genuine flavor of the original. Among those interested in producing the show is Montie Montana, Jr., of Calabasas, California, who has been in show business and fascinated by Buffalo Bill since he was knee-high to a prairie dog. Montana has already successfully toured with a show similar to the production planned for the new arena and is well versed in the lore of the West. The show is tentatively scheduled to tour the major cities of the U.S., during the winter months, with North Platte the home quarters.

While specialty acts will most likely be imported, local talent will be used whenever possible. Tryouts will be held, and it is possible that some Nebraska recruits will join the road show.

1- Overture, "Star Spangled Banner/' Cowboy Band, William Sweeney, Leader.

2- Grand Review, introducing the Rough Riders of the World—Indians, Cowboys, Mexicans, Cossacks, Gauchos, Arabs, Scouts, Guides and detachments of fully equipped regular soldiers of the Armies of America, England, Germany, and Russia, a Color Guard of Cuban Veterans, and a squad of Hawaiian, Puerto Rican and Filipino Rough Riders.

3- Miss Annie Oakley, Celebrated Shot, who will illustrate her dexterity in the use of firearms.

4- Race of Races. Race between a Cowboy, a Cossack, a Mexican, an Arab, a Gaucho, and an Indian, on Spanish-Mexican, Bronco, Russian, Indian and Arabian Horses.

5- U.S. Artillery Drill, by veterans from Capt. Thorpe's Battery D. Fifth Regiment, U.S. Artillery,

6—Illustrating a Prairie Emigrant Train Crossing the Plains. It is attacked by marauding Indians, who are in turn repulsed by "Buffalo Bill" and a number of Scouts and Cowboys.

7— Pony Express. A former Pony Post Rider will show how letters and telegrams of the Republic were distributed across our Continent previous to the building of railways and telegraph.

8— A Group of Mexicans from Old Mexico will illustrate the use of the lasso and perform various feats of horsemanship.

9- Trie Battle of San Juan Hill. Introducing detachments from Roosevelt's Rough Riders, Twenty-fourth Infantry, Ninth and Tenth Cavalry, Grimes' Battery, Garcia's Cuban Scouts, Pack Train, etc., etc. SCENE I—A halt on the Road to San Juan. (Several hours are supposed to elapse before the opening the second scene.) SCENE IUStormmg of the Hill.

10- A Group of Riffian Arab Horsemen will illustrate their style of horsemanship, together with native sports and pastimes.

11- Johnny Baker, Celebrated Young American Marksman.

12^Cossacks, from the Caucasus of Russia, in feats of horsemanship, native dances, etc.

13- Gymkana Race. Riders gallop, dismount, turn coat inside out, remount, gallop, dismount, light cigar, put up umbrella, mount and come in with umbrella up and cigar lighted.

14- Cowboy Fun. Picking objects from the ground. lassoing wild horses, riding the huckers, etc.

15- Inaians from the Sioux. Arapahoe, Brule, and Cheyenne tribes will illustrate the Indian mode of lighting, war dances and games.

16- MiIitary Musical Drill, by a detachment from the Kith Lancers (Queens Own). British Army, and a detachment from the GardeKurassiers of His Majesty Kaiser Wilhelm IL

17- Sixtb United States Cavalry. Veterans from Col. Sumner's celebrated regiment at Ft. Meyer, Va„ in military exercises, and an exhibition of athletic sports and horsemanship. NOTE.—The men will wear the uniforms adopted by the United States Army on the frontier. The horses are Western range horses, used in this manner for the first time in history. The Army and National Guard use the American horse.

18- Attack on tbe Deadwood Mail-Coach by Indians* repulse of the Indians, and rescue of the stage, passenger and mail, by 'Buffalo Bill' and his attendant Cowboys. 19- Racing by Indian Boys on Bareback Horses.

20- Tbree Minutes with the Rough Riders of

21- CoI. W. F. CODY ("Buffalo Bill") in his unique feats of sharpshooting while riding at full speed.

22- RutfaiO Hunt, as it was in the Far West of North America, by Buffalo Bill*' and Indians exhibiting the last of the only known native herd of buffalo.

23- Attack on Settlers' Cabin and rescue by 'Buffalo Bill* and a band of Cowboys, Scouts and Frontiersmen.

24- Salute, by the entire company.

"But," stressed Dick Schaffer, chief of the Commission's Information and Tourism Division and in charge of the operation, "while we have visions of touring the United States, we have no grand dreams of touring Europe."

Even the venerable William Frederick Cody had problems during his European exhibitions, not the least of which were superstitious and homesick Indians. So this descendant of his show will stick to familiar ground where there are no quarantine restrictions on buffalo.

Although the incomparable Annie Oakley is no longer around to open the show as she did Cody's for 17 years, there will be a host of the types of acts that made Buffalo Bill's program unique.

Opening with the big parade headed by Buffalo Bill himself, a show in 1899 presented a program that would be every bit as popular today.

Strange as it may seem, Buffalo Bill, who may well be the greatest showman of all time, got into the business by accident. His friend Ned Buntline, king of the "dime novels", talked Cody into a stint behind the footlights of the Bowery Theater in New York in 1872. From this beginning evolved a long run on stage with a "drama" called "Scouts of the Plains", followed by other similar "plays". The germ of an idea grew, and Cody envisioned bringing frontier life as he knew it to eastern audiences in an outdoor setting.

But the problems with such a show would be mammoth. Wild Bill Hickok, who toured briefly with Cody, had experimented disastrously with such an endeavor in 1872. The enterprise failed because Hickok had not solved the problems of how to stage this type of show outdoors and how to charge admission. When trying to herd the buffalo into the arena at Niagara Falls, New York, the beasts got away from the Indians. And, as if the buffalo were not enough, a grizzly bear broke loose from the railroad car. The audience saw the buffalo-bear hunt free, and Hickok had to sell the bison to raise train fare back to the plains.

As the years went by, Cody continued touring the stages of America. Then in 1882 a well-known showman, Nate Salsbury, contacted Buffalo Bill. After comparing notes, the pair found they had both been thinking along the same lines about an outdoor venture. While they agreed such a spectacle would be a colossal success, financing was a tremendous hurdle. Still, both were enthused.

When Cody returned to North Platte in June of 1882 for a rest, his fellow citizens approached him about staging an "Old Glory Blowout" for the Fourth of July. Bill agreed. But, from their original plan for a kind of bronco-busting contest, Cody switched to the kind of Wild West show he'd been dreaming about. The Blowout was a sensation, and Cody's dream became reality. The first actual road engagement came in Omaha on May 17, 1883, in partnership with Dr. A. W. Carver. Salsbury was contacted but refused to work with Carver. When the show ran into trouble during its first year on the road, Carver left. Salsbury then joined Cody for what proved to be a long, successful run. At the end of their first year of partnership, their enterprise chalked up a loss of $60,000, but by 1901 their net profits were $1,000,000 each.

Thus it all began. In July this year, not quite 100 years after Cody made his first stage appearance, the Wild West show will return to NEBRASKAland. Hopefully, it will again be one of the major and most exciting attractions in the United States.

"HE'S TREED NOW"

EVERYTHING WAS JUST about perfect. I can't remember a night when the sky was clearer. Stars stood out sharply like holes punched in an umbrella, and there was barely a breeze to detract from the aura of our "enchanted forest" setting.

Although the temperature was dropping steadily, conditions were good for our hunt. We had walked about a quarter of a mile from a farmhouse, and stood in several inches of snow ready to turn the dogs loose for the start of a late-January, nighttime raccoon hunt.

Keeping a secure hold on the leashes were our hunting hosts, Harry Smeal and Jim Wimer of Scribner. Mild, sunny weather during the day had been all that was necessary to suggest a coon-hunting session, and a call to Harry set it up.

'You just mosey up this way tonight and we'll find you some coons," he promised over the phone. Two hours later I pulled into his yard ready to hit the trail behind the faultless leadership of a couple of good dogs. Shorty was a saddle-back black-and-tan, a handsome, friendly, and efficient trailer. At his side was Queenie, a quick and determined representative of the walker breed.

Within minutes after we unleashed the hounds they picked up a trail and bayed back a loud and continuous message to that effect. Harry was just telling how he knows if the dogs have a coon treed, when he suddenly broke into his own explanation: "There, he's treed now."

"Hear that steady yelping? Regular like a metronome? That's it."

Sure enough, Shorty's yowls kept perfect time with Harry's hand as he moved it rhythmically from side to side.

Now came the problem. From the sound of things, the dogs were only a short distance away but beyond a thick tangle of second growth beneath a towering canopy of large trees. Almost every step was an awkward, stooped-over struggle, and even then the branches knocked our hats off every few paces.

Our approach was hardly stealthy, as the snow was heavily crusted. As we all moved together, it sounded like one of those super-amplified recordings of termites munching through the tasty beams of an old house.

Even before we got there, Harry indicated it might be disappointing.

"I'll bet the coon headed for a big old den tree," he thought aloud.

He couldn't have been more right. The tree was plenty big —about four feet in diameter —and the dogs let us and the coon know that they knew he was up there. Queenie did her best to make like a cat and climb up after him, but her toenails were just not long enough. All the while they created such a riotous sound it was almost impossible to talk, even at a short distance. The raccoon was smart enough to stay out of sight. When flashlights went on, the treetop looked like the opening scene of a Hollywood extravaganza, or searchlights seeking out an enemy bomber.

Several times we thought we saw the bright eyes of a masked bandit high on a limb, but they turned out to be bright stars behind the brandies. It was tough to call the excited dogs away, but we were getting nowhere with that devious ringtail.

Retracing our steps partway to our starting point, the dogs were again set free. Within a few minutes, they caught another scent. This time they sounded off in more open territory, nearer the Elkhorn River only a few hundred yards away. After everyone quit shuffling around in the crunchy (Continued on page 64)

McCONAUGHT ICE WALK

PUFFY, POPCORN clouds floated leisurely through sunny skies with the mercury pushing a mild 37 degrees as our cold-weather, experimental team carefully unloaded a variety of special equipment and transported it onto the ice. It was a little past nine when Mel Tickle of Ogallala shook his head sympathetically and waved goodbye. Ice fishermen in the area looked on in amazement as we lashed the equipment onto two six-foot toboggans.

"You're going to do what?" a weathered icefishing veteran spouted.

Interest and participation in cold-weather sports is spiraling throughout NEBRASKAland, running the gamut from ice-fishing and snowmobiling to hiking and winter camping. With a constant eye on the outdoor scene, NEBRASKAland Magazine dispatched writer/photographic team Steve Olson, Bob Grier, and myself to the frozen wastes of Nebraska's sprawling Lake McConaughy in the midst of Old Man Winter's coldest clutch last January. Steve's dog Blue, a purebred black Labrador, rounded out the team.

Equipped to endure the worst weather conditions, we were assigned to spend three days icefishing, hiking, exploring, and camping on McConaughy's unfriendly, jagged ice surface, and to record our reactions to continual exposure. We began the trek at Big Mac's far western reaches, with Kingsley Dam, some 23 miles to the east, our final goal. We hoped to mark the distance in three days.

I set my pedometer at zero miles and secured it loosely to my belt, allowing for free swing with my pace. When everything was finally squared away, Steve and I sank the ice auger into the frozen surface for a depth reading. We would require a minimum of three inches of clear, solid ice for single-file travel

and four inches for support of our small group. The auger churned through 13 inches of solid ice. However, we all knew this thickness would lessen farther east.

We planned a five-mile march before establishing camp and putting the big reservoir's ice fishing to the test. Minutes later, we said our final goodbyes and headed out onto the endless expanse.

Our pace was sporadic at first. A slight northwest breeze, noticeably chilly, swept across the ice. Pulling the heavily laden toboggans was an easy task thus far. This was a pleasant surprise, as the excursion had necessitated careful assortment and selection of a considerable amount of belongings. Our paraphernalia included special Arctic-type boots, sub-zero-rated sleeping bags, heavy parkas and pants, and fur-lined gloves. In addition to a gas stove and lantern, we had brought a catalytic heater capable of producing 5,000 BTU's of heat. Some of our other specific out-of-the-ordinary items were Sun descends in blaze of color as walkers prepare for a chilly sleep a wind gauge, pedometer, compass, thermometer, ice auger, ice cleats, binoculars, wind-chill calculator, and a limited supply of non-perishable food.

"See those dots on the ice?" Bob pointed. "Bald eagles!"

Focusing my binoculars, I saw several eagles scattered about on the ice about three-quarters of a mile ahead of us.

We stopped at noon for a meager meal of hard rolls and cheese. We conjured up visions of fresh fish in a skillet, hoping to hook some for dinner that evening by ice fishing. We carried no meat and knew that if we were not successful, our fare would be scanty.

Steve asked about the pedometer reading.

"Reads 2V2 miles," I answered, sliding around on the super-slick ice.

We had made excellent time, assuming the pedometer was accurate, but my ice cleats were too loose and constantly (Continued on page 60)

TABLETS OF TIME

MUNCHED JUDICIOUSLY in the weathered saddle, Eli Ricker, selfmade historian of the early 1900's, trekked across western Nebraska's remaining wilderness. Bundles of tattered tablets, strapped unceremoniously behind him, whipped in the prairie breeze. Accounts of recent interviews and his own philosophy on Indian life of the 1800's were meticulously recorded in them.

A vagabond of the plains, Ricker traveled on horseback between meetings with wranglers and Indian scouts, frontiersmen and soldiers, Indian chiefs and reservation agents, recording notable events of the past. Documenting hundreds of incidents of the old West—Indian battles, the customs of the red men and their language —his notes yield valuable background and justification for occurrences which would be interpreted in a different light if considered alone.

The goal he set for himself was indeed no small task —to record the entire sphere of Indian lifestyles and customs of all North American tribes. His reason, he wrote in one of his last tablets, was that "revival of interest in the history of the North American Indians is appearing... (as)... nomadic habit becomes a story of the past".

He recorded what to him was truth. "Satisfied as I am that the truth is of slow acceptance, that it comes into recognition as an infant does to the world, through anguish and conflict; I have chosen to toil for these despised, bruised, and forsaken watchmen of the eternal. That I shall give offense to certain appetites and passions is to be expected."

Born in 1843 to rural-Maine parents, he moved with them to Oneida, Illinois where he was reared. Following his service in the infantry during the Civil War, he returned to Illinois and (Continued on page 54)

Labor of LOVE

IT'S CATTLE COUNTRY pure and simple. Sprawling south from the state's northern boundary, Nebraska's Sand Hills are about as productive a hunk of real estate as there is on earth. For more miles than most men care to count, the rolling dunes, capped with short grass and studded with a thousand lakes, are home for prime stock and the leathery men who raise them. This is a land of changing moods where nature is never taken lightly. And, it's the setting for one of the most necessary and rewarding events a rancher ever encounters.

This is the stage for that cattleman's miracle of birth —calving. Nebraska is cold in mid-March, so cold that warm breath turns to icy mist only inches from a man's face. That's when calving begins for Karl Baumann and his son Karl Loy. On their ranch, some 22 miles northwest of Ogallala,

the Baumanns settle into calving with a resolve and dedication that comes only from years of experience and a love for the job at hand. So, from early in the year to mid-April, the nearly 7,000 acres of the H Lazy H Ranch become a waiting room and maternity ward on the prairie.

The Baumanns know their beef well. They wyork with the critters daily and know when a cow is in a family way. But at least part of the ritual of calving begins long before birth as the father-and-son partners keep their eyes on range cattle. Good signs of impending motherhood come when a cow moves off by herself. Frequently, she spends most of her time chewing her cud, and her udder begins to fill. With indications like that, any cowman would figure that it was time to move his cows closer to the ranch house to be able to keep an eye on them. Baumann cattle are normally close to home during calving season, with the farthest critters roughly 1% miles away. Still, when it comes to checking the cows, even a short distance can mean a lot of work and plenty of headache.

Rolling out of a warm bed into the sub-zero, pre-dawn darkness of a March morning is no fun, no matter how you cut it. Yet, it's something that has to be done if the Baumann herd is to continue. Calves born at night during severe temperatures have only a marginal chance of surviving on the open range. A cow will do all she can to protect her newborn, but even her motherly care isn't enough to ward off the stinging killer called cold. So, Karl Loy can plan on at least one trek into the frigid landscape a night, bringing an occasional calf into the world and keeping it warm and healthy. Occasional calves mean all-night stints away from the house.

"There are good times and there are bad times in ranching," says the younger Baumann. "It's just like any other business and you have to like the work, even though there are problems that seem to just hang on."

Probably one of the most common of Karl Loy's problems is in calf delivery. A calf is normally born with both front feet appearing first. However, it is not uncommon for only one foot to appear. In such cases something is wrong, making assistance necessary.

Whether they get help or not, some 300 cows in the Baumann herd delivered 290 calves last vear.

The Baumann ranch was established in 1895 and, though the original land now lies under Lake McConaughy, it is in its fourth generation of cattlemen. And, if present indications have any bearing on the future of the spread, several more generations will ride herd on Baumann property. Only time will tell, though, because the legacy of the land lies in the all-important labor of love — calving.

AFTERNOON ANGLER

FOR MORE THAN 60 years, A. I. (Dutch) Rauch has been a fisherman. Six decades of fishing have not diminished, but have compounded the interest this Holdrege banker has in his favorite pastime. Now semi-retired, he works mornings. But, more often than not, he spends the afternoons at a different sort of bank, the rims of local sandpits, enthusiastically gratifying his angling urge.

It was noon the day I met Dutch. He pushed aside the stack of papers that covered his desk at the First National Bank. Leaving the building, he paused for a quick lunch at a nearby cafe, then stopped at home to change into his fishing duds. A 10-minute drive brought him to a ditch in the field of a farmer friend.

Dutch visits that drainage ditch often. It has been a source of bait for the last 40 years, providing him with a continuous supply of his favorites — creek chubs. He occasionally uses other bait —frogs, or strips of carp before the weather warms up —but big chubs are his first choice.

Because he likes his bait so large —three to five inches — Dutch must sometimes stand for a bit of kidding. Other anglers, upon seeing his bait, often comment: "We take them home that size." An exaggeration of course, but the chubs can be eaten and do reach sizes of up to 14 inches in these ditches. Serving to drain the low, water-laden areas of the Platte River Valley, these canals rarely freeze in winter, and they provide area wildlife with year-round open water.

Dutch walked down to the ditch, a bucket filled with gear in one hand, his minnow pail in the other, and his fly rod tucked under one arm.

He turned the bucket upside-down for a stool and stashed the minnow pail in the water, confident that it would soon be put to use. Opening a small can of whole-kernal corn, he baited the tiny hook.

Dutch kept the corn moving and within seconds had a dancing four-inch chub at the end of his line. Twenty minutes of this same activity resulted in more than a dozen minnows. With bait in his bucket, Dutch was ready to head for the real action. A short drive brought him to the sandpits north of Holdrege, his favorite spot.

The outdoors has always figured in Dutch's life. With a farming heritage (his grandfather homesteaded in northeast Adams County) he naturally followed a life of agriculture himself. Farming, a stint with the Army, more farming, and employment with the federal government brought him to 1943, when he began working at the bank.

Dutch has fished since childhood. Now he shares his love for the sport with his grandchildren, teaching them the techniques of angling and telling them the tall tales that come only from many years outdoors. Besides fishing, Dutch enjoys duck hunting, quail shooting, and an occasional trip to Kansas for doves.

The early afternoon sun was warm as Dutch headed for the edge of the sandpit. Daylight hours meant fishing for bass, while catfishing would have to wait until sundown. With his rig all ready, including an extra rod, "in case one breaks", Dutch got down to business. He carefully worked a minnow onto the hook. A cast of the spinning rod sent the bait to a probable bass haunt at the far end of the sandpit.

The pits that Dutch likes to fish were formed many years ago, some dating back to the 1930's. Having fished most of the state's waters, he knows what is available, but he always comes back to the sandpits, averaging five trips a week to the same area. Dutch fishes when he wants to, paying no heed to the barometer, the sun, the moon, or anything else. Sometimes he just gets out for a couple of hours, but always he is successful. Last year he pulled out 40 to 50 catfish each weighing over 3 pounds, including a 7-pounder.

Once his line was in the water, Dutch lit a cigarette. Carefully he worked his bait around the underwater obstacles he couldn't see, but knew were there. Before long, the line quivered. Dutch, feeling the extra tension, spoke his thoughts: "Might be a bullhead. Could be a turtle, though." But, as he set the hook, whatever it was escaped, destined to remain anonymous at the bottom of the sandpit.

Dutch uses live bait because he doesn't like lures; he shuns the use of setlines because he doesn't believe in them; and he returns most of the fish he catches to the water, a policy that is part and parcel of this conservationist's makeup.

That Dutch knows what he's talking about in the conservation field is common knowledge. A commissioner with the Nebraska Game and Parks Commission from 1960 to 1965, he understands the needs of the state's wildlife. His urge to preserve habitat was manifested in the 1940's, when he acted as an agent for the state in securing the 2,239 acres that now make up the Sacramento State Special-Use Area. His wide-ranging interests and energies are still utilized in similar directions as chairman of the Fort Kearny Preservation and Restoration Board, as a director of the Phelps County Historical Society, and as a member of the Holdrege City Council.

A nearby gravel operation kept up its steady commotion of rattles and bangs. But the noise was music to his ears. Since Dutch is a rock hound and artifact collector, the clamor meant that rocks and stones, buried for ages, would now be exposed. Dutch walked over to the pile of shiny, colorful rock and looked over the assortment. A six-inch slab of petrified wood caught his attention. From his years of experience, he knew that what at first glance looked like a rather dull hunk of rock could become a work of art.

Cutting and polishing stones is but one facet of Dutch's hobby, a pastime he shares with Lizette, his 34 NEBRASKAland wife. The basement of their home is a museum of polished stones and artifacts. Around 1930, Dutch found an arrowhead half hidden in dirt. It was all the encouragement he needed. The Great Plains, during the dust period of the 1930's, yielded a bumper crop of artifacts, if nothing else. Many of his prized arrowheads, other Indian artifacts, and unique fossils were found during those years. Lapidary became one of his hobbies about 12 years ago, and now many evenings are spent cutting and polishing the stones that he finds at the gravel pits. But while Dutch spends much time with rock hounding and artifact hunting they are, as he says, "just hobbies —fishing is a vice."

Back to fishing, Dutch once again felt a tug at the end of the line. This time he was able to set the hook. On his feet, Dutch was ready to do battle with his underwater adversary. The fish made a few runs and turns, but was soon whipped. Dutch lifted from the water a nice largemouth keeper. But after carefully removing the hook, he eased the fish back into the water.

That Dutch has been able to go back day after day, year after year to the same area, and has always met with success, is no accident. It is this conservation of the fish resources that insures a continuing population. With good management, the fish will always be there, but it still takes a good fisherman to catch them. For Dutch Rauch, the fish will always be biting, for he is an avid conservationist as well as a devoted and able fisherman.

A CASE FOR SHELTERBELTS

SEEN A SHELTERBELT lately? Yeah, all the time. Saw several just the other day. Well, look again. The shelterbelts are disappearing. They're falling to the onslaught of the bulldozer. They're falling and burning. With them goes wildlife, wind protection, and a dozen other desirable features. Why are they going? Why do we need them? So they're cutting a few trees; who cares?

Shelterbelts, the pride of a prior generation, the product of dust-bowl years as well as providers of rural comforts and recreation, are yielding. Scapegoats of mismanaged land policies, victims of idle hands and machinery, shelterbelts are destined to the same doom as that of many great eastern forests.

When the first settlers trekked across the plains, they recorded seeing only a few scattered trees west of the Missouri River. These first settlers realized the importance of trees in claiming the land, and consequently many brought their own seed or planting stock. Tree planting was also encouraged by various acts of the State of Nebraska and the federal government. As early as 1869, the state passed a tax-exemption law favoring tree planting. In fact, planting trees on the plains was considered so important to settlement that Congress passed the Timber Culture Act in 1873 to encourage tree cultures on all new homestead lands. Under this act, settlers were offered 160 acres of land free if they would plant 40 acres to trees and care for them for 10 years. This was later reduced to 10 acres. The law was repealed in 1891, but many acres of "tree claims" had been planted.

Establishment of the Nebraska National Forest in 1902 and the formation of the nation's first forestry school at the University of Nebraska provided the impetus for forestation of an almost treeless state.

Enactment of the Clark-McNary Law in 1924 provided federal assistance by furnishing landowners with tree-planting stock.

The severe drought of the 1930's, and subsequent sand and dust storms, ruthlessly illustrated the need 36 NEBRASKAland for protective plantings, prompting Congress to appropriate $528,000,000 for relief on the droughtstricken plains. As part of this huge program of relief and rehabilitation, a government proposal to plant shelterbelts on about 1,000,000 acres of farmland within a 100-mile-wide zone was initiated. Extending through the prairie-plains region, the area ranged from the Canadian border into the Texas Panhandle. Under this program and others that followed, more than 6,700 miles of field windbreaks and 95,000-plus acres of farmstead and livestock plantings have been established to date in Nebraska.

Great! Now we have all these trees, but we don't have dust storms anymore, at least not in devastating proportions. So what good are they? They dump snow on highways, are death traps for wildlife when snow piles deep in them, and are occupying valuable land that could be more productive. Let's look at these criticisms and weigh them against the advantages of the tree belts.

True, poorly planned field belts do hold snow in undesirable locations on highways and in farmyards. Variables in shelterbelt construction determine where snow gathers in relation to trees. Distance of the belt from the area for which protection is sought and the density of trees are important factors to be considered during planning.

Height of the shelterbelt is probably the most important consideration since the protected area on the leeward side is proportional to height. Maximum wind reduction, 25 to 50 percent, occurs leeward to a distance 7 to 8 times the tree height. Some protection extends out as far as 30 times the height of the windbreak. Depending upon other factors, the area for which protection is desired should be within an area two to five times the height mature trees will attain. A reliable rule of thumb is to plan the area concerned 100 feet to the lee of the trees. If it is too close to the belt, much snow accumulation will occur exactly where it is not desired.

The second factor to consider is windbreak density. Very dense shelterbelts reduce wind speed immediately on the leeward of the belt, but the distance of protection is reduced. Moderately dense barriers reduce wind speeds over a greater distance, but less effectively. Open wind barriers provide relatively little wind reduction near the belt. Moderately dense windbreaks, which act as a filter rather than as a solid barrier, are generally considered best.

Many problems encountered with existing windbreaks are a result of failure to plan according to these basic rules. Complete belt removal is unnecessary to correct its shortcomings. A bit of revamping will, in most cases, make an existing belt acceptable.

Pruning an exceptionally dense row of trees will spread extremely heavy snow accumulations more evenly.

Adding evergreen species, such as juniper or pine, to a thin windbreak will increase the density of the belt and improve its protective characteristics.

Planting taller tree species in existing shelterbelts will increase wind protection.

For many shelterbelt-maintenance chores, a cost sharing program through various county agencies is available.

Some overly dense windbreaks have received nefarious reputations in recent years as death traps for wildlife during blizzards. This, no doubt, has some factual basis, but is easily (Continued on page 55)

ELECTRIC ELUSION

SILENT FLASHING lights. splashesof psychedelic color-tiny electric candles nested in lonely hills —that's Nebraska at night. The cities are strumpets adorned with neon rubies and emeralds; little communities are clusters of* diamonds that warm the bosom of the land.

A city's painted face lures wayward autos, its solitary lights crisscrossing the blackness. Garish color and lonely chattel" bespeak empty dreams. Flashing arrows point out a motel or bar and grill. Lines of flashy autos reflect the glint of rows of lights, and splashy streets reflect the cars.

A winged Pegasus speeds across the sky, chased by a greyhound, while tropical birds dance through the shallows of electronic water. Fiery letters spell out the name of an industrial plant. A staid, old church, a functional state building, and a bank form cones, cubes, and glowing cylinders to catch the blur of blue from mercury vapor.

Like a giant's jump-rope, the landing and takeoff trails of jets hang across the sky, and speeding cars leave red and white trails along the highways. Miles of track glitter green in railway yards. In a fair-time community, whirring circles and cones stretch the length of a summer midway.

Night comes like a pirate, strewing twinkling lights across the rural stretches, but in the city, night descends like a bomb, bringing a flaring explosion of color that fuses gradually into a whirling montage. Occasionally a man is caught in silhouette, like a shadow on the face of Hell.

The towns are gemstones that form a necklace interwoven with blue-black strings and broken white lines, and the ornament is everywhere accented with the tiny chip diamonds of the farmsteads. Each twinkling flicker is a beacon burning its small candle to bring beauty to the plains. Darkness becomes not a curse, but a complement to the lights' golden glow. And, as lightning shatters the sky during a storm, the towering clouds' magnificence stands out for an instant.

The bright lights are a symbol of conquest, a challenge met. Each glittering glow is a point on a gigantic tally sheet. For once night meant blackness broken only by the watch fires of camping Indians. But time and technology brought gas and electricity to the tepees, alternating current to the wigwams. Concrete and copper wire have drawn the wanderers together. Electric lights have provided time - nighttime - for further study and discovery. All the flashing pinpoints are signs of accomplishments. Yet progress has not been so prolific as to swamp the natural beauty of Nebraska.

Not yet do lights follow lights in an endless parade of urban congestion across the state. Their very beauty is in the surprise of topping a rise to find a hidden city, a break in the blackness. Their rarity makes them precious, all welcome, glowing beacons on the plains.

LITTLE LAKES

SPREADING CONCENTRIC RINGS broke the tranquil surface around the handmade popper Lowel Ueckert delicately placed on the water of a hidden cove at Conestoga Lake. Suppressing the desire to work the artificial, he patiently let it lie near the submerged brush pile, suggestive of a recently waterborne frog. Slowly he raised the tip of his eightfoot, parabolic, fiberglass rod and gave the black-and-white popper a realistic twitch. The water's calm eruptea in a shower of spray as a 4V2-pound bucketmouth hit Lowel's offering. Setting the hook proved unnecessary as the largemouth bass swallowed the lure and took off toward the submerged brush. Pressing the 4-pound-test, No. 6 line to the limit, Lowel eased back on the rod in time to turn the buster just short of its hoped-for sanctuary. Stripping the floating line from his reel while keeping the tension, he allowed for the scrapper's bid for escape toward the middle of the lake. Mounds of line accumulated around the knees of Lowel's waders as he brought the battle back into the shallow recess. Easing his trophy to the shore after 15 long minutes of exhausting pleasure, the angler marked his achievement by gently "weighing in" the lunker bronzeback, then he removed the hook and released the fish into the shallows and freedom.

Perhaps an exception with his technique and attitude, Lowel finds success typical of fishermen who frequent NEBRASKAland's lesser reservoirs and larger natural lakes. Concentrated in two major areas-large natural lakes in the sandhill region and lesser reservoirs in the Salt Valley chain - there is an abundance of others sprinkled around the state, offering convenient fishing wherever the angler's location may be.

Bucketmouth, bronzeback, or just plain bass, the largemouth is the most widely distributed major game fish in Nebraska, the undisputed monarch of these waters. Providing action fast and furious, bass are on the list of every fisherman seeking a challenge.

Having come into their own in recent years, the Salt Valley reservoirs rank among the state's hot spots   for this big brother of the sunfish family. Built primarily for flood control, these 13 lakes provide much-needed outdoor recreation areas in eastern Nebraska through the co-operation of the U.S. Corps of Engineers, the Soil Conservation Service, the Salt Valley Watershed District, and the Nebraska Game and Parks Commission.

Nine in this series of lakes are first-class, mixedcreel producers as well as bass-bonanza areas. Gear and techniques are similar for all reservoirs, but the most productive area in each lake varies. Talking with successful anglers is a good start.

Pawnee Lake and its recreational area, located 2 miles north and IV2 miles west of Emerald, is the second largest and most popular in the Salt Valley chain. Even under heavy pressure it remains one of the most consistent producers of largemouth bass as well as several other species.

Best bet for bigmouths here is to hit the brushy shallows during the spring spawning period, or cooler parts of the day during the warm summer months. Creek inlets and old submerged creek beds are likely spots.

The most effective artificial for bass in recent years has been the reliable plastic worm. Rapala and similar artificials imitating the bronzebacks' natural food — the minnow —are always productive. Crayfish are especially deadly under certain conditions when worked by experienced rodmen.

A productive plan for bass fishermen in the Salt Valley lakes is to hit the shallows around the recently inundated trees in the upper reaches of the impoundments. This is especially effective strategy at Wagon Train Lake east of Hickman, Stagecoach Lake south of Hickman, and Bluestem Lake west of Martell.

A good supply of lures or weedless rigs and heavy test line are necessities in such rugged waters. Masters of the bass in these areas often mold their own worms (see How to: Make Plastic Worms, March 1971) and work these brushy spots heavily, disregarding an occasional loss of lures.

Boats, invaluable in working brushy sites, permit the angler to cast and retrieve along the edge, just off the deep side of moss and aquatic growth clinging to the bank. Small fish and large predatory insects feed on the abundant insect life in this lush growth and, in turn, are fed upon by aggressive game fish such as largemouths.

Not in the Salt Valley chain of reservoirs, but well within driving distance of both Lincoln and Omaha as well as other metropolitan areas in the eastern part of the state, is the largemouth bass capital — Burchard Lake.

Located southeast of Beatrice, the 120-acre impoundment is a consistent source of Master-Anglersize bucketmouths. Last year, Burchard Lake provided the setting for nine award winners.

A survey of baits and artificials used by bass masters reveals that a wide range of offerings appealed to these omnivorous feeders. The full gamut of presentations seems acceptable in the right hands at the right place. Buster bass fell to natural bait, with minnows, worms, and crayfish being the most popular. At least one pork-rind rig paid off with a master's plaque. Artificials were most consistent producers of five-pound-plus bass. Purple worms, minnow imitations, and the old, reliable spoons led the attack.

Far enough from population centers to avoid the heavy pressure that some lakes in the eastern part of the state receive, Grove Lake, 2V2 miles north of Royal on U.S. Highway 20, is an away-from-the-crowd bass spot with liberal populations of walleye, bluegill, bullhead, channel cat, and an occasional trout.

Research personnel from the Game and Parks Commission, who recently shocked the lake, turned up an abundance of five-pound-plus largemouths with some random samplings producing fish in the eightpound class. Grove Lake fishermen report their catches are lunker size, but that submerged brush just offshore favors the fish. Again, weedless hooks, heavy line, and a good supply of inexpensive lures may be the answer. Full camping facilities in attractive surroundings are available in the area.

Other lesser reservoirs for bigmouth advocates include Hayes Center Lake, Jeffrey Reservoir, and Isham Reservoir. These water bodies are perennial producers of lunker largemouths.

The 60-acre impoundment north of Hayes Center is an excellent fishery and rates high in the bass division. One of the first fish stockings in Nebraska was made there and it still rates tops. Definitely away from the crowd, this area may even prove a bit tricky to locate, but once you have found it, the rewards will more than justify a return visit. Loaded with underharvested bass, the brush-beating fisherman will be more than rewarded for his efforts.

Isham Reservoir is a privately owned impoundment 16 miles northeast of Chadron where fishing is allowed only by permission. Lyle Myers, a Chadron fisherman, scored heavily at this site last summer, landing two Master Angler bass, and several smaller ones. That's part of the bright side of this lake. The dark side is that the level of the impoundment dropped drastically in the summer of 1970 and only time will tell the extent of the winter kill. In any case, it will be a definite contender for hefty fish in the Panhandle in future years.

Sand Hills lakes are well noted for their fish production, past and present. More than a hundred fishable lakes dot the sandhills region.

While most Sand Hills lakes are not usually thought of as largemouth bass fisheries, several in the group are noted for bronzebacks and have produced them in the five-pound-plus category.

Good bets in north-central Nebraska for bass fans are lakes like Big Alkali, Clear, Round, Dewey, Duck, Rice, and West Long.

Mention the Sand Hills lakes to most anglers and visions of hefty northern pike and creels packed with perch come to mind. Loaded with extras like crappie, bluegill, and bullhead, the sandhills water system has every prerequisite for fulfilling the angler's definition of heaven.

An indication of the productiveness of Sand Hills lakes as concerns northern pike is given in the figures compiled by the Game and Parks Commission in awarding Master Angler plaques. Over 20 percent of the northern awards were for fish taken from just one lake. Pelican, the hottest of hot spots, continually supplies northerns in the over-10-pound class. While a few of these Nebraska giants were pulled through the ice, most were taken in early spring.

Good northern waters in the sandy country include Hackberry, Watts, Big Alkali, and of course Pelican, all in the Valentine National Wildlife Refuge at Valentine. Cottonwood, Shell, and Swan lakes, all in the Valentine area, are also good northern waters.

Northerns have a strange way of striking. The first hit stuns and immobilizes its prey. Setting the hook at this point in the game is of little use. A second hit will usually be to mouth the offering, be it artificial or live bait. The time to set the hook is when action coming up the line is more constant.

Heavy tackle is required for successful northern fishermen. Rods should be stiff, heavyweights to set the hook in a bone-plated, tooth-filled mouth. Wire leaders are standard equipment to keep the fish from breaking away. Heavy line is also handy for those who prefer to "horse" the fish out of weed beds, but lighter test provides real challenges.

Most 'gator-toothed northerns taken fall prey to artificials. Spoons seem to be the most popular and effective. Master Anglers scored heavily with the persistent red-and-white Daredevle. Other spoons, minnow imitations, and spinners were also used to score. Many effective anglers use spinners, spoons, and plugs in conjunction with pork rind draped over the hooks.

Bait fishermen traditionally connect with a fair number of northerns, although they are usually not after this species alone. Ice fishing is a horse of a different color where the baitnorthern relationship is concerned. Beefsteak proves enticing to many a striped tiger when presented through the ice.

The Salt Valley lakes are just coming of age for keeper-size northerns since they must top the 24-inch mark east of U.S. Highway 81. Most impoundments have been stocked with northerns. While it is still too early to determine the extent of success of recent stockings, earlier populations have fared well.

Northern pike topping the 10-pound mark were claimed by anglers from two of the Salt Valley lakes in 1970. A few 16 and 20-pounders fell to hardwater fans using live bluegills at Pawnee last February, while several Master-Angler-size northerns yielded to artificials at Stagecoach last fall.

Don't overlook some of the best catfishing around in the Salt Valley chain. Paul Nines of Lincoln uses a small 12-foot boat to fish during the night at Pawnee and Conestoga lakes almost every weekend during the summer months. Fishing from just before sunset until morning, Paul said he has never gone home empty handed. Averaging 25 to 40 pounds of catfish a night, Paul, and fishing-partner John Volcek totaled almost 500 pounds of fish during four months last summer.

Paul believes that channel catfish feeding peaks come just before dark, around 11 p.m. to midnight, and again just at dawn.

Early in the season, Paul and John use crayfish almost exclusively. A tight line, they suggest, keeps the crawdad working and attracts more cats. Once the supply of soft-shelled crayfish diminishes, the duo switches to soft baits like chicken livers and entrails. Prepared baits are never used.

Much of the pair's time is spent drift fishing across the lakes, but when pinned down as to favorite sites, Paul revealed their most successful spots were the creek inlets and old creek beds. The hotter the weather the better the cool, deep creek channels.

Panfish provide icing for the already tasty cake of angling offered in the middle waters of the state.

Perch and sandhill water go hand in hand. Perch, the hardwater fisherman's staple, is the mainstay diet of predacious fish as well as panfish anglers. This all-season favorite somehow brings to mind an icy winter scene with a slightly frosty angler huddled in his shanty, stubby gig in hand, and a liberal pile of perch heaped at his feet. What they lack in size and scrappiness they more than compensate for in quantity.

Last year, two Sand Hills lakes produced more Master Angler perch than all others combined in their class. West Long and Dewey lakes in the Valentine refuge rate top honors.

Natural baits like worms, parts of crawlers, or other insect or worm-like critters rate high with warm water perch during open-water months.

Ice fishing is a different story. Meal worms, wax worms, and these two in combination with spinners or other small artificials are tricks to lure small panfish to creel.

Marvin Larabee and family of Valentine scored a triplet on Master Angler perch at Dewey in January of 1970. The family outing proved to be a big day for the group, which ended up with 60 to 70 perch ranging from one-half to 2 pounds. By the end of the day, three members of the family had landed Master-Angler-size perch. Marvin, Jr., took a back seat to his sister Kathy and dad when they both brought in 1-pound, 12-ounce perch.

The family also took home five or six largemouths in the two-pound class.

Sand Hills residence or ice do not seem to be prerequisites for catching perch at Dewey. Last summer Henry and Steve Wenz, a father-and-son team from Hallem, traveled across the state to match wits with the prolific perch. Fishing the center of the lake from their boat, the pair worked hardest in early morning and late evening. Fishing tight line with night crawlers, the duo landed 30 perch in one morning alone. During their three-day stay, they captured the rights to four Master Angler awards. While Steve held the edge over his father with three to the elder's one, Henry came through the last day with the largest of the perch, weighing in at 1 pound, 10 ounces, which proved enough to win second place in a Valentine contest.

The Wenz's recommend Alkali Lake for bullheads. Steve and a friend took more than 200 pan-size bullheads one day last summer and barely moved a rod's length all day.

Nearly all Sand Hills lakes have large, healthy populations of bullhead, crappie, and bluegill. Always responsive to the dangle of the angle worm, these tasty tidbits will keep the angler occupied even during the doldrums of midday. Any tackle is appropriate and bank fishing is productive.

Flyrod enthusiasts will find excitement at every turn of the isolated sandhill roads. Bluegill and crappie, as well as yellow perch, provide hours of pleasure for whip fishermen. Introduced species are also providing hours of recreation.

Lowel Ueckert is one of a growing fraternity of fly fishermen pursuing panfish in the eastern part of the state.

Lowel is a great fan of the newcomer to Nebraska waters, the redear sunfish. Brought to Nebraska with hopes that it will fill the bill as a forage fish for bass and northerns in farm ponds and natural lakes, the redear currently has good populations in Conestoga and several of the Fremont lakes. Scrappier than the scrappiest bluegill, this import from the southeastern states responds well to natural bait, but is the greatest challenge when hooked on a light-action flyrod. Lowel prefers his hand-tied, wet flies in darker colors. Oversized black gnats and ants lure even reluctant redears to creel.

Periodically he catches channel cats on his fly rigs. A seven-pounder is the biggest cat he has taken with this unorthodox method, plus scads of two, three, and four-pounders.

Next month, NEBRASKAland goes fishing in the state's small waters, farm ponds, and the Interstate lakes - land of the panfish.

NOTES ON NEBRASKA FLORA.. . BLACK WALNUT

ONE OF THE most highly valued hardwood trees in North America is Juglans nigra, commonly called the black walnut. This tree species has unique properties which make it desirable for high-quality wood products, such as solid or veneered furniture, gunstocks, and interior finishing. The fruit of the black walnut is also a very valuable food source for both man and beast.

A black walnut is usually a medium-size tree that grows from 70 to 90 feet high and 2 to 3 feet in diameter. However, it may grow to a maximum height of 150 feet and have a diameter of 4 to 6 feet. It matures for reproduction in 10 to 15 years, but may have a life span of 250 years.

The range of the black walnut is generally in the eastern United States except for the southern coastal plains. If a line were to be drawn through the middle of South Dakota down through the middle of Texas, everything east could be considered black-walnut country, with a few minor exceptions.

Black walnut grows best on deep, fertile, moist, well-drained, alluvial loam, and silt-loam soils, but has been known to grow quite well on moist, fertile upland soils as well. Under ideal conditions, seedlings may grow as much as IVi feet in height during the first season, and double this height the second year. Under these conditions, a 10-inch saw log can be produced in 20 years. However, it is very sensitive to soil conditions and does not grow this well on poorer sites.

Because of the high demand for black-walnut lumber, the supply of timber has been greatly depleted across the range. Many conservation agencies and spirited citizens have spent hours planting seed and seedlings to establish new stands.

Establishment of new trees appears to be best accomplished through planting of the seed or nut. Seed for planting purposes should be gathered in the fall, hulled, and stratified in moist sand or other material. Seed stored in this way usually shows high germination the following spring. If the seed is allowed to dry out, vitality is lost and germination will decrease.

Establishment by transplanting seedling trees is not as effective as seed, although success may be attained under ideal conditions.

Most walnut trees found in Nebraska woods today probably grew from nuts planted by squirrels. These small animals bury large quantities of nuts, and utilize them as a winter food source. They often forget where some nuts are buried or don't need them all, because many germinate and grow.

Although squirrels do a lot of planting, they can also dig up a lot of nuts planted by man. There are many cases where a person has planted an area to walnuts and returned a few days later to find most of them gone.

Where squirrels are a problem, the tin-can method can be used to protect plantings. This can be accomplished by cutting a one-inch "X" in the bottom of a No. 2 tin can. Pour one or two inches of soil into the can, place the nut in the container, and finish filling it with soil. Bury the can in soil, making sure that the X is up. Bend the X tips back to about a one-inch opening and firm the soil around the can. This will deter squirrels from digging up the nut.

Where squirrels are not a problem, nuts can be planted easily with a hoe or shovel. It is simply a matter of covering the seed with one to two inches of soil.

Since the black walnut is very intolerant of other trees, plantings should be made in openings in the woods or other cleared areas, so that young seedlings will have ample light and will not have much competition from other trees.

Small quantities of walnut seed may be produced every year. However, large crops of seed will occur at irregular intervals. This also occurs in many other hardwoods such as oaks and hickories.

Nebraska landowners have considerable opportunity for improvement of existing stands of black walnut. There are many stands that can be nurtured by protecting them from such hazards as fire and grazing livestock. Individual trees can be helped by removing undesirable surrounding vegetation. Pruning dead and decaying limbs can also give them a new lease on life.

There are many areas in Nebraska that are not suitable for agricultural crop production. These areas could well produce beautiful stands of black walnut instead of weeds or other useless vegetation.

It is a well-known fact that a black walnut takes many years to produce a saw log or even a nut crop — longer than many other area species. Many people have owned a priceless piece of furniture constructed of solid walnut or have cherished a favorite gunstock. It would seem proper to replace some of this beauty by caring for the trees that are left, or by establishing new stands.

TABLETS OF TIME

began farming. In 1867 he married and lived frugally as he worked his way through two years of college. He read law first in Iowa and later in Dawes County, Nebraska. In 1890 he joined the Populist movement and was elected county judge. He retired briefly at the turn of the century before becoming editor of the Chadron Times from 1903 until 1905. After leaving his post at the newspaper, he devoted his remaining years to research for a book he hoped to write entitled The Final Conflict Between The Red Man And The Palefaces.

Engrossed in research, Ricker never began his book, but in the process amassed a remarkable collection of material on historical subjects. He interviewed soldiers, Indians, cowboys, trappers, or anyone else with knowledge of frontier incidents.

Following his on-the-scene research, Ricker spent numerous years in the archives of the United States Bureau of Indian Affairs and the War Department. During this time he collected original and duplicate letters and reports and official documents from many sources.

Ricker's copious notes were compiled on inexpensive schoolboy tablets of the time. Many were the familiar "Rainbow" tablets so well known to generations of grade-school pupils. Scrawled upon with a common lead pencil, he accumulated 209 such tablets over the years, most of them completely filled on every sheet, front and back. The few shorthand symbols he used were of his own creation, and as yet defy interpretation.

All tablets were obtained by the Nebraska State Historical Society, where they are preserved in the archives. Faded and torn, they are one man's account of the decline of the American Indian's world during the 1800's.

Ricker's interest in early frontier life and Indian ways ran the full gamut from recipes for mustard and corn pickles to a description of the last of the American Indian Wars at Wounded Knee in 1890.

Included in his writings is one of the few documented accounts of the death of Crazy Horse, leader of the Oglala Sioux, at Fort Robinson in the fall of 1877. Ricker's interview in 1907 with Louie Bordeaux, who lived six miles north of what was then Georgia, Nebraska, was the basis for it. Bordeaux was of French and Indian descent, and Sioux was his mother tongue. He was the official interpreter for the U.S. Army at Camp Sheridan on Beaver Creek. He and other troops were at Fort Robinson at the time of the Crazy Horse episode and witnessed the death.

The Sioux had lived their finest hour during the summer of 1876, following battles with Crook's forces and later with Custer's Seventh Cavalry. But then it was over. The tribe scattered and fell victim to the persistent efforts of the army. Only months after their greatest victory, the Sioux were whipped.

Rumors spread through the camp that Crazy Horse and a small band of war-like Indians were to make a final strike against the army during a council with the military, claiming a final victory. These rumors, initiated and encouraged by lesser chiefs envious of Crazy Horse, created a tense atmosphere among the soldiers and the Indian braves. This tension ultimately led to overreaction on the part of the guards and officers in charge when trouble broke out.

Ricker recorded Bordeaux's account in full.

"Crazy Horse was arrested to be moved back east and held prisoner. As he was led into the guardhouse a turmoil was heard and the Indians (there was a large group with Crazy Horse) come out the door, among them Crazy Horse and Little Big Man struggling. Little Big Man let go and blood flowed from his (Crazy Horse's) wound instantly. Crazy Horse was seized by Swift Bear, Black Crow and other friendly Indian scouts. The military guard thrust Crazy Horse with his bayonet and inflicted the death wound. While this was in progress the officer of the day was hollering 'stab him', 'stab him'. The soldier made another thrust and grazed the door casing of the guardhouse. While retracting his piece he hit another Indian and broke his collar bone. The officer of the day was vigorously exerting himself to stab Crazy Horse with his saber, but he could not reach him as so many Indians were around the chief."

Bordeaux's account, as recorded by Ricker, is yet another version of the violent death of one of the North American Indians' most feared leaders.

Ricker's original mission was to record everything known about the Indians, their sub-tribes, and families. But as the years progressed, he narrowed his goal to the subject of his book, the Indians' last battle to retain their land-the battle at Wounded Knee. During his travels he bumped into many other old West subjects and recorded information about them. His almost reverent attitude toward cowboys, Indians, and pioneers is reflected in his notes.

An interview at Agate, Nebraska in May of 1907 with J. H. Cook, later entitled The Texas Trail, recorded the great trail drives of the 1800's.

"The trailing of cattle from southern Texas to Kansas and Nebraska began in 1868. Ogallala became the northernmost point of destination and it was here that markets for the sale of the driven stock were established. Buyers came to these places to make their purchases. The drive always occupied a season, and never but one drive was made a season.

"The method of driving was something that had to be learned; it required special training to qualify for this arduous labor of transferring these large herds from the gulf country to the northern selling points. Like all other occupations this one was not to be taken up as a light employment to be learned in a few days. A rare few would, as if designed by nature for it, embrace it with a natural aptitude showing fitness by endowment, while others were slow to learn, and some could never.

"A drive of a thousand to 1,800 miles covered a whole season of six months. The drive began usually about the first of March from southern Texas. Fights and stampedes of the cattle at any moment were not the only difficulties that were reasonably expected and which kept the men alert and under strain; but this business was carried on in Indian country and was subject to the alarm caused by their frequent attacks."

Many of the writings of this self-proclaimed historian on a horse are preoccupied with the languages of various tribes, their interpretations, and their origins. His admiration for Indian civilization is indicated in a definition of the Sioux word for enemy —Toka. He wrote that this word refers to any person identifying himself with another Indian tribe. "The Sioux do not speak of whites as enemies, and therefore do not scalp them, as a rule, for the reason that it is no honor. A white man's scalp is never exhibited at a council of warriors. Indians kill whites only for personal spite or on account of their aggression or oppression."

Indian customs were also a source of humor for Ricker.

"A mother-in-law and son-in-law were not, as a mark of respect and honor, to speak to the other. This rule also applied, with some relaxation, to the father-in-law and daughter-in-law. If the parties wished to communicate, it was done through their intermediary. Correspondence between sons-in-law and fathers-in-law was reserved and in deep respect."

During the later years of his research he concluded that governmental control of Indian affairs in the United States was a gross mismanagement. His low opinion of the bureaucracy which governed the Indian nations is summarized in a statement he made in one of his last tablets:

"Official appointments to the public services are too numerously made from the infected and diseased strata of American life. The integrity of the nation has fallen into a profound slumber."

Sympathy for the Indians' plight and the injustices perpetrated upon them, and a desire - perhaps unrecognized - to have been born in another age or another nation, are attitudes that glare from between the lines.

"When the white man landed on the shores of the New World, an eclipse, blacker than any that ever darkened the sun, blighted the hopes and happiness of the native races then living in tranquility upon their own soil.

"The Indians are gifted with highly poetic imagination and simple eloquence of great dignity and beauty of expression ... not all Indians are good and not all are bad. Just so is this true of the whites," he wrote.

Ricker's commentary on the compatibility of the Indian and his world compared with the contemporary relationship between the white man and his environment are timely even today in an age of concern with ecological issues.

The established order of the dominant races of the earth is a fate past all escape, whatever the merits or demerits of the world situation may be. The free and wholesome life of the so-called savage state, or the intense existence of the so-called civilized condition is a proposition of ingenious but unsatisfactory debate.

The comedy flourishes day by day, but the tragedy cometh in the evening. We put, in place of the free and pure air,

the mountain and plain, the river and lake, the forest and glade, simple intercourse and the excitement of the chase... a landscape surmounted by crowded cities with their smoke and grime, their squalor and suffocation, their stress and unrest, their vice and horror against which their redeeming qualities barely make these darker ones endurable. The savage will be ahead as regards the joys of the earth or prospects of immortality. We may presume that the grind of the monstrous conception called civilization blotted out Eden."

In a world he viewed with such low esteem, and in complete sympathy with the red man's plight, Eli Ricker died in 1926, his text left only on memos. This self-made historian left his mark in history to only the few who read his notes. This will, in all likelihood, be his only recognition.

Outdoor Calendar

CASE FOR SHELTERBELTS

remedied. Again, thinning overly dense belts will discourage deep drifting in the trees and provide a more hospitable retreat for wildlife during times of natural stress. If thinning the windbreak will produce other undesired effects, a supplemental planting of evergreen species in random groups or individually on the leeward side of the existing belt will provide a wildlife haven. Belts of this type of construction are abundant producers of game birds and animals as well as nongame species.

Economic considerations of shelterbelts are more complex. While valid generalizations favor windbreaks, specific cases may vary.

Such effects as restricting temperature fluctuations, increasing rainfall retention, boosting snow accumulation and providing a more uniform distribution, reducing wind velocities, and blowing of soil have been credited to shelterbelts. Other attributes include reducing evaporation, increasing soil moisture, raising the water table, increasing agricultural yields, and from the human standpoint, providing a more livable and beautiful environment. Definite scientific proof regarding some of these effects exists. Others are more evasive of evaluation. Reduced windburn and wilting of crops, and protection for recently seeded crops, or of lodging of mature grains are more tangible benefits.

Long-term records from foreign experimental stations clearly indicate shelterbelts may increase grain-crop yields by as much as 25 to 30 percent both in grain and straw. Studies in Nebraska documented the same results on soybeans and field beans, plus revealing a 30-percent increase in certain vegetable-crop productivity.

On the farmstead, in addition to beautifying surroundings, windbreaks can reduce fuel and maintenance costs; provide protection from the elements in working areas; protect stock, gardens, and orchards; and cut down road noise. In pasture or feeding areas, windbreaks reduce mortality during weather extremes; reduce animal heat loss, consequently cutting feed requirements; lower calf loss; and eliminate the expense of snow removal.

A larger, more vital value, however, one that cannot be expressed in physical terms or realized by those who have not experienced life in the prairie plains region, is the boosting of morale that comes with shade from the sun's glare and shelter from the ever-prevailing winds.

From a more commercial standpoint, well-planned shelterbelts can considerably increase the value of property.

Consider, for example, these figures. If that quarter-mile windbreak, established 25 to 30 years ago, had included a double row of black walnut at normal spacing of, say 6 feet, it would now contain as many as 440 mature trees, depending upon degree of thinning. One of these prime logs is worth at least $100 on the current market —a price that will undoubtedly rise as quality hardwoods disappear. Simple mathematics yield a round figure of $44,000 profit on the harvest of just two rows of that shelterbelt.

On lower, wet land black walnut may reach the harvestable 16-inch diameter in 20 years. A small investment of money and land now would yield an inflation-protected nest egg for future retirement. Unlike other field crops, little maintenance is required. During the period before harvest a real benefit in terms of wind protection and snow distribution is gained.

Few of the state's windbreaks contain walnut. So, what about the shelterbelts we do have? Of what value are thev?

A recent National Forest Service publication made the prediction that by the year 1985 our conventional industrial and governmental sources of softwood and fine hardwoods will no longer be able to meet our skyrocketing demands. At that time, private woodland holdings will become extremely valuable. This same agency predicted only 10 years ago that this shortage in our supply of wood products would not be a threat until the year 2000. Perhaps the year 1985 is optimistic, too. In either case, it behooves the owner of any timber, be it part of a shelterbelt or otherwise, to retain these stands for purely economic reasons.

A present-day example closer to home points up the value of timber now standing in shelterbelts. One Texas manufacturing firm producing a large proportion of the glossy paper used in many national magazines has such desperate need for raw material that it is trucking Cottonwood logs from Kansas to its plant in Texas. Steps to produce its own source of pulp on costly, irrigated land are also being considered. This provides some insight into the commercial value of our current wood supply.

Well within the realm of possibility then, is the proposition of planting more shelterbelts with the prospect of these plantings yielding a tangible profit as well as providing protection and beauty. If you have a shelterbelt —keep it. If you don't —plant one.

Contact your local Agricultural Stabilization and Conservation Service (ASCS) and inquire about its cost-sharing Rural Environmental Assistance Program (REAP) for establishment of field windbreaks or farmstead-livestock shelterbelts. Most cost sharing is on a 50-50 basis, but this may vary with practice, differing conditions, or the farmer's ability to contribute to the cost of performing needed practices.

When you establish a shelterbelt, consider the value of side benefits beyond the protective aspects of the planting. Inclusion of walnut or other commercially important lumber trees, fruit or nut trees, or even the addition of a harvestable row of Christmas-tree varieties yield dollar returns. Consider the plant species and the food and shelter benefits they provide for wildlife and the enjoyment and recreation they bring for you.

Shelterbelts perhaps offer the most protection for our wildlife resource. Without cover to protect these animals from the elements and to provide nesting and escape cover, all grain fields and water sources would be useless. Cover is the basis —the (Continued on page 64)

Grouse Dancing Grounds, Ole's Big Game Lounge

AMONG THE MOST unusual wildlife spectacles is the ritualistic courtship dance of prairie grouse, performed by cocks before mating. Grouse Dancing Grounds exist wherever there is grouse habitat, but there are two locations in Nebraska where special blinds have been constructed, offering a front-and-center view of this outstanding drama produced by Mother Nature. Photo enthusiasts and birdsound buffs can record on film and tape the sights and sounds of this fantastic feature.

The outer limits of the primary region inhabited by grouse —both sharp-tailed and prairie chickens — coincide with the boundaries of the Sand Hills, with the exception of four isolated areas where prairie chickens exist in the southern half of the state. The term "dancing" is generally used when referring to sharptailed grouse because their movements and legwork are faster and fancier than those of their cousins. "Booming" is used in reference to prairie chickens because of their louder, penetrating coos of wooing. Sharp-tailed grouse inhabit the entire sandhill region, but prairie chickens occupy only the eastern half where land more suitable for farming supports a good population.

The four isolated prairie-chicken areas in southern Nebraska are in Lincoln, Dundy, and Chase counties, and from Thayer County to the extreme southeast corner of the state. It is in this latter area where two blinds have been constructed by the Game and Parks Commission in the Burchard Lake State Special-Use Area.

A spot between the northern and southern arms of the lake has been used as a booming ground for years by prairie chickens. It can be reached by driving IV2 miles south on hardtop road from Nebraska Highway 4 to the area's eastern entrance. A gravel road along the north shore of the upper arm leads to a bridge. You cross the bridge going south and follow signs leading to a parking lot especially located for observers. Vehicles must not leave the roads in the area. Game wardens have been instructed to be stern with violators because the Commission is keenly interested in preserving this spot for the birds. Too much harassment might drive them away permanently. Anyone wishing to observe the booming from a place other than the blinds should first get permission from Larry Peckham, district supervisor in the Commission's Resource Services Division, State Capitol, Lincoln 68509.

Prairie chickens gather for their ritualistic show in numbers ranging up to 60 at this spot. Remains of an old haybale blind lie at the top of a knoll in the center of the site. Quite often, while the birds establish their own small territories, one cock emerges supreme and claims this old pile of hay for himself, thus becoming "king of the mound". Studies indicate that these birds prefer a slightly elevated spot in a generally flat area because they tend to forget the possibility of predators lurking nearby when they get into the swing of things, and this slightly higher location offers them a better view of surrounding terrain and faster escape in case of danger.

One other theory, although not proven, is that the cocks like elevation because the hens can see them better higher up.

A known fact is that the dominant male at each site does most of the breeding when the hens, appearing to be completely uninterested in the proceedings, arrive for copulation. Whatever the criteria, hens have a way of knowing who is king, and he usually ends up with a handsome harem.

Situated approximately 100 yards apart, the two blinds at Burchard Lake lie on the north and south sides of the booming ground, offering excellent viewing toward the middle.

When the cocks begin their courtship rites, the watching hens are supposedly hidden somewhere in the distance. Prairie chickens are more colorful than sharptails, although their dance is not as fast. But what they lack in action, they regain in sound. Their gutteral cooings sound, collectively, like war whoops muted by distance. It is a plaintive, haunting, melancholy, and penetrating song supposedly designed to reach the ears of hidden females.

The other location where three blinds have been constructed is in the heart of the Sand Hills in the Bessey Division of the Nebraska National Forest. Approximately 100 outdoor "theaters" extend from 6 to 15 miles southwest of Halsey in the prairie portion of the area. One blind remains in the same place from year to year because it is right beside a popular sharptail arena. The other two are moved to where the best shows are put on. All three are easily accessible by road and a short walk. Road and trail maps are available from Dan Heinz of Halsey, district supervisor of the National Forest Service. Anyone who does not write beforehand can get these same maps at Halsey's motel and cafe.

Sharptails dance more rapidly than their eastern cousins. Their feathers fluff out and their feet tap out a rapid tattoo on the ground. They flit around and square off in pairs, fighting mock battles to establish masculine superiority.

Dancing begins as early as March, but the height of activity comes in April, sometimes extending into the first half of May. Presence of females causes the tempo of the males' dancing display to increase and mating takes place at this time. But with all the studies that have been carried out on grouse, no definite patterns have yet been discovered as to just where the hens go in relation to the grounds to lay and hatch their eggs. Nests, usually containing 12 eggs in a clutch, are seldom found near the booming or dancing grounds. The hens try to find heavier cover.

Observers who want to see these springtime shows have to be early birds. They should be concealed and motionless in the blinds before sunrise. Performances begin at sunup and last as long as two hours, depending on the weather. A cloudy day means the actors will stay for several curtain calls.

More adventuresome nature lovers can find their own grounds anywhere in the Sand Hills where the topography is prairie. A clue to finding them is to stop in some likely place and listen. The penetrating coos of the prairie chickens can be heard from as far as two miles away, and sharptails can be detected up to half a mile away. However, it is almost impossible to get near a bunch of birds once their ritual has begun. They spot intruders and fly away when stalked on open ground.

Whichever you wish to see, the sharptails' show or the prairie chickens' shindig, you can bet your bottom dollar it will be well worth the effort it takes to get out of the sack in the middle of the night. And, don't let a cloudy day discourage you. It may not be as good for photographs, but the action will be prolonged and the performance will be superb.

If you visit the Bessey Division dancing grounds you may want to take a drive south to North Platte, then approximately 30 miles west on either U.S. Highway 30 or Interstate 80 to Paxton where Rosser (Ole) Herstedt will be your host at Ole's Big Game Lounge. You may wonder what is special about this bar, but once you're inside you'll know.

Ole is a big-game hunter who has trophies in his business establishment collected during hunts and safaris around the world. Animals from North America were shot during the past two decades and trophies from other parts of the NEBRASKAland 58 world were downed on various excursions beginning in 1960.

The atmosphere is dark but comfortable, conducive to relaxation, lending itself to dreams of hunts in faraway haunts.

In 1960 Ole flew to Mozambique (Portuguese East Africa) where in 30 days he organized his own safari and, believe it or not, shot an eland, an impala, and a greater kudu, (all African antelopes), a cape buffalo, and a leopard.

In 1966 he took a more extensive excursion to both Somalia and India. From there he continued east through the Orient, making it a 60-day trip around the world. That in itself would be enough for most people, but not for Ole. While in Somalia he shot a lion, an elephant, a lesser kudu, and a hunter's hartebeest (rare South African antelope). In India he downed a wild water buffalo and a gaur (wild ox, largest of the cattle of the world).

There are more. From North America's great outdoors he gathered a trophy deer from Nebraska; several moose from Alaska; elk, antelope, and a bighorn sheep from Wyoming; and a stone sheep from northern British Columbia in Canada.

To top it off, he went to Alaska after polar bear in March of 1969. Wouldn't you know it? His guides flew him about 350 miles into Siberia across the Chukchi Sea to get it — a big one.

All of which goes to show that there are many interesting things to do and see in Nebraska. Within one short day you can enjoy the solitude of the sandhill prairies, be serenaded by the cooing of courting prairie chickens, and relax with something tall and cool beside the trunk of an African elephant.

McCONAUGHY ICE WALK

slipped out of position on my oversize boots. Steve and Bob had the same problem, so we made the proper adjustments. Without the steel claws, navigation on the ice was difficult, and it was impossible to pull a toboggan.

The ice was still thick at this point in our journey.

We were all enjoying the rest and relaxation when suddenly Steve shattered the crisp stillness of our surroundings. "Head 'em up and move 'em out! We're never going to cover this pond on our backsides," he bellowed.

We kept up a relatively steady pace the next few hours until our stride was broken by a major pressure ridge. Pressure ridges, created by the buckling of the ice as it freezes and expands, existed at intervals across the entire surface of McConaughy. The ridges we had crossed so far had been rather insignificant and solidly frozen over. But this time we faced open water.

We removed the long rescue stick from my toboggan and probed the gaping crack in the ice from a safe distance in order to determine where to cross. Bob edged across a huge slab of ice that had been pushed up onto the other side during the ridge's formation. Steve and I tossed ideas back and forth on how to get the gear to the other side when suddenly the splash of water and a shrill yell for help sent chills up my spine. We wheeled just in time to see Bob fall helplessly into the cavernous opening. Fortunately, he managed to grab the jagged edge and held on. He was submerged to his midriff. Moving rapidly to rescue our partner proved unnecessary. In a few short seconds he pulled himself out of the hole.

Greatly relieved, we continued our plans to cross the pressure ridge. We accomplished the crossing by tying a long line to the toboggans and pulling them across one at a time from a safe distance. Soon, we were on our way again. Bob told us that his legs were not uncomfortably cold.

It was 3:30 p.m. when we pulled up again for a breather. A pedometer check showed that we had covered more than 5V2 miles of ice since morning.

"Right on schedule," I announced to my wind-buffeted cohorts.

We decided to make camp. Checking the shoreline, we could see that we were straight south of the most easterly point of Otter Creek Bay. We were smack in the middle of the north and south shores.

Since pegging tents would have been extremely tricky on the ice, we were equipped with two pop-up tents that require no stakes. These pop-ups have durable, fiberglass outer frames that attach to the canvas. They look like igloos when set up. We utilized the larger tent for sleeping and the smaller as a supply depot. As soon as camp was set up we cut several holes in the ice for fishing. It was about 5V2 inches thick.

An hour of fishing proved totally unproductive. I kept at it while Steve boiled some water for hot tea. Mother Nature ended the day with a spectacular sunset, drawing on brilliant red and orange hues above the western horizon.

Huge flocks of ducks virtually filled the sky, along with snaking lines of honking Canada geese. It was a moving sight. The thermometer read 24 degrees. The wind turned to the east and was uncomfortably cold as it whipped along the ice.

Darkness came and our faces were grim as we crowded around the stove for supper. Our fishing efforts failed, so the menu was scant. By 7 p.m. the thermometer read 17 degrees and we felt the cold even more.

Hard rolls, bean soup, and hot tea were what we finally had for supper. Although not extremely fatigued from the day's hike, everyone was ready for sleep. We were rehashing the day's events when Bob's accident came up. We soon dropped that particular subject.

The ice groaned and creaked almost methodically. Although we considered five inches of ice adequate support for our weight, the thought of sleeping on the ever-changing crust of ice was not entirely reassuring. We fell asleep around 9 p.m.

I awoke at 7 the next morning. Steve and Bob were still sound asleep, but Blue was wide awake and ready for another day of adventure on the ice. It was completely light out. The thermometer stood at nine degrees.

"O.K.," I shouted, "this isn't a Palm Springs resort." Groans and monas were the only replies. Finally, after considerable prodding, Bob and Steve woke up. The first order of business was an indepth discussion of the night we had just spent on the ice.

"How about those coyotes?" asked a sleepy-eyed Bob.

"Quite a show of musical harmony," was Steve's early-morning reply. "There must have been a million of them right around our tent."

"The coyotes made music, but what about the ice?" was my immediate reply to their line of questioning. "That continual creaking and cracking was really something else."

After everyone was dressed I went to get some water from one of our ice-fishing wells and to check on our fishing lines — no fish. We boiled the water and made hot tea. A cup of powdered orange juice and a serving of oatmeal rounded out our breakfast.

Another sun-filled morning was on tap. Blue raced around the campsite with vigorous ready-to-go enthusiasm. There is no way of telling how many miles he actually covered during the trek, dashing to and fro across the ice. Our goal today was the Lemoyne area. At that point we would be about five miles from the face of Kingsley Dam.

We broke camp and began packing the toboggans. Before long we grabbed the toboggan ropes, adjusted our ice cleats, and started out. The temperature was a pleasant 29 degrees with virtually nc surface wind. Spirits remained high as we plunged into our second day.

By 12 noon we were ready for a rest. Our pace had been relatively steady. We were all comfortably warm, although a dense cloud bank had rolled in from the east. Even with the overcast condition, the glare from the ice was still terrific. The temperature warmed to 34 degrees and a light breeze rose out of the east as we began walking again.

The cracking and movement of the ice was much more noticeable now than the day before. The weird, suggestively scary noises were unbelievably loud as the crust of lake ice constantly shifted position. The layer of ice we traversed during the next half hour thinned considerably from our campsite thickness of more than five inches.

"It's the ducks and geese," Steve spurted. "They have kept the water open in several areas out here and the ice is dangerously thin."

We stopped for a conference on route strategy. Abruptly, without the slightest warning, the spot where Steve and I stood began to give way. Steve quickly shuffled backward and I to the side. The ice opened up along the adjacent pressure ridge, belching a horrible crushing sound. Blue, unaware of the danger, failed to respond to Steve's incessant hollering to stay away and tumbled through a thin overnight crust of ice into a narrow opening of water alongside the pressure ridge.

Blue worked desperately to escape his obviously freezing predicament. But try as he might, he was unable to do so. He whined for help. Steve checked to see if I was ready with the rescue pole, then went to assist his dog. Steve lay carefully on his stomach and inched up to Blue, who was still struggling vigorously to climb out of the ice-cold water. Steve finally managed to grab Blue's collar and drag him from the water. Needless to say, Blue was elated.

With that melee ended, we surveyed the area to figure a route around the massive pressure ridge. To quote an old cliche, "We were treading on thin ice". Farther ahead, the ice appeared to be old and dark. We spread out at 50-foot intervals and headed for the north shore in search of better ice. Discoloration and cloudiness in the ice told us that it was weak. There was probably a current or warm-water spring beneath us.

Moving north toward a newer and hopefully better route, it happened again. Blue unknowingly stepped on some rugged, probably refrozen ice and went crashing through a second time.

"Oh no!" I shouted.

"Well, better our scout than us," was Steve's calm reply. "The cold water won't bother him as long as we can keep pulling him out."

Blue's second fall-through had taken place closest to me and I dreaded the rescue operation. Who would want to venture out on that thin ice? Luckily, Blue somehow managed to drag himself from the hole. He simply shook himself, and then went on about his scouting business.

After deliberating our plight several minutes, the decision was made to abort the mission. The ice was definitely unsafe. We started on a direct route to shore, but found that melting temperatures during the past few days had mushed the perimeter of the lake's ice considerably. This presented a different type of problem —how to get off?

Finally, after much ado, we made it ashore, pushing the last few feet through knee-deep slush. We guessed our location to be approximately two miles west of Lemoyne. The mission of traversing the full length of Lake McConaughy was officially abandoned. But we had to make the best of the situation. With sunset about two hours away, we decided to camp on the shore for the night. We had plenty of time to set up camp and venture onto safe-looking ice for another try at fishing.

We established camp by 4:30 p.m. Fishing came next and we crept onto the ice to jig teardrop and our wax-worm baits. Our dangling efforts still failed to produce much-wanted fish for supper.

By 6:30 p.m. the wind velocity rose, gusting to 40 miles per hour according to the gauge. Without access to forecasts, we had no idea of what Old Man Weather had in store for us. All we could do was prepare for the worst. We quickly tied lines from the tents to nearby fallen trees to prevent them from collapsing under the growing pressure of the wind.

We all ate heartily from our diminishing food supply. Having foregone lunch because of the excitement, we combined both meals for a menu consisting of tomato soup, hard rolls, crackers, cheese, and instant rice. The wind continued to buffet our tent.

The evening passed without event except for one minor incident when a particularly strong gust of wind shook the tent, knocking the lantern from its overhang. It fell on Steve's knee. His complaints were few, but loud. It was 13 degrees when we finally decided to turn in.

Sharp spears of golden sunlight were already slicing into the tent when I awoke at 7:15 a.m. Blue was up as usual, snorting and ready for action. The thermometer showed 20 degrees. I unzipped the tent flap.

"Hey, what's going on?" mumbled a half-awake Steve as sunlight flooded the tent.

"It's a new day," I replied cheerfully. It was truly a picture-postcard morning.

Breakfast consisted of hot tea and one near-frozen orange each. Bob had three chocolate bars, which he shared with Steve and me. We gladly accepted the candy.

We were camped about 20 yards from the lake's edge, but we could still hear the groaning of the ice adjusting to a new day. It was now 28 degrees. Another day of melting temperatures would damage the ice crust severely and leave several open areas.

Our waterfowl friends winging overhead were probably happy about the situation, but for us it meant "no-go" on the ice.

It was time to break camp, so we began carrying our equipment up to the road. The nearest access trail to our campsite was more than a mile away.

It was unanimous that carrying the equipment to the car was the most difficult and trying portion of the entire journey. We were equipped to travel on ice, but on land it was a story of hard labor.

A little after noon we drove across Kingsley Dam on the way back to Lincoln. We saw several areas of open water. Our experiment in the cold was over. I tipped my hat, "We'll be seeing you Big Mac!" It was an experience we'll all remember.

Roundup and What to do

APRIL OFFERS A shower of activities across the state, providing everything from plays and pageants to a resurgence in outdoor activity, as fine spring days revive interest in fishing, camping, hiking, and picnicking.

April is the month when fish shake off winter lethargy and many anglers start thinking about digging out tackle and heading for a favorite lake or stream. Traditionally, this month is one of the best for fishermen as lunkers begin a feeding spree after the long, lean winter, and some species begin spawning.

Others join fishermen in the outdoors during April, including campers, hikers, picnickers, and cyclists. Among them is NEBRASKAland's April hostess, Susan Beth Herboldsheimer, daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Bennie Herboldsheimer of Potter. Sue, a freshman at the University of Nebraska in Lincoln, is studying interior design in the University's College of Home Economics.

Sue lists hiking, camping, cycling, and rock collecting among her favorite outdoor activities, and she spends parts of her summers as a church-camp counselor. Some of her indoor interests are cooking, sewing, and playing the piano. Activities at the University include 4-H work and membership in the American Home Economics Association.

During 1970, Sue reigned as Nebraska's Wheat Queen, a title that took her to fairs and exhibits across the state last summer. Her other laurels include 1970 Bettv Crocker Homemaker of Tomorrow, 1970 Merit's Who's Who in American High Schools, and 1969 Girls Stater.

With a University of Nebraska coed reigning as NEBRASKAland's April Hostess, it is only fitting that a pair of University of Nebraska events highlight the month's calendar. April's schedule is kicked off by the annual spring musical of the University's Kosmet Klub April 2 and 3.

And, April 19 and 25, the annual University of Nebraska Rodeo and Western Days kick off the state's rodeo season. Sponsored by the university's Rodeo Association, the event carries on an 89-year-old tradition begun in Nebraska when Buffalo Bill Cody staged history's first rodeo.

College cowpokes compete in bronc busting, steer wrestling, and other bonejarring competition, while cowgirls share the spotlight in events designed just for them. Points won at this rodeo help a student cowhand earn points toward qualifying for the National Intercollegiate Rodeo Association Finals this summer.

Horses are on the minds of Nebraskans around Grand Island through most of April, but they are not the ornery broomtails of the rodeo arena. Instead, attention is focused on thoroughbreds at Grand Island's Fonner Park, where the state's first racing meet of the season runs through April 18. From there, the ponies travel to Omaha to open the meet at Ak-Sar-Ben April 30.

Still another event featuring horses appears on the April schedule. Unlike the other events, anyone who can ride a horse is welcome to take part. The Maywood Trail Ride, probably the largest of its kind in the world, attracts more than 1,000 horsemen each year. Since 1959, young and old, city dudes and ranch hands, and riders from all over Nebraska and neighboring states have converged on May wood the last Sunday in April for a leisurely jaunt across the countryside.

April is also the time for celebration of Arbor Day, Nebraska's own holiday. Celebrated on April 22, Arbor Day was proclaimed a legal state holiday in 1885. It is dedicated to the planting of fruit, forest, or ornamental trees for beautification of the state, and is observed in nearly every other state and in many foreign countries. The tree-planting day was inspired by J. Sterling Morton, an early Nebraskan, whose home, orchard, and wooded lawns at Arbor Lodge in Nebraska City are now a state historical park. An observance of the holiday is planned in Nebraska City for sometime in May, when weather will be more favorable for an outdoor event.

April is a big month for the town of Red Cloud, too, with several events scheduled to help celebrate its hundredth birthday. The agenda includes a Centennial Kite Flying Contest April 4, sunrise services and an Easter-egg hunt on Easter Sunday, the Willa Cather Pioneer Memorial Spring Conference April 18, and a centennial birthday party that afternoon. Implement exhibits featuring old and new farm machinery April 24 and 25 end the month's activities in Red Cloud, but happenings are scheduled there all summer long.

Another big NEBRASKAland event in April is an annual affair, Curtis' Easter Pageant. Scheduled for 8 p.m. Palm Sunday, April 4, the pageant represents the efforts of about 140 people from 6 communities in the area. It consists of "living pictures", with choral-music background and narration. In its twelfth year, the pageant's fame has spread and people from all over Nebraska and several other states are counted in the audience each year.

Young scientists from eastern Nebraska get a chance to show their skill in the annual Greater Nebraska Science and Engineering Fair at Nebraska City April 17 and 18. High school students enter their projects in competition for awards that include a trip to the International Science and Engineering Fair in Kansas City, a one-week cruise aboard a U.S. Navy ship, scholarships, books, and other valuable prizes.

The rest of April's agenda includes two productions at the Lincoln Community Playhouse, with three stands of three days each scheduled for one production and a single run on tap for the other. April 2 through 4 finds players on stage presenting "Under the Yum Yum Tree", while performances of 'The Apple Tree" run April 7 to 9, 14 to 16, and 21 to 23.

So, as April brings Nebraska from gray, blustery days of winter and early spring to warmer, brighter days ahead, the state's calendar offers enough activity, both out of doors and indoors to suit almost anyone's taste.

CASE FOR SHELTERBELTS

supporting structure for our game and nongame populations.

To manage wildlife we must first manage habitat. In all habitats we find a limitation on the number of game animals of any one species that can be maintained. Usually, if game numbers are to be increased, the carrying capacity and, consequently, the habitat, must increase. We cannot expect game numbers to grow when we are decreasing their escape and nesting cover by removing shelterbelts or other brushy cover at the same time.

Consider the classic barbershop conversation that goes something like this:

"You know, Les, Ralph and I spent a whole day last weekend cruising the backroads and never saw a single pheasant, not even where the brushy draws used to be. And down along the river road, where the plum thickets were before they sprayed them, we never even came upon a single rabbit or covey of quail."

"Yeah, I know just what you mean, Wiley. Two years ago I got a bird almost every time I went out to feed the cattle. Of course, that was before I pushed out that half-mile of shelterbelt. That extra cornfield should have fattened up even more pheasants, though."

"Well, the way I see it, those extralong seasons are the main trouble. That, and they don't stock birds anymore. But you know, Wiley, I think the real problem is all those dang coyotes and fox I've been seeing lately. Things just aren't as they used to be in the good old days. No sir, they just are not the same. I wonder what's happened?"

The moral is, as the comic-strip characters in Peanuts once put it: "We have met the enemy and he is us."

HE'S TREED NOW

snow we listened for Shorty's telltale rhythmic baying. When it came, we flipped on a couple of lights and set out as quickly as we could through the brush.

"I bet it happened again," Jim prophesied. "There's another den tree right near the fenceline and I bet that's where the rascal headed."

Again, his suspicion was confirmed when we arrived at the scene. Queenie ran, jumped, climbed almost five feet up the slanting trunk of the big cottonwood, and made plenty of noise. Harry then explained that she never makes a sound until she trees a coon.

"Some dogs are silent trailers. They pick up a scent and follow it until it disappears up a tree, then they sing out."

This meant Shorty had been making all that noise while they were trailing, and he won even more respect from me. It certainly sounded like at least two dogs. It didn't explain why we could still single out his regular baying after treeing, since Queenie was right in there making plenty of racket, too.

Just before turning the dogs loose a third time, another hunter joined us. Jim's brother Wayne Wimer, on whose farm we were hunting, suddenly appeared from out of the timber, accompanied by a stocky walker who was definitely ready to hunt. Buck was a stockier animal than Queenie. He and his master had come to join the hunt after hearing our dogs working vigorously in his "back yard."

We moved onto the frozen surface of the Elkhorn, where the walking was considerably easier than through the brush. As we went, I pumped Harry for background on dogs. "What kind of dog do you feel is best for hunting in this kind of territory?" I asked.

"It probably doesn't matter much what kind, but he should be a full-blooded hound, whatever the breed. Unless he is, he can't pick up a trail across these sandbars. For many years I raised blue ticks, and found that there are probably more differences between good and bad dogs of one breed than there are between good dogs of different breeds.

"Probably the best dog I ever had was a black-and-tan. I had him for 14 years and he hunted right up until the last season. And, he did that with a plastic windpipe in him."

"How did that happen?"

"Well, one night he ran a coon into a washout along the river bank, and there was a beaver in there. The dog went in after the coon, and the beaver promptly ripped his throat wide open. He came out of the hole with blood pouring out.

"My son was with me that night, and carried the dog, holding the wound shut as best he could. We rushed into town where a vet put a plastic connection in his windpipe and sewed up the torn arteries. He was really in bad shape.

"They thought he would die, but in less than an hour he was sitting up licking himself. In about a month he was back trailing coons. He was a great dog. You just couldn't keep him out of the fields."

The same appeared to be true of the dogs with us now. Queenie tried to climb every tree holding a coon, and Shorty was as excited as ever, despite a wound which had splattered blood along his flank. He acted unconcerned about the injury, and a cursory examination showed it was a superficial cut, apparently from a sharp limb in the thick underbrush.

Now, with three good dogs, we were ready to turn them loose on another search for the rascals, who seemed to be particularly tricky that night. Also, the frost was settling in, which our hosts explained made trailing difficult. We could see the frost on the dead grass near the river, yet it wasn't long before the dogs turned up another customer.

It was the same story all over, with the coon clambering up a dead cottonwood and us merely standing below spotlighting the barren limbs amidst the earpounding yelps of our three canine companions.

"It looks as if the coon may have crossed over into that next tree and gotten away," Harry observed.

We could see no pockets in the tree, so that may have been the explanation. A brief conference ended with a decision to call a halt to operations, and try again after the next warm spell. We tethered the dogs and started the crunchy walk to the cars. Halfway back, Harry said, "We might as well let the dogs loose on the way. Have you guys hunted those trees across the river lately?"

A negative reply was all that was needed. The dogs, again turned free, began ranging out in all directions seeking fresh sign. Numerous deer tracks crisscrossed the snow on the river ice, and occasionally we spotted coon tracks as well. While the dogs checked out the territory we gathered in a group and chatted, listening once in a while for a message from the dogs.

"There's an old cabin down there toward the end of those trees," Harry said. "We got a coon under there one time and couldn't get him out. The dogs kept working and working and finally dug through the floor and got down there, too. Then the coon came out! It sounds like they are running one toward it right now."

Planning to catch up with the dogs, we crossed the river, angling down to the right. A steep, snow-covered bank greeted us on the other side, and it took several minutes to struggle up. The dogs, meanwhile, had circled back from their long downriver run, and since one of the guys had soaked his feet in open water under the snow, we captured the hounds and headed in.

After three treed coons and a fourth lengthy chase, we ended the evening's activities without seeing a coon. Actually, I was just as glad we didn't shoot any, since I had had a tame coon during State Fair and would have found it hard to dispatch one —even a wild rascal.

Raccoons don't hibernate all winter. In fact, much activity occurs in the mid-February mating season.

"They are really out and running around then, and it's not unusual for one to travel four or five miles before the dogs tree him," Harry said. "If we get a warm spell between now and then, we'll have another go at them."

He and Jim usually go out at least twice a week from November 15 on, "but we're always ready to go whenever anyone suggests a hunt." And so are the dogs. They really seem to enjoy dashing through the trees and brush, hot on thheels of a wily old critter. And, their excitement is contagious, for everyone's enthusiasm picks up steadily during the evening, despite "dead ends."

Much of the hunting that Harry and Jim do is at the request of local farmers. Coons seem to build up to nuisance levels fairly rapidly. Since there are not many good coon dogs in the vicinity, farmers call on hunters they know to control the rascals. Of course the pelts are of some value during winter "prime time", so the hunt is doubly beneficial.

Certainly, coon hunting has an appeal that borders on being habit-forming. The fact that the night was so clear and calm contributed something to the overall effect, and the hunt was most enjoyable. It demonstrated the sport under ideal conditions and made it easy to see how people become addicted to it. So, the next time the weather warms up and the moon is right, we'll probably be back out there among them, hard on the heels of the hounds where we can listen to more moonlight serenades.

NEBRASKAland TRADING POST

OUTDOOR NEBRASKAland of the Air

Outdoor Elsewhere

Mechanized Murder. Statistics show that every single day about a million wild creatures are killed on our nation's highways and byways, but how about this? A rural mail carrier in New York counted a total of 66 pheasants killed by motorists on his route last year. Of the kill, 23 of the victims were hens, 17 cocks, and 26 young birds. The mail carrier adds that he saw drivers swerve to hit pheasants and other wildlife, or drive clear off onto the shoulders to achieve a hit. He says he even saw one guy swerve purposely into a flock of pheasants and kill 7 out of the 10 birds in the group. — New York

Feathered SST. —Just how far and fast teal can move was proved by a speedy little teal banded by game authorities in Maine last September 10. Just 24 days later and some 3,000 miles away the duck was bagged by a hunter in the West Indies. That's an average of 125 miles per day, to once again prove that ducks are quite mobile. — Maine

Fire Facts. In an average year, United States forest fires start in 125,000 places, burn 5,000,000 acres, consume 113,000,000 tons of wood, spew out 165 cubic miles of smoke, emit 364,000 tons of smog-producing hydrocarbons, burn 25 Americans to death, injure 1,350 more, and cost about $316,000,000 a year to prepare for and suppress. Remember, only you can prevent forest fires! — Washington, D.C.

Anti-Litter Law. Beginning April 1, next year, the sale of soft drinks and beer in any nonreturnable container will be illegal within the city limits of Bowie, Maryland, a Washington, D.C. suburb of 40,000. Stores violating the ordinance will be subject to a $100-a-day fine.— Maryland