For the record... Bounty of Trees

"The woods are lovely, dark, and deep." So said poet Robert Frost in verse, but a few decades ago.

And, what school child has not committed to memory the immortal lines penned by Joyce Kilmer: "Poems are made by fools like me, but only God can make a tree."

How many of us realize the value of a tree? Just where does it fit into man's scheme of things?

Throughout the centuries, man has looked to the tree for a multitude of his needs. It is a haven for birds, other wildlife, and small boys. It gives us timber for houses, paper products, and even the first synthetic fibers. Trees provide cool respite from the burning rays of the sun; fuel for the fire. It bears fruits for food and even gives off the oxygen vital for man's very survival. It fills so many of man's needs and demands that it is all but impossible to enumerate them.

Almost from the time man learned to walk erect, he has depended on the bounty of trees. Somehow they have always been there, but will that be true for the generations to come?

When European man came to the New World, he was confronted by seemingly endless expanses of forests. During the relatively short span of time from then to now, man, the exploiter, has diminished those great timbers at a precipitous rate. Gone now are the days of unlimited cutting.

Statistics indicate that unless we recycle, use substitutes, and simplify construction, lumber needs will skyrocket to 18.8 billion cubic feet by the year 2000, and they will be 2.2 billion cubic feet more than the anticipated growth. For example, today's paper needs in the United States average 560 pounds per person each year. By 2000, that figure will reach half a ton for each man, woman, and child.

What can be done? Steps are being taken to conserve our woodlands, to develop substitute materials, and even to plant "super" trees that will mature in about half as many years as presently required. Even so, man must take stock of his resources and act. But what of the national forests? These woodlands offer hope, and they represent what government can do. That is not enough, though.

This then presents an opportunity for each and every citizen to do his part. In this the Centennial year of the first Arbor Day, Nebraska's own holiday, the "Treeplanter State" can again take the lead. We can plant a tree for the future, so generations to come will know the simple joys of a tree.

While planting for tomorrow, today's citizens can also step up their contributions to the recycling effort. The U.S. now reuses only 20 percent of 12 million tons of paper annually. Other tree-short nations reprocess 35 percent. So, there's ample room for improvement.

Nebraska is No. 1. Let it then lead the way for others to follow.

April 22 is Arbor Day. Founded a century ago by Nebraskan J. Sterling Morton, this day for planting trees is now observed in 49 states and many foreign countries. For further information contact your area County Extension Agent or local Garden Center.

Speak Up

WATCH OUT- I sincerely feel all field-dog owners should be warned and a plea should go out to all landowners. I fully realize that coyote hunting can be a great sport, and man holds the vital key to our wild kingdom, but gas bombs are dangerous.

"I am not fully aware of how they work, or much less their purpose, except that they kill all that tamper with them. They are baited, gas charges hidden in the ground for the purpose of killing coyotes.

"I know the Nebraska laws on trespassing, but even a well-trained Vizla like my Gomer couldn't be taught the fence-line boundaries. After walking a milo field and coming to the end with no success, Gomer wandered into a completely unmarked pasture and was killed by one of these gas charges.

"I would like to make a plea to all farmers that feel they must use these charges to kill come what may. No warning signs will bring back Gomer, but they may save someone else's hunting partner and family pet."—James Benedict, Omaha.

WHAT PRICE WATER- I am one Niobrarian that will say Amen to Norm Hellmers' January article Conflict. The truth shall be known.

"By now the Norden Dam is supposed to cost the American public $92 million to irrigate 77,000 sandy acres. That, ladies and gentlemen, is almost $1,200 per acre. Add what the Keynesian pros call land development, then override, and your cost rises to $1,500 or $2,000. Compare this with $300 to $400 for pivot irrigation systems, and $200 or $300 for other systems. The economical structure of the O'Neill Unit would be like pouring water down a rat hole. Of course, the fast-buck clan would be there to pick it up —or dig it out.

"Dig deeper and you will find that the underground water in Holt County is being contaminated with nitrate. A nitrate hazard does not exist within the 69,000-plus acres considered for development under the O'Neill Unit. No doubt Holt County's sprinkler irrigation has helped create this problem. Now is the time for the state to deal with it —not add 69,000 highly irrigated sandy acres to intensify the situation.

"The recreation anticipated with the Norden Dam construction would not be an even standoff to the type of enjoyment we have on the Niobrara as it is. God forbid if we should destroy this. People from eastern Nebraska and throughout the United States almost run over each other come hunting time. And, canoeing the Niobrara is like being next to heaven, especially with children."—Martin A. Peterson, Bassett.

GREAT FUN-"I enjoyed Irvin Kroeker's article in the December 1 971 issue of NEBRASKAland (Genealogical Fun) very much. I've been a rather ardent genealogy fan for quite a few years, and am presently working on a genealogical index." — Kermit B. Karns, Kansas City, Missouri.

CURE MADE EASY-"Enclosed are six suggestions for 'curing' the problems of our youth. Sometimes it seems we plan our problems ahead rather than trying to head them off." —Roy A. Speece, York.

"We use Wright's liquid smoking on the outside." —John D. Friesen, Henderson CRANES —"I found a picture and description in a 100-year-old book of a bird that you are protecting each year. Maybe you can use this historic information." — Lawrence Dokulil, Omaha.

The crane, of which our engraving represents a fine specimen, is a large wading bird of the order Grallatores, and different genera of the species are found in Europe and America. The American crane (Grus americanus) furnishes a good typical example of the whole class. Its long bill is dusky, turning yellow toward its base; the top and sides of the head are of a brilliant red; the feet are black, and the plumage white, except the primary and adjacent feathers, which are brownish black. The length of the full-grown bird, from the bill to the tip of the tail is often 34 inches, and to the end of the claws 65 inches; the young birds are of bluish grey color, with the feathers tipped with yellowish brown.

Cranes are common in our Southern and Western States from October until April, when they retire to the North.

Their hearing and vision are very acute, hence they are diffcult to approach. They roost either on the ground or on high trees. Their nests are usually built of coarse materials, and are placed in high grass; the eggs are two in number, and are hatched by the alternate attention of both birds. They are easily tamed when captured, and may be kept on vegetable food.

NEBRASKAland

'Possum Snake

"Let sleeping rattlesnakes lie" is my motto now. It only took one time of handling a live one for me to learn

RATTLESNAKES are a curiosity for most people—aimost any snake is, I suppose. Some folks are downright afraid of them, others think they are interesting, and still others can take them or leave them. I am one of those who would rather leave them.

Several years ago, in the early spring of 1968, a neighbor, Delbert Kent of rural Holbrook, stopped by my farm. He had been checking his cattle, and because of wet ground, used his tractor instead of a pickup. Now, Delbert has killed a lot of rattlesnakes, and he claims it's easy. He has often told me: "Why, you can kill one with a fly swatter."

Anyway, he had killed one that morning. I don't remember what he used, though I guess there was a wrench or something on the tractor. No, I guess he worked it over with a sunflower stalk. Anyway, he didn't beat it up badly or anything-it just had a little blood on the head. When he drove into the yard, he started to tell me about the snake even before I could say hello. It was draped across the tractor's transmission.

I had never killed a rattler, nor seen one for that matter, so I was sort of interested. I asked him at the time if he was sure the cussed thing was dead, and he answered that it didn't take much to kill one. Well, I took the snake from him and inspected it. The kids were home, so of course they, and the cat and dogs had to see, too. I remember opening the mouth so they could look at the fangs with the little holes where the venom comes out. And, we rattled the tail and examined the scaly body. The snake was not a large one, only average size, probably 26 or 27 inches ong.

Well, you only look at a snake so ong, so after a while I handed it back to Delbert, and he again laid it across the transmission. He said he was going to stop by another farm and show the snake to Art Mock on his way home. So we said goodbye and I didn't think much more about it until later. I don't remember exactly how much later it was when I heard the rest of the story, but I have been reminded of it quite often since then.

It seems that when Delbert drove into Art's yard, Art was up on the porch. Delbert went up to the porch and said, "Hey, come out here and see the rattler I just killed."

Art, who had the advantage of facing the tractor, answered just about as enthusiastically. "Nope. I'm not going out to look at any snake you killed until you go out and kill the one that is crawling up on the seat."

Sure enough. There was a live rattler crawling around on the tractor. The heat and jostling had revived Delbert's recently killed reptile, so he had to dispatch it again. That was cutting it pretty close, for if the snake had revived a minute sooner, that tractor seat would have gotten a little crowded.

A day or two later, I heard about the revived snake, and then I really got to thinking. Here the kids and I had played with that rattler, and all that time it had only been asleep. It gave me a funny feeling just thinking about it. People asked me later what I would have done if it had come to life in my hands. I always told them that I would have uncoiled long before the snake, and I sure would have given it quite a toss.

I haven't grown any fonder of snakes since then, and I don't know if Delbert still believes he can kill rattlers with a fly swatter, either. Whatever he uses now, I'll let him continue to work them over, but I'm not going to go out of my way to look for those rascals. THE END

HOW TO: Fillet, Clean, and Smoke Fish

Catching fish is only part of the problem, as any angler will tell you. There are lots of secrets and tricks involved in enticing a fish to the hook. But, cleaning those critters after a day on the water is far less enjoyable and almost as time-consuming as catching them.

There are a few tricks to cleaning fish, though, which take much of the drudgery out of the task. Many anglers (or their wives) know these secrets, but some folks still operate on their catch with old-fashioned, and mostly unnecessary techniques.

For the benefit of those still clinging to the "good old way", but who are open to suggestion, here are several good ideas for cleaning. And, if you want to prepare a delicacy, try smoking a fish.

FOR SOME REASON, catfish and bullheads are usually processed in the most cumbersomemanner. The fish is awkwardly grasped by the horned head, a cut is made around the skin behind the head, and pliers are used to peel the rubbery hide off. Then fins and other protrusions are removed, then the intestines.

All this is pretty tough work, and it leaves all those bones inside to be picked out and piled in a heap somewhere around the dinner plate. Although it may come as a surprise to many, catfish, too, can be filleted, removing bones and skin with a few swift cuts.

Just as with most other fish, make a cut behind the gill cover down to the backbone. Then, cut along the backbone about two-thirds of the length of the fish. Cut deeply, clear down to the rib cage. The back meat can then be pulled away from the bone and the knife can be worked around the rib cage to the belly, freeing the fillet from the carcass. Behind the ribs, move the blade parallel to the backbone and cut clear to the tail, but leaving the skin attached.

Flop the meat back so the skin is down. Start another cut between meat and skin, making a slight, slicing motion, and the fillet will come away with nothing left on the skin.

Wash the meat, blot it dry with a paper towel, salt it lightly, and refrigerate it until dinner time. Not only will the boneless pieces be more pleasant to eat, but they allow the fish to be prepared in many different ways. With large catfish, the fillets should be cut into smaller pieces for convenience. Whatever the size, however, the proof that this method is best is in the trying. Put away the pliers and bring on the skillet. (Continued on page 12)

WHEN YOU PULL a lunker rainbow trout from Lake Mac's cold water in early spring, the sooner your catch is cleaned and iced down the better. You can perform the chore in seconds once you get the hang of it. While cleaning a rainbow (or any trout, for that matter) is not much different than cleaning other fish, there is little necessity for scaling rainbow because the scales are so small. Cleaning trout is probably the angler's easiest and least time-consuming job.

Use a knife with a thin, keen blade. Split the belly of the fish from vent to throat, avoiding the viscera, and stop the cut at the throat bone just behind the gills.

Now run the knife through the lower jaw plate ahead of the gills, and cut the jaw plate free. Run your thumb inside this last cut, down the throat so you can grasp the gills and lower throat bone, and peel downward, following the belly slit. The gills and all other viscera come out in one lump.

Use your thumb to remove the dark material, which is the kidney, running the full length of the fish's backbone. Rinse the fish with clean water, and it's ready for the cooler or frying pan.

SMOKING FISH was originally a method of preserving a part of the catch for future use, but the wonderful flavor of fish so treated has spread into the realm of gourmet foods and commands a premium price at modern food stores.

The smoking process is not difficult, and almost any fisherman can produce acceptable results on his first try. If he is camping out during his fishing foray, part of the catch can be smoked on the spot, or brought home and done on the back porch.

While many devices, from' the pioneer-type smokehouses to oil drums and old refrigerators, have been employed by many smokery enthusiasts, commercial, portable units provide a more practical approach for those not wishing to jump into the craft on a wholesale basis. These units consist of a metal box approximately 18 inches square and 24 inches high. There is a removable wire rack inside which holds the meat to be smoked. In the base of the unit is a small, low-power electric hotplate and a metal pan. The pan is filled with hardwood sawdust or chips, usually hickory, from a supply furnished with the smoker, and this is set on the hotplate where it is slowly "fried" to produce the smoke necessary to cure the food. The device is small enough to takeon fishing-camping trips, and will work wherever electricity is available. It can be stored by hanging it from a nail in the garage.

Various fish are good for smoking. Carp and drum are delicious when smoked. Smoked rainbow trout is an epicure's delight.

Preparing fish for smoking is an easy but important step. Remove the scales from large-scaled fish. (Scaling is not necessary for trout.) Wash the fish well in cold water. Remove any bloody flesh, and be particularly sure to remove the dark kidney strip from along the backbone. Fish weighing no more than 21/2 to 3 pounds can be smoked whole, though larger ones should be reduced to more manageable chunks. Pack the pieces in a glass, earthenware, or porcelainized container —never in bare metal. Using the proportion of threefourths of a cup of salt to a gallon of water, prepare enough brine to completely cover the fish. Depending on the size of the chunks, the fish should soak from 18 to 48 hours. Oversoaking is practically impossible, so if you're in doubt, use too much rather than too little time.

At the end of the brining period, any scum that has formed on the pieces can be washed away with cool water. Dry the chunks with a clean towel and arrange them on the smoking rack, taking care that no piece touches the one next to it. This will allow free circulation of the smoke. Let the smoking rack, with its load of fish, sit out in the open air for the pieces to dry about two hours while you prepare the smoker itself.

Place one of your self-smoked fish on a snack tray and get ready for compliments

Place the smoker in an open area where breezes will carry away any odor. Run the power cord to a suitable electrical outlet. To prevent any possibility of shock from damp ground, set the smoker on bricks, stones, or a table. Fill the smoke pan with sawdust from the supply provided with the kit. You can also use green apple wood, cherry wood, or, believe it or not, ground corncobs. Sprinkle a little water on the sawdust and stir until the moisture is evenly absorbed. Bone-dry sawdust has a tendency to smoulder too rapidly and may even flare up. Blazing should be strictly controlled, as a whole batch of meat can be ruined in a few seconds.

Load the rack into the smoker and turn on the heating element. In a few minutes the sawdust in the pan will begin to char. Convection currents carry the smoke up to fill the smoker, and excess smoke and heat escape through vents at the top. A large volume of smoke is neither necessary nor desirable. If the amount of smoke escaping from the contraption resembles a factory chimney, your smoke-producing material is being consumed at too rapid a rate, and it can cause a bitter flavor in the final food product. Some of these smokers have a built-in rheostat and the heat can be reduced. With those that do not, blockage of some of the lower air holes, or sprinkling a little water on the sawdust in the fuel pan, will help. Maintain a thin, constant volume of smoke, replenishing the saw dust whenever necessary for about six hour . you want a lightly flavored product. For a really pronounced flavor, smoke about 12 hours.

All during the smoking cycle, brush the fish very lightly, interior and exterior, with cooking oil on a pastry brush at half-hour or hourly intervals. It is important to be sparing with each application of oil, as too much will seal the meat, thus preventing it from absorbing the smoke as it should.

At the end of the smoking period, the fish should have a warm, brown color like worn saddle leather. The small amount of heat generated by the smoking element has cooked the flesh, and it can be eaten right from the smoker. The fish will keep well in the refrigerator for two or three weeks, or it can be packaged, frozen, and stored indefinitely.

As with all unfamiliar processes, practice and experimentation adapt the smoking technique to an individual's preference. Ultimately you will produce smoked products done exactly to your own taste. So, have at it, and good eating! THE END

Refuge for Bass

Pelican Lake south of Valentine yields sagging stringers, satisfied appetites for anglers

FOR A FEW lucky (or determined) Nebraska anglers, there is no end to their efforts because of the weather. They reason that if the season is open year-round, they should be out there all the time. For most, however, fishing comes in short snatches when time and pleasant weather permit.

Probably because of these limiting factors, the change from winter to spring is a nebulous one, and the angler is often overanxious at the first signs of good weather. He wants to go lakeside and try out all his new lures even though the fish are still undecided as to whether they should lie low, move around and start eating, or take up the seasonal rituals of spawning.

Second-guessing fish is never sure-fire, especially by infrequent guessers. But this time, the weather was great and it just might be the time to cash in on northern pike. So, on the basis of the elements and with high hopes, a trip was arranged in mid-April, 1971, to the Valentine National Wildlife Refuge; Pelican Lake in particular.

Dick Schaffer, NEBRASKAland Magazine editor, was planning a trip in that direction to do some radio tapes, so I loaded my fishing gear into the trunk of his car. He allowed he might find time to wet a line, too, so we set out from Lincoln.

Nearing our destination toward sundown, we noticed a lot of wildlife, so naturally we began a tally which grew steadily. By dark, 16 deer, a roadside covey of quail, and scores of pheasant and grouse had been under our scrutiny —all within a few hundred yards of the highway.

"My neck is going to be sore tomorrow from all this gawking around," I jokingly told Dick when darkness finally brought a halt to our tabulations. Unfortunately, those words came back to haunt me during the next few days.

At the breakfast table next morning, Corky Thornton joined us. He sipped coffee and agreed to go fishing, too, with very littie coaxing. "I really shouldn't, but I haven't been out for several days,' he said.

One of the most avid anglers in the Valentine area, and completely familiar with fish habits and lakes on the refuge, Corky was just what we needed. We reached Pelican Lake about midmorning just as several large flocks of pelicans flew overhead, causing us to stop several times en route for pictures of them in flight. The day was ideal—clear and sunny. Although reports of fishing success were not overly promising, our crew was confident of good action.

Driving clear to the east end of Pelican, we donned waders, rigged steel leaders and a selection of lures, and splashed into the frigid water. Then it came. With each passing minute my back ached more until I felt as if one of those big northerns had sunk his teeth into my spine. Sloshing around among the clumps of reeds didn't help, and since I wasn't getting hits anyway, I retired to shore after an hour or so to watch Dick and Corky operate.

They were not having much difficulty. Although a few other anglers on the lake were having no luck, both my partners were catching fish. Dick landed three, but returned them all to the water because they were only pounders. Corky caught a small one, then latched onto what must have been at least a four-pounder, but he let him slip out of his hands as he fiddled with the stringer. He didn't bat an eye or come up with any appropriate words over the incident, however. After about four hours of fishing, their take consisted of two keepers, each weighing between two and three pounds, which Corky had taken near a finger of land a short distance up the shoreline.

Taking time out from fishing we munched on sandwiches and pondered our relative success,  

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Insigificant in the Sand Hills' expanses, trio of anglers revels in its singular solitude.

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A heavyweight largemouth yields to Dick's enticing spinner

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Dick tries for one more bass as Corky, his guide and companion, guards day's weighty stringers.

and since Corky and Dick had covered almost the entire end of the Lake, Corky suggested we move over to Clear Lake and angle for a few largemouth bass.

"It might be a little early in the season for northerns, but I have taken some good bass at Clear earlier than this before," he offered in way of persuasion.

"O.K., let's give it a try," Dick and I chimed in unison, at the same time shuffling through our tackle boxes in search of bass-appealing stuff. When I saw Corky snapping a plastic worm onto his line, I chose one, too. Dick, however, elected to use his Mepps spinner, or an Oriental imitation of one.

Arriving at the isolated Clear Lake several miles north and a bit east of Pelican, everyone piled out but me. I came out slowly, by now almost crawling on hands and knees and feeling ridiculous doing it. So, Corky and Dick were up to their armpits in water and busily engaged in checking out the new location before I even got to the shoreline.

The wind was at our backs and had picked up somewhat as we cast north into deep water. I moved to Corky's left and watched him operate for several casts, then tried to duplicate his efforts. His worm was rigged with a single hook right near the front end so that his retrieve —fairly slow but steady along the bottom —made it look like an inactive worm heading for sanctuary on land.

Corky had caught three fish already. He held them up for me to see. They looked like two pounders. I paid little attention to Dick, who was working his spinner down the lake a ways.

With cold water occasionally slopping over the tops of my waders because of the gusting breeze, I moved as little as possible because of my ailing back. After perhaps a dozen laborious casts and retrieves at various speeds, I felt a taker nibbling at the bait. Letting the line go slack for a few moments, I reared back and felt a telltale weight still hanging onto the line.

Laughing excitedly, yet finding time to brag loudly in Dick's direction, "Hey, I got one," I worked the bass in and finally got him in hand. He was about a pound (Continued on page 55)

Tree-climbing Lunchbox

ONE MIGHT SURMISE, after considerable time and effort, that the dull-witted, slow-moving, and downright homely porcupine is actually a shrewd, sneaky, calculating creature. At least that might be the opinion of anyone hunting them.

Certainly, some porcupines are killed in Nebraska each year, but most are chance encounters. While going about their business, hunters or ranchers come across a porcupine waddling across open spaces, or they spot one in a tree. In many cases, the porcupine's demise follows.

This may seem like senseless killing, but actually, there is little that can be said in the porcupine's favor. He has, to say the least, few saving graces. He is relatively innocuous, but that hardly outweighs his bad points. And bad points do not mean his many barbed quills. No indeed! The porky is basically an undesirable, or so it would appear.

Anything that trudges around the territory eating tops off trees cannot be classified as neat. Operating in much the same manner as a huge termite, the porcupine ascends the most classic and attractive coniferous trees and nibbles bark off the trunk and sometimes off side branches not off the entire tree, mind you, but only from a narrow strip, and usually entirely around the trunk or branch.

Whether this is by design or merely because of convenience—the porcupine being rather lazy and short-legged —is not known. But the results are consistently predictable. From where they nibble on up dies, leaving a weakened and crooked tree. It is no longer of value as lumber even if it survives. And, chances of survival are considerably lessened after the tough-toothed porky has a snack. With trunk and limbs bared, those portions of the tree (Continued on page 51)

They Tarried a While

Best-known endangered species, whooping cranes are becoming a more common sight in Nebraska

THERE NEVER WERE very many whooping cranes, and today the population remains at a low level. But thanks to the efforts of many people, they have recovered from near extinction. Thus it is significant to observe these rare birds in the wild. But rarity alone does not convert what would ordinarily be a mundane event into a special occasion. What does make the sighting of a whooping crane significant is the unique relationship which has developed between Americans and their great American crane, Grus americana.

There is something about this enormous, elusive bird which creates awe and concern. Perhaps these feelings stem from a feeling of regret resulting from what happened to the passenger pigeon and the slaughter of bison. In that vein, we have made the perpetuation of this species a national conservation priority.

Or, perhaps, we are awed by their beauty. These cranes have pure-white plumage and black-tipped, seven-foot wings. They are tall (five feet or more), and have noble, crimsoncrowned heads.

Their rarity, their beauty, and their elusiveness are all factors which continue to elicit emotional reactions from the fortunate few who witness the whoopers. Last fall, a few Nebraskans had the rare opportunity of watching cranes and experiencing the mixtureof emotions they evoke.

For more than a week in mid-November of 1971, a trio of whooping cranes lingered here. A flooded field southwest of Minden became   their resting spot where they recreated a scene now all but vanished.

While it is unusual to see whooping cranes in the wild, they often stop at sites along the Central Flyway to feed during migration, occasionally in Nebraska as this trio did. They have sometimes been observed traveling in company with sandhill cranes.

These three cranes were a family unit —a male, a female, and one offspring. Almost as tall as its parents, the young bird could be identified by its brown, mottled plumage. The adults would scan the water, then deftly spear small carp, offering each fish to the youngster or dropping it on the ground. While feeding, the cranes slowly worked their way around the pond. After eating, the birds lined up in preparation for flight, the youngster taking its place between the adults. With slow, but powerful strokes of their huge wings, they rose quickly into the air. Their destination was a stubble field several hundred yards away. There they sought more food —grain—and gravel to grind it down in their gizzards.

Since the history of the cranes is well documented now, we often spend less time contemplating their habits than their fate. Here were 3 members of a species which numbers only 80 — 21 in captivity and 59 wild in their natural habitat. It is even more remarkable that in the 1940's there were scarcely 30 whooping cranes

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Mature crane may stand tall as a man, have seven-foot wingspan

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Flooded field near Minden has special attraction for family

 

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Seemingly ungainly on ground, birds find element in the air

in existence, but our conservation efforts are paying off; the crane population is slowly increasing.

The three cranes soon left Nebraska to join others of their kind in Texas for the winter. Now it is spring again and the birds are winging northward to their breeding grounds in Canada. There they will remain until the following autumn when they will begin their flights southward once more. Yet, in their native habitat, they will not lose the uniqueness, nor will they be forgotten.

Throughout their stays in both Canada and Texas, whooping cranes are studied in hopes of furthering their recovery from the brink of doom. In them, we may well find the key to survival for other species which face extinction. Perhaps, one day, man will be able to sit back and admire his handiwork of preserving species previous generations nearly annihilated, and find solace in the fact that, despite eons of meddling in the ways of nature, he has restored that precarious balance. Success is a long ways off, however, and for the moment, modern minds must seemingly content themselves with helping the species which shows the most success—the whooping crane. In that effort, the flock's movements will be closely monitored.

And so, as they travel, their safety is our concern. Their flight is being closely followed. Perhaps they will tarry again and offer chance for another rare encounter. THE END

Calling on the Browns

Trout will hit anytime, say these two Sidney anglers. Spring-fed feeder streams provide the area

FOR MOST PEOPLE, fishing is a sport for leisure hours in late spring, summer, and early fall when the weather is clear and warm. Of course, there are those who go out on the ice during mid-winter to dangle a line through a hole, but there is yet another kind of angler.

"Trout will hit any time of the year," sums up Dick Dougherty, a big, rugged Irishman from Sidney, who knows as much about fishing as anyone. "There may be times when they hit better than others, but with the right approach and patience, you can take trout in winter or summer."

Paul Roberts, director of the Nebraska Oil and Gas Commission and also of Sidney, backs up Dick's contention. Dougherty is an inspector with the Oil Commission following a good many years in the field as a driller. But, besides their mutual concern with the oil business, the two men share an interest in fishing.

Living in the western part of the state, they are particularly interested in trout, but largemouth bass, crappie, and almost any other species except northern pike lure them to lake or streamside throughout the year. Paul is a native Nebraskan, originally from Albion, so in a way he broke Dick in on Nebraska fishing. Dick was an apt pupil, and is now a downright avid angler, so Paul is not surprised that Dick outfishes him on occasion.

One of those occasions came early last January when the two men braved (Continued on page 50)

Forts Kearny

Named for colonel of note, first post dwindled only to be reborn on the banks of Platte River

IT WAS 1861 and Fort Kearny was in big trouble. The South had started something President Lincoln figured could be nipped in 90 days, but he would have to use everyone to do it. So, the Nebraska outpost was making do as best it could. The installation's commander, an ardent Southern sympathizer, took little time to decide where his allegiance lay, and headed south to become a colonel. The Union War Department, feeling that Fort Kearny's troops could best be used elsewhere, ordered the entire garrison of regulars to Fort Leavenworth. Fort Kearny even lost its artillery to the Civil War effort. Nebraska and Iowa volunteers moved into the post to keep the peace in the West, but Indians, who evidently had little respect for the citizen soldiers, began acting up. All in all, 1861 was a very bad year at Fort Kearny.

Things hadn't always been so bad, though. There was a day when the post on the Platte was indispensable. It was the guardian of travelers on the Oregon Trail and a supply depot for freighters who pushed across the Missouri River and headed west. Troops stationed there, though perhaps a bit rough, were among the best in the army. The fort was the backbone of western defenses, holding raiding hostiles at bay during the years of national expansion. Nestled in the sprawling Platte River Valley south of present-day Kearney, the fort was about as much as anyone could have wanted in a military reservation in the mid-1800's.

Actually, Fort Kearny was the second post in Nebraska to bear that name. The first was the brainchild of Colonel Steven Watts Kearny of the First U.S. Dragoons. In 1838, a betting man who wagered he could find humans other than Otoe, Pawnee, and Omaha Indians in what is now Otoe County would probably have lost. But westward movement was just a matter of time, and Colonel Kearny knew it. On April 2, he and Captain Nathan Boone authored a letter to the War Department recommending establishment of a post at the mouth of Table Creek on the Missouri River. Some said the site had been recommended by Lewis and Clark in 1804, but there is no evidence to support such a claim. But then, it takes some looking to find Washington's authorization for the project, too. It took eight years for Kearny's superiors to act. On March 6, 1846, notice was sent to proceed with establishment of the second military post west of the Missouri River.

With the go-ahead in hand, Colonel Kearny moved much faster. On May 12 he sent word that he had ordered a Lieutenant Smith and 30 dragoons of a Captain Moore's command to proceed to Table Creek. He noted that they took only 20 horses with them, since he felt more would just be in the way. Kearny and Moore stayed behind, waiting for supply boats to arrive from St. Louis. Then the two set out with the rest of the troops and a Major Wharton whom Kearny planned to put in command.

Wharton was in for a blustery time, however. First, he had a post, but he didn't know what to call it. No one had bothered to name the fort, so the major sent in a list of ideas. Washington   rejected them all and told the major to call it Fort Kearny after the man whose idea had fostered the project. Secondly, most of the men of the expedition fell ill as soon as they crossed the Missouri. At one point, it became so bad that only one soldier was well enough to pull guard duty. Wharton wanted out. He beseeched the War Department to call off the project, and since the United States had declared,war on Mexico that spring, his recommendation did not go unheeded. On June 22, 1846, a halt was called to the experiment and the troops were ordered to fall back to Fort Leavenworth. With a war underway, manpower levels throughout the nation were feeling the drain, and the First Dragoons would be welcome at the front.

What Wharton and his men left behind on Table Creek wouldn't be much by modern standards, but in the face of all their troubles, they had done quite a bit in a short span. Though many of the buildings were not ready for occupancy, the garrison had begun a block house; the post's main fortification; a log house for officers; and a hospital. In the months to come, building would stop completely only to spring to life again later.

When the First Dragoons pulled out, custody of the buildings fell to William English of Glenwood, Iowa. He looked after them until the fall of 1847 when five companies of Missouri Volunteers under the command of Colonel L. W. Powell moved in. Before long, temporary housing disappeared and log buildings popped up while the reservation expanded. But even with the resurgence of activity and building, Fort Kearny was dying.

Despite the fracas between the United States and Mexico, people still streamed into the West. Trouble was, the troops at Fort Kearny seldom saw them. While Colonel Kearny thought the site he had chosen would be the jumping-off point for immigrants, they actually chose several spots farther south for crossing the Missouri River. About all the soldiers at Nebraska City had to do was ride herd on Otoes, keeping their thieving and drinking to a minimum. Then there were the dances across the river in Missouri, but they could hardly be called military tactics. So, Fort Kearny's abandonment was recommended. It was clear, though, that military presence beyond the Missouri River was a must, and in the fall of 1847 an exploring party was launched. They found what they were looking for. In the spring of 1848 the post was moved to the edge of the Platte River some 1 50 miles west.

When all was said and done, the actual garrison at the first Fort Kearny lasted only about a year. With the troops gone, settlers began to prey on the deserted buildings and, one by one, they disappeared. For a time, the block house, bastion of defense on the frontier, served as a cow barn for an area farmer. By 1854, only memories remained of the first Fort Kearny —civilization's second attempt at military security west of the Missouri. But, hard by the mainstream of coastal traffic, its successor on the Platte was faring much better.

Somehow it seems ironic that a regular military post in what was to become Nebraska Territory was first garrisoned by volunteers from Missouri. But that's what happened when the first post was moved to the second. Not (Continued on page 62)

Second Time Around

THE TALE will begin unfolding this summer when anglers throw small northern pike they catch in Bluestem Lake back into the water, and the more they toss back the better. While fishermen will not realize the full benefit of an experiment to stock Bluestem with northerns until 1973, the number of fish they catch and then return to the water after carefully removing the hooks will give an indication of the project's success.

Built in mid-1970, a marsh at the northeast corner of Bluestem, located 10 miles south of Lincoln near Sprague, was filled to an average depth of 4 feet in February, 1971, and stocked with adult northerns. Given a month to spawn, they produced thousands of fingerlings which were released into the lake later that spring.

Jerry Morris, senior biologist with the Nebraska Game and Parks Commission, spearheaded and supervised the project. Although no official survey will be taken, he will be spending a lot of time at lakeside this summer, checking to see how many of the northern yearlings are biting. They will have to be thrown back, though, because they will not be much longer than 15 inches, and the legal 34 requirement in Nebraska east of U.S. Highway 81 (excluding the Missouri River) is that northerns beat least 24 inches long before they can be kept.

In removing the hook from a northern's mouth, anglers should try to bring out the barb the way it went in. Ripping it out may cause fatal damage.

This experiment —a first in Nebraska —began eariy in 1970 when Morris visited several artificial northern-pike spawning marshes in the Minneapolis-St. Paul area. Based on the success of the Minnesota marshes, his recommendation was that one be built in southeastern Nebraska. The goal was to increase the northern population in one lake with the long-range objective of doing the same in others if the project proved successful. Although northern fingerlings were stocked directly into eastern Nebraska lakes several years earlier, populations dwindled because there was not enough spawning habitat for them to reproduce properly.

It was also discovered that fish hatched in a marsh have more chance for survival than those raised artificially in a hatchery. Natural habitat, it (Continued on page 53)

SPECTRUM IN THE STREAMS

SPRING WE ASSOCIATE with new life. That is when the gray bonds of winter break and we witness the bright spring plumage of the earth. But in late autumn, when Nebraska falls into freeze, and again in February, when the land is galvanized by winter, an unseen ritual runs through the clearest and coldest of Nebraska's streams.

Trout run then, brown and brook in fall when the days grow short, and rainbow in spring (except in Lake McConaughy, where for some inexplicable reason they run in October). Commanded by their own season, the colors of the males gaudily intensified, they obediently ascend streams to spawn, scouring their saucer-shaped nests from the sand.

Trout belong to the salmon family. They are slender fish characterized by fine scales, naked (scaleless) heads, and bright coloration. Brown and rainbow trout are capable of reaching a whopping, 40-pound weight under the most ideal conditions, although even a 12-pound trout is rare in Nebraska. Limited space and heavy fishing pressure prevent the development of such giants. Thus, a five-pounder is considered a trophy. Trout have   always been favorites with fishermen, as shown by the estimation that more money has been spent nationally on their propogation than on any other fish. None of the three trout species found in Nebraska are native. The brown was introduced to the United States from Europe late in the 19th Century. The rainbow is native to the Pacific Coast, and the brook was brought to Nebraska from the East Coast. (There is evidence that cutthroat trout, not presently found in Nebraska, were present before 1900).

The limited trout range in present-day Nebraska —the north-central region and the Panhandle—is due to their exacting water requirements. Trout need water that has a high oxygen content and does not become warmer than 70 degrees Fahrenheit. The brook trout, especially, is very sensitive to higher temperatures. Farming, resulting in siltation, and the removal of shade cover along streams, has degraded much trout water in Nebraska.

But where conditions are favorable, trout continue their ancient ritual. The agate-like beauty of the males at these times provides added pleasure for anglers and invites close inspection.

The three species of trout are readily distinguished from each other. The brook, very limited in Nebraska, is quickly identified by its white markings on the leading edges of the lower fins. The brown, as the name implies, is predominately olive to greenish brown. It resembles the brook except that it does not possess the mottled coloration on the dorsal fin and back.

The rainbow is greenish-blue to olive on the top of its body and silvery below, with a conspicuous horizontal red band on the side. Among larger fish the males are easily distinguished from the females by the large cartilaginous "button" on the tip of the lower jaw.

At any time, but especially when the trout are running, a close look at these living spectrums will reward and surprise —as nature always does —all those who take notice that such an assemblage of pattern and color can freely run beneath the white stance of winter. THE END

Concern for tomorrow

In their own charming way, both urban and rural kids tell grownups to clean up the earth before messing up the moon

EARLIER THIS YEAR NEBRASKAland staff members presented two films to second and third-graders at Custer Elementary School in Broken Bow and Meadow Lane Elementary School in Lincoln to discover how the children felt about the way their world is being managed. Second-graders viewed the film Cry of the Marsh, an ecological movie telling how a young duckling loses its home to progress. As more marshland is being lost to agriculture, waterfowl populations are diminishing. This film dramatizes the draining of a marsh with cranes and bulldozers, and the loss of a nest of young pheasants and ducks as vegetation is burned to prepare land for farming. Third-graders saw The Gifts, a film dealing with pollution on a nationwide scale, including a scene of blood and animal wastes being dumped from an Omaha slaughterhouse into the Missouri River. Third-graders at Axtell Elementary School also saw The Gifts. After viewing the films, each group drew their impressions and discussed their ideas as presented here.

If any one lesson can be singled out from this experience, it is the children's sincere concern for what is happening to their world, and what type of environment they, as adults, will inherit. Perhaps the answer to the environmental problems confronting us today lies in their simplistic approach. Our capitalistic drives and desires for more comforts at an ever-increasing cost to the natural world have yet to entrance them.

Another trend was obvious after visiting first a rural, then an urban classroom. Wildlife was a day-to-day experience for the children of Broken Bow but pollution was an unfamiliar concept. The reverse was evident in the Lincoln classrooms, illustrating the strong influences society exerts.

Perhaps our lesson for today, to be learned from these school children, is that we are not only exploiting natural resources for our own selfish desires, but that we're doing so at the expense of future generations. The decisions are ours, but their outcome will belong to the children of today.

NOTES ON NEBRASKA FAUNA... Flathead Catfish

Deep pools in slow-moving rivers are home for this species. As for chameleon, habitat dictates its color

THE FLATHEAD CATFISH, Pylodictis oiivaris, has been variously known as the yellow river cat, shovelnose cat, Mississippi cat, and mud cat. It is present throughout the Mississippi River drainage system and in certain rivers which empty into the Gulf of Mexico. In Nebraska, the highest flathead populations are found in the lower reaches of the Platte, Loup, Niobrara, Republican, Missouri, and Blue rivers, as well as the Loup Power Canal.

The flathead is distinct among the other members of the catfish family, Ictaluridae, in that, except for the bullhead, it has a rather square or slightly rounded tail—not forked like those of the others. As the name implies, this fish has a large, flat mouth and eight thick whiskers, or chin barbels, and a short powerful body. Like all members of the catfish family, there are no scales, and the flathead has sharp spines on its fins for protection. Another characteristic is that the lower jaw extends beyond the upper and both jaws contain rough, pad-like areas that act as teeth. The band of teeth in the upper jaw has backward extensions.

The flathead is like the chameleon. Where it lives in the river determines its color. It can have a deep yellow belly with an olive back or a white belly mottled with browns and blacks. Regardless of what it looks like, it grows to tremendous size.

The flathead primarily inhabits large, slow-moving rivers. Deep pools with minimum currents and fairly hard or rocky bottoms are ideal. Fallen trees or other obstructions in deep holes provide excellent habitat.

Nocturnal feeders, flathead catfish characteristically move into shallow water for food. Daylight feeding is limited and restricted to deep holes or secluded areas. Vision plays only a limited role in nocturnal feeding habits, since sensory barbels and areas of skin pitted with taste buds are used to feel or smell out prey. During the day, large flatheads lie motionless on the bottom for long periods of time with their mouths wide open. Careless fish seeking a hiding place are promptly swallowed.

Insects, crayfish, molluscs, and fish provide food for the flathead. Immature aquatic insects are the most important diet items for young flatheads. Fish and crayfish are the two most important items for yearlings and adults. Originally, it was thought that this catfish was an omnivorous feeder, that is, it ate anything. Recent studies, however, have indicated that the adults feed primarily on live food.

The flathead reaches sexual maturity at the age of 4 or 5 years and at a length of 15 to 20 inches. The female requires a year longer to reach maturity. Spawning takes place during the spring, the exact time depending upon water temperature. Optimum water temperature for this species is between 65 and 70 degrees Fahrenheit. Flatheads pair off and build nests in secluded areas such as undercut river banks or holes. The eggs are laid by the female and are fertilized externally by the male. The male then carefully guards the nest. During this period the male becomes quite aggressive. The eggs begin to hatch about two weeks after fertilization. After hatching, the young form a school and remain in or near the nest for 2 or 3 weeks. After leaving the nest, the young are found mostly in shallow riffles beneath stones or other forms of cover.

The flathead is valuable to commercial fishermen. On the Missouri River, the only area where commercial fishing is allowed in Nebraska, the flathead is of major importance. It has been reported that flatheads consistently bring high prices in the fresh-fish markets of St. Louis and Memphis. Their flesh is firm and delicious, but may be somewhat coarse and oily in large specimens. Unfortunately, flatheads prefer deep, snag-filled holes and limited movement greatly decreases the volume of harvest in commercial nets.

The mere bulk of adult flatheads make them enticing targets for anglers. Fish weighing 10 to 15 pounds are not uncommon in Nebraska, and even larger specimens are creeled annually. The present hook-and-line record is 76 pounds. A 115-pounder was found in a Texas lake. Because of the flathead's nocturnal feeding habits and its method of lying motionless with open mouth, it is difficult to catch. The major prerequisite for catching a large flathead is patience.

The most popular method for harvesting flatheads is with set lines. Jug fishing, however, is also popular in the South. The common catfish "stink baits" are not productive when seeking flatheads. As has already been indicated, adults seek live fish. Successful baits used in Nebraska are 3- to 4-inch bluegill, chubs, minnows, 8-to-10-inch carp, and gizzard shad. One angler reported catching a large flathead with a 12-inch channel catfish in its stomach. The angler who wants a new experience should take his set lines and spend a night on the river. Who knows? Maybe he will catch a lunker he never thought existed. THE END

CALLING ON THE BROWNS

near-zero weather to sample trout activity in some of the feeder steams along the North Platte River north of Sidney.

Although most open bodies of water sat like giant ice cubes around the country, spring-fed creeks like Red Willow, Nine Mile, Wild Horse, and others ran merrily, if frigidly, along their way. And the trout in them, mostly German browns, seemed receptive.

It was only a few minutes after leaving the car that the first trout was in hand. Using an ultra-light rod and a diminutive, openface reel, Dick flipped out a small spinner only 3 times before a 13-inch brown spied and seized it. Despite the cold water, the trout was plenty scrappy. While he enjoyed playing the fish, Paul was driving away to work another part of the stream, so he missed Dick's early action.

Slipping his catch off the hook, Dick found another customer several casts later. This one, however, escaped with a quick dash and a shake of his head.

"That almost looked like a rainbow instead of a brown," Dick mused, not overly upset about losing the fish. It had looked somewhat larger than his first catch-probably a 15-incher. Wading down the center of the 10-feet-wide stream, which was perhaps 16 inches deep except in the holes, Dick continued fishing his way upstream. Paul had really missed out on some fun, because within a few hundred yards from his starting point, Dick hooked 4 trout, landed 2 of them, and saw several others flash by his feet. Then action fell off, and he walked half a mile farther without a strike.

The creek looked just as good, maybe better, with more deep holes, yet there seemed to be no fish. Although Dick had hooked all of his in fairly fast water near midstream, he continued to work all parts of the narrow channel just to be sure. His luck, however, seemed to have departed with the fish.

After skimming his lure through dozens of prime-looking spots, Dick came upon a small waterfall created by a log jam and a ridge or rocks. The falls had formed a deep hole on the downstream side, and it looked like a natural haven for lazing trout. Several casts into the deepest part of the pool and retrieves back to the shallows yielded nothing, but the fifth time brought a connection.

"By golly, there's at least one nice one in there," he chuckled to himself.

The brown put on a great show. With speed and enthusiasm that Dick had not fully expected from a fish in such cold water, the trout leaped and shook and carried on. Three times he came out of the water in classic leaps. For the first time that day, Dick realized he could watch and feel the fish, but he could not hear it. When he got out of the car, he had stuffed cotton in his ears to protect them from the cold. The last time he had fished this area in winter, he had temporarily lost his hearing. He had blamed the ailment on the cold and humidity, and didn't want it to happen again.

As the latest trout tired and could be eased into shallow water, Dick scooped him up for inspection. The fish was another fine specimen, more than 13 inches long and plenty plump. After the long inactive spell, it was a welcome change.

Since that stretch of river had been covered with Paul on the upper portion, the pair met at the car and planned the next foray. Paul had come back from his segment empty handed, and was enviously surprised that Dick had encountered so much activity. Paul was also using a little spinner on an ultra-light rod that came apart in about a dozen pieces, none longer than a ballpoint pen. With the pieces spread out on the fender, it had looked as if his rod had suffered some terrible accident, but he had put the short sections together into a five-foot rod that worked like a champ.

Although the sun had come out for a while, there was plenty of snap in the air, and the inside of the car offered comparative comfort. More fishing was just a few miles away, however, as a section of Red Willow Creek looked good. Tackle was again extricated from the trunk and another quest begun. To cover as much water as possible, the two again split up as before.

They fared not too badly this time. Paul covered about half a mile of river upstream, and cashed in with three trout. He concentrated most of his efforts on the holes along the bank where the water was slower, and which are traditional trout hangouts. Paul wore only hip waders, and fished as stealthily as possible. Dick used waders that snugged up at the waist, and joked that with his stomach, he could fall over and no water could get in. He didn't worry about sloshing along, as the noise didn't seem to bother the fish. He believes that fish always lie in the water heading upstream, and noise in the water doesn't carry up to them. It seemed to work, as he caught fish ahead of him only 1 5 to 20 feet. Actually, their systems rather reflected their personalities, as Paul is quieter and more reserved than Dick, who is boisterous and more of an extrovert.

When Paul reached a big bend in the river and encountered another fisherman, he prepared to turn back. But, he delayed for a while because the show was so good. The other angler was having troubles, and it is always interesting to watch someone else in a predicament, especially when you have been in some in the past.

The angler was working a hole, but his equipment was not co-operating. The monofilament on his reel had apparently stiffened in the cold weather, for it kept popping off his spool when he opened the bail. Those funny little coils of line would come off by themselves, and it took only seconds for them to become a snarled, tangled mass of knots and loops.

During a period when no knots appeared, the hapless fellow made a wonderful cast under an overhanging tree right into a good pool. But, his luck was only momentary, as a hidden snag caught the lure and held it. So, he broke it off and fumbled around tying on another. After what must have been 5 minutes, he gnawed off the extra monofilament at the knot and moved about 20 feet to another bend in the river, cast in, and immediately lost that lure, too. Probably a bad knot.

Shaking his head partly in pity but partly in impish enjoyment, Paul retreated, appreciating his equipment more after the episode.

At about the same time Paul was watching the demonstration, Dick was having his share of good fortune. In rapid succession, he hooked four nice browns, all of them around a pound or so, and all taken from the riffles just above or below shallow, fast stretches of water. It seemed as if the fish were on the lookout for appetizers washing down to them. Dick had walked overland about half a mile or more, and was fishing his way back upstream.

The wind had been rising steadily during the afternoon, and it had clouded over. Now almost at a screeching pitch, the wind blew dust and weeds across the countryside, but the pair wanted to try one more spot just a short distance away. Both Paul and Dick were somewhat surprised not to have encountered any rainbow trout, since this species moves into feeder streams in the fall to spawn. They had caught them this far up before, perhaps five miles from the river, but they had not seen any all day this time.

Their fishing techniques may have been the reason. Most rainbows taken in January are caught on heavy line and egg bait. Both Paul and Dick, however, prefer light tackle and artificial lures. Brown trout offer a special attraction anyway, and are worth going after, they feel.

"These browns are mean critters," Dick mused as Paul joined him once again. "I think they eat a lot of rainbows. They eat almost anything else that comes along. I suppose they gobble up snails this time of year. There must not be as much food as in the summer with all the insects, but I think there are bugs around even now. I saw a trout hit something that appeared to be hatching.

Supporting Dick's contention that browns are voracious and predatory, they seemed responsive to artificial lures that day —at least for Dick. He managed to pocket his limit of seven, taken from several different locations. With Paul's three, the day's tally stood at just two under a dozen —not bad for a cool, windy day in January. And, on top of that, a few fish had hit and run, so the potential was even higher than the tally of fish in the creel.

Besides that, there are rainbows in the area which could have been taken with suitable rigging, so all-winter fishing doesn't have to be through the ice. With such streams open all winter, holding trout that are hankering for a snack, it would make an angler uneasy to be wasting his time sitting in front of the fireplace. Catching trout beats eating popcorn anytime—even in January.

Many streams emptying into the North Platte River serve as spawning waters for trout which later move down to Lake McConaughy. Special stockings have been made by the Game and Parks Commission to imprint the streams upon the newly hatched fish. It is then expected that the trout will return to the same stream when they become adults in search of spawning areas. Coho salmon are being initiated the same way, and in a few years the results could have a major influence on the fishing potential of that region.

Being stream fish by nature, and having more tolerance for warmer water, the browns stay in the streams year-round. And, they grow to good size, often three or four pounds, even up to eight or so, but they also become mighty cagey with age. Some stocking of these colorful trout is done and there is natural reproduction in many of the streams, but studies are still being made as to whether fingerlings or adult-fish releases bring the best results.

Most anglers are not picky when choosing between a brown or a rainbow. Just having scrappy fish available in a stream is promise enough. It makes a trip to a favorite spot mighty inviting any time of the year. It seems that catching a big one conditions a fisherman's mind just like the trout's brain is imprinted with the area where it was born. It makes the angler want to return to the same water later. That has already happened to Dick and Paul. THE END

TREE-CLIMBING LUNCHBOX

will certainly die within a year, and chances of the tree subsequently being invaded by insects or riddled with disease are greatly increased.

Actually, there is little good to say about the porcupine except that he is valuable like the whooping crane or prairie dog —as a curiosity. The goal is not to exterminate them, but anyone who likes trees is bound to dislike porcupines. Such is the case at the Nebraska National Forest, Bessey Division, at Halsey.

Sometime shortly after the forest was planted, porcupines mysteriously appeared to feast on the young trees. Dick Korbel, assistant district ranger at Halsey, has no particular liking for porcupines. With a large portion of the forest wiped out by a fire in 1965, the damage by porcupines is even more noticeable now, especially in areas where only a few trees are left.

Several isolated pockets of pines stand out amid the blackened trunks in several areas —trees somehow spared by the May blaze. Even in these isolated stands, the porkies wander and start eating. Because of their habits, the porcupines are persecuted.

"We encourage hunters to kill them whenever they see one," Dick explains. "I suppose deer hunters take most, since they   are here in fairly high numbers and cover the woods quietly and thoroughly. They see more porkies than a casual visitor would. They probably shoot 10 or 20 a year, but it is really hard to tell. There is one party that comes every year, and the hunters go out of their way to find the porcupines. They don't do it because they dislike them, however. In fact, they fancy them as camp food, and serving porcupine has become sort of a tradition with them during their hunts."

Few people have eaten porcupine, which is only natural. They do not have an appetizing appearance, for one thing. They are not extremely numerous, for another. And, they have the reputation of tasting like kerosene. This is hardly cause for gourmets to seek them out.

At any rate, the apparent disparity in taste was a primary reason for a porcupine hunt in the forest early last January. It was also a good time to check out the amount of damage done to trees there. It was apparent that porcupines were present.

Dick estimates that less than 10 percent of the trees were gnawed upon, and most of them were affected to only minor degrees. The slothful porkies seemed to have picky appetites at times. After a long climb up a pine tree, they would often eat only a cupful of bark-hardly worth the effort. Other times, however, it looked as if a family of the rascals had ascended a particular tree, or one animal must have stayed a long time. About 8 or 10 branches, always in the upper half of the tree, would be stripped of bark.

They usually get into the top four or six feet of the tree, because that bark is high in nutrients and is much more tender than the old bark down lower. They eat only the filet mignon portion, so to speak, completely around the trunk or branch. This, of course, kills the portion above within a year.

The damage is often exactly the same as that caused by the tip moth. The moths eat the top bud of the terminal growing shoot. Then, lateral branches take over the role of main trunk. The tree continues its growth, but it is no longer a tall, straight tree. It has an offshoot at the point of damage, often with a double instead of a single trunk. While this may not make the tree ugly, it does devalue it.

There are a lot of red cedar in the forest, but the porcupines don't touch these. They seldom bother the jack pines, either. Unfortunately, they prefer the other two varities — the ponderosa and Austrian pines.

"I killed four porcupines in the 216 years I have been here," Dick says. "One of these I killed with a club because I didn't have a gun along. He was big —bigger than my black Lab —I know he was a 40-pounder. All four of these I just happened across. They seem to move around at night and sleep during the day. If you drive along the roads early in the morning, you have a good chance of seeing a porcupine. But, I have never gone out looking for them, so I don't know how to do it.

"I suppose we should look for recent gnawings and hope for tracks in the snow. They don't move far each day, probably only a few hundred feet or so."

Judging recent gnawings proved difficult, however. Even those a month old looked fresh. Seeing fresh nibblings, he would make a wide swath around the tree for signs of footprints, and would scan other trees for dark, prickly shapes. Hunting was good but finding poor. A dozen or more long walks proved unproductive.

Deer were much in evidence, though. Within a few hours, 15 does appeared-both whitetail and mule. There was a bunch of four whitetail, another of six mulies, and three other whitetails stood for at least five minutes to have their pictures taken.

With no porcupines located by sundown, the hunt went into the second day. None were spotted along the road in the morning, but some changes in normal habits may have occurred because of the weather. It had been warm about a week before and then extremely cold. And, it had snowed.

Now, after several cold days, a warming trend promised temperatures in the mid to high 40's. The lack of footprints indicated they had been holing up. Hopefully, the warmth would bring them out and put them on the move again.

The routine was the same —looking for freshly bared limbs, then checking for tracks below. A lot of miles were covered in the search until a good site was spotted as lunchtime approached.

Dick has been stationed at the Halsey forest for 216 years after first serving 4 months in the U.S. Forest Service at Golden, Colorado, and then 2 years in the Army. About four months of that time had been in Washington, D. C, but about a year was in Thailand. His wife now teaches elementary school in Dunning.

First thing in the afternoon he went right to the spot he had seen earlier. It was atop a light ridge about 100 yards from the road. Although there were no tracks in the immediate area, he hadn't scouted more than 50 yards from the gnawed trees before tell-tale signs in the snow showed that this was the right trail.

Although they appeared to be at least a day old, the tracks were the first seen. Still not certain they were porcupine tracks, he surmised they were because they could hardly be anything else. They were large footprints close together like those of a very short, fat dog with huge feet.

The tracks led to a gnarled, bent tree and then away from it. From there, the trail led 40 yards away downhill to a tall tree. Another set of tracks were fresher, apparently made a day later.

Dick set out on the newer trail with renewed enthusiasm. This looked downright hot. The new tracks paralleled the older set right down the hill. The trail continued on about 200 yards to the bottom of the draw and up the other side. There his good luck suddenly turned bad. The snow cover disappeared on the far side of the hill where the sun had shone on it the most. It looked like a dead end.

But disappointment lasted only a few moments when, about 50 yards away, he discovered the very object of the search —a porcupine. He was on the ground, heading along the side of the hill. He hurried his pace and clambered up a tree, seeming to be harmless and showing his spiny hind- side only when Dick got too close. Still, he had come to remove him from the forest, and a .22 bullet did that quickly.

Then came the sticky task of pulling the porcupine out of his hide without getting poked full of quills. He carried no offensive odor. The critter skinned easily, much like a rabbit. The work had to begin at the belly to avoid quills, but the hide came off clear to the feet. The skeletal structure was similar to that of a deer, including the front shoulder blades.

He was not nearly as fat as Dick had been led to believe he would be. In fact, he was rather lean. Later, cooking began in a pot of water according to one of the few recipes to be found on porcupine cooking. This was for the purpose of removing excess fat, but it proved unnecessary in this case. Only a few spoonfuls boiled out, which Dick carefully scooped off the top. Then, into the ater went a sprinkling of parsley flakes, lemon juice, a dash of garlic powder, and some orange peels. These ingredients were meant to neutralize any odors, but they did not seem to be necessary.

After about an hour of simmering, the meat was put on a grill and cooked without any other seasoning except pepper. It looked appetizing enough, but he nibbled at his first bites still harboring doubts as to just how palatable the dish would be. Then he nibbled some more, and more again.

It was mild in flavor, not unpleasant at all. It was actually good. Dick said he had eaten worse beef. In fact, beef was probably the closest thing to compare it with, although it may have been more like rabbit. At any rate, it was plenty welcome on an empty stomach.

Back in the old days it was said that a man lost in the woods could survive with only a club if there were porcupines around. It is true they can be taken easily, much easier than most other wild creatures. But, there is little need for a tree-climbing lunchbox in Nebraska. Not with trees so valuable. Nor will porcupine hunting ever become a major sport even though they are good to eat. They are just too darn sneaky. THE END

SECOND TIME AROUND

was found, seems to build them up to more robust health so that they are better equipped to fight for survival during the first year.

Since northerns had been observed spawning even in places where conditions were unfavorable, Commission biologists felt that if suitable grounds were provided, northerns would flourish.

After a two-week search for a site, Bluestem was chosen because if offered ideal conditions. The land sloped gently up from the northeast corner and had a good stand of native switch, little bluestem, and big bluestem grasses on it. inundated by water, this would become excellent spawning habitat.

Construction of dikes around the marsh-to-be was completed in the summer of 1970. A channel with a series of boards to dam the water up into the marsh, and then to drain it down to the lake again, was also built.

As soon as the ice broke a year ago, the marsh was filled by pumping water into it from the lake through a 6-inch pipe with a capacity for moving 1,200 gallons per minute. It took only 2 weeks until the new, 3.4 acre marsh was completed.

On March 1 7, the ice broke on nearby Pawnee Lake. A bunch of northerns were caught that day and immediately transferred to the marsh-16 females and 31 males. Since it was St. Patrick's Day, Morris hoped the luck of the Irish would transfer itself to his project. The average weight of the females was 6 1/2 pounds, and of the males just a shade above 4 pounds.

With the tips of only the tallest grass showing (Continued on page 55)

CHOICE 1 1/4 AND 2 1/2 ACRE PARCELS STILL AVAILABLE.

in picturesque elko valley where the Mcculloch oil company is building "spring creek"

The boom that had to come is now on in Nevada — many huge developments are underway. Here in our area McCulloch is developing 22,500 acres which is called "Spring Creek," to be the West's newest recreational city. Meadow Valley Ranchos has all the factors needed to boom — prosper — to skyrocket its land values. The city of Elko, with its long established schools, churches, and medical facilities, is Meadow Valley Ranchos' friendly neighbor.

Property Tax is actually limited by the state constitution. MEADOW VALLEY RANCHOS P. O. Box 702, Elko, Nevada 89801 Please send further information Name Address City State Call Collect: (702)738-7173

SECOND TIME AROUND

above the four-foot-deep water, the marsh provided exactly what the parent fish needed as shown by the thousands of tingerlings they produced.

Now came the tricky part. Since northerns are cannibalistic predators, they eat their own young and even others their own size if feeder fish are scarce. So, in order to prevent the 47 adults from eating their offspring, they were removed from the marsh in April.

The outlet channel was opened the following month. Water from the marsh drained into the lake carrying along 14,680 (they were actually counted as they passed through the channel) live, 3-to 316 inch northern fingerlings. There would have been more, but the sudden drop of the water level over heavy vegetation caused a lack of oxygen content and a high concentration of hydrogen sulphide. With too little oxygen for the young fish to breathe properly, thousands of them died in the marsh.

But the fingerlings which made it grew in the lake that summer and overwintered under the ice. They will have grown to an average length of 1 5 inches by the time the fishing season is in full swing this summer, and to keeper size beyond the 24-inch minimum by the time the 1973 season rolls around.

Morris is keenly interested in estimating how many fish there are in the lake. But, taking a fish census is extremely difficult even by electrofishing, a method whereby fish are briefly stunned using underwater electrodes suspended from a boat, and then visually counted.

So, the best way is to watch the anglers. Keeping a tab on the number of non-keeper northerns caught and thrown back over specific periods of time at regular intervals throughout the summer will allow Morris to make an educated guess as to the new population. While he is there he will emphasize to whomever he talks with the importance of removing hooks carefully.

With last year's crop already in the lake, another is being hatched in the marsh this spring. These fish will again be released as fingerlings before the beginning of summer and will grow to an average length of 15 inches by next year, and then to keeper size in 1974. A third crop will be hatched next spring.

This is where good planning comes into play. One of the reasons for choosing Bluestem Lake was that it holds healthy bluegill, green sunfish, and especially yellow perch populations—all small species the northerns like to eat. With a good supply of feeder fish the northerns won't be as apt to turn on their own young for food.

The main reason, of course, why the Game and Parks Commission gave the go-ahead for the project was to provide more sport fish such as the northern, a scrappy and tasty species, for anglers fishing in the eastern end of the state. If the project is worthwhile, and all indications already point to its success, other northern-pike spawning grounds near other lakes will probably be built. THE END

REFUGE FOR BASS

and a half in size, but was worth much more than that to me as my first catch of the day.

A short period of unproductive casting followed for me, but business was not slow down the line. Dick started to connect with his spinner, and I glumly watched as he landed several bass in a row. Corky, too, caught several more, and even Lou Ell, the inveterate photo chief of the Game Commission, hooked onto a few bass.

One of Lou's fish was a dandy. Barely sticking out of the water beyond Dick, Lou did not appear to be having much of a fight on his hands, but his second bass later scaled out at four pounds, four ounces.

At last I got another taker and reeled in a 2 1/2-pounder. By this time the sun had dropped behind a heavy cloud bank near the horizon, and the temperature had cooled. Shrivering so much I thought I would pull the hook out of my worm, I deciced it was time to get a jacket. After making the 200-yard walk to the car, I discovered I could not force myself to return to the water. My back was really bad and I could not make myself comfortable.

What I saw about 20 minutes later hurt almost as much as my back. The guys moved up the lake about 100 yards and started to catch fish as if from a barrel. First Dick, then Corky would have a fish on the line, sometimes both at the same time. They dragged them in one after the other before my envious eyes, apparently enjoying the time of their lives. They were participating in one of those all-too-infrequent times when the fish were on a feeding spree and the anglers were offering the right bait.

Finally, it became almost too dark to see what was going on, which made me feel better. Then the crew came up from the lake, grunting under their load of fish. I just painfully stood around hunching my shoulders as they opened the trunk and deposited their catch inside. Dragging myself over, I peered at their booty. Along with 1 7 largemouth, all ranging in weight from one and a half to four pounds, were two walleye.

"That big fellow there," said Dick, pointing at the hulking walleye, "will probably go just over five pounds."

"Who caught him?" I asked, already knowing the answer.

"Well, I don't want to say," Corky said, "but I caught this little walleye over here," pointing to one weighing barely a pound. Knowing Corky's philosophy on fishing, I knew he had kept the walleye only because he had to. Ordinarily he would have returned him to the lake, but he knew the fish would not have survived the hooking.

Even though I felt like a trod-upon bullfighter, plus having missed out on all the great action, I was glad the day had gone so well. The bass, two walleye, and two northerns must have weighed a total of at least 50 pounds.

While we stood there chatting with the Western sky showing a pleasant red glow along the tops of the hills, a pair of trumpeter swans passed low over the water barely 200 yards out. Those regal birds, giving out with their almost goose-like honks as they winged north over the lake, were a unique ending to our day at the refuge.

A leisurely drive back to Valentine and Corky's house resulted in another adventure—savoring the most delicious fish imaginable. Mrs. Thornton cuts fish into narrow strips or chunks, then dips them into a pancake batter using 7-Up rather than milk or water in the mixture. When the batter-dipped bits are placed into hot oil, they puff up like doughnuts. When lightly browned, they are absolutely delectable, as irresistible as peanuts.

"Even if fishing were not fun, those French-fried chunks would be more than enough reason to take up angling seriously," Dick said, patting his full stomach. I just sighed and added my total agreement. That really was a perfect ending to our fishing trip and reinforced our desire to return to the refuge as soon as possible, maybe in a few weeks when the northerns would be in a hitting mood. THE END

Where to go

AS MARCH WINDS blow themselves out and the mercury begins to climb, anglers across water-rich Nebraska breakout their split bamboos, lubricate their ferrules, and hone their barbs in anticipation of another fishing season. While sport fishing is a year-round affair these days —much like television football the sport is kicked off in a big way during the month of April.

Often acclaimed as the mixed-bag capital of the world, Nebraska could claim another title as mixed-creel capital, boasting more than 30 species of sport fish.

White bass begin their spring spawning runs at the upper ends of the major reservoirs, working their way up feeder streams in late April to peak in mid-May. Nine of the state's large reservoirs are well-known producers of these prolific one-to-two-pound scrappers. White or yellow jigs, silver spoons, or silver spinners are hot imitations for fishing in the feeder streams. Beginning in mid-June and continuing on through fall, white bass begin to school in most parts of the reservoir. Trolling to locate concentrations is standard practice and spin-casting with artificials proves productive. Harlan County and McConaughy reservoirs are traditional hotspots for this species. White Slabs, Spin-o-Kings, and Kastmasters are the artificials that work best. During July and August, anglers begin following the feeding gulls across the reservoirs to locate white-bass schools.

Walleye, the quarry of the sophisticated piscator, are pursued on a year-round basis. All big impoundments hold substantial numbers of walleye, first in line as table fare. McConaughy, Harlan County, Medicine Creek, Swanson, Red Willow, and Minatare reservoirs are top producers. Trolling brings the most consistent luck on walleye. Drift fishing with a dropper rig, baited with crayfish or minnows, is also productive. Nightcrawlers draped over the hooks of spinners or flatfish can also be deadly. Still-fished minnows, spoons, and plugs sometimes produce walleye responses at night when the fish move into cool shallows to feed. About mid-April, large numbers of walleye spawn along the face of the major reservoirs' dams. Spin-casting with jigs or spinners is successful then. Success peaks in mid-June after spawning. Bay areas at the upper ends of the reservoirs are good locations, and action moves toward the outlets as the season progresses.

From late March to the end of April, sauger-the walleye's look-alike-is a big attraction at Lewis and Clark Lake in northeast Nebraska. Most sauger fishing takes place from boats, but casting from shore can be equally productive. Minnows are preferred natural bait and white jigs are the most common artificials.

Hefty rainbow trout exist in some reservoirs in healthy numbers. The Box Butte and Merritt impoundments sport trout, but McConaughy holds top honors. Trolling is an effective method as soon as the ice is out. Thin Fins and flatfish are effective artificials. During June, July, and August, areas near the dams are good rainbow haunts. Deep, cool water attracts most of the trout during the warm season.

While many of the state's largest come from reservoirs, a substantial number of record trout, and by far the largest number, come from some of the state's 11,000 miles of flowing streams. Most trouting is restricted to the cool, clear streams of the northwest and north-central areas. The White River's headwaters north of Agate are heavily stocked and usually give up liberal catches. Parts of the Niobrara River's headwaters on Forest Service land near

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Harlan County Reservoir, with 13,468 acres of water, is tough to beat for fun outing

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Lakes, streams offer species from northern pike to crappie

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Many families have found the fun to be had at McConaughy

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For scuba divers, Big Mac is the place for this type of adventure

  Agate consistently yield 12-inch trout. Monroe Creek north of Harrison, along with West Hat, also holds a few brook trout. The upper end of Soldier Creek is a fair producer, and Long Pine Creek west of Long Pine is a typical Sand Hills trout stream. Holding rainbows and browns, it is one of the closest trout streams for eastern anglers, along with Verdigre Creek near Royal. Plum Creek west of Ainsworth holds nice browns. Schlagel Creek south of Valentine is a traditional producer of lunker-size trout. But by far the best of the northcentral trout waters is the Snake River downstream from Merritt Reservoir and west in the headwaters. Both rainbows and browns are taken from this scenic stretch of wild river. Nine Mile and Red Willow creeks on the North Platte drainage are hotspots for spawning rainbows during the late fall and winter, but action for spawners tapers off by spring.

Bucketmouth, bronzeback, or just plain bass, the largemouth is the most widely distributed major game fish in Nebraska. The Salt Valley reservoirs near the capital city are consistent bass producers. During spring, brushy spawning shallows around inundated trees in the upper reaches of the impoundments are likely areas. Minnow imitating lures and rubber worms are always good artificials, while bait fishermen generally use live minnows and nightcrawlers.

Burchard Lake southeast of Beatrice is a perennial source of record-setting largemouths and is only a short distance from eastern Nebraska's popular Grove Lake 2Vi miles north of Royal. It is an out-of-the-way, bass-fisherman's retreat. Many of the Sand Hills lakes are also well known for healthy populations of largemouths.

A few of the chain of 100 or more lakes that line Interstate 80 between Grand Island and Hershey harbor largemouth bass but are better known for scrappy smallmouth bass, the largemouths' southern relatives. A recent introduction to the state, these fish treat anglers to spectacular leaps and tenacious fights. Deep-running plugs and metal flasher lures are preferred artificials, frogs, crayfish and minnows the customary natural baits.

Nebraska's numerous river systems offer anglers a change of pace as well as some outstanding table fare in the form of channel and flathead catfish. The Loup, Platte, Republican, Blue, and Missouri rivers are traditional staging grounds for catfish action. Brush-filled holes or undercut banks are productive areas to work. Crayfish, minnows, frogs, or stink bait are offerings guaranteed to bring results.

Snagging is legal in the Missouri River until the end of April and turns up Nebraska's largest fish. Last year the staterecord paddlefish was hooked during the month of April. While paddlefish may be the most common customer for the April snagger, flathead and channel catfish are also common in the Missouri.

Don't overlook some of the canal systems that interlace the state. Two of the better ones are the Central Nebraska Public Power and Irrigation District canal, extending from North Platte to beyond Lexington, and the Loup Public Power District canal between Genoa and Columbus. While catfish are the mainstay of these man-made systems other species are also available. Walleye, largemouth, white bass, drum, and crappie are other common inhabitants.

Nebraska's unique Sand Hills lakes have been the traditional setting for many a scrappy battle between a hefty northern and an angler. Pelican Lake on the Valentine National Wildlife Refuge south of Valentine is known as "lake northern" to local fishermen and its title is well deserved. Pelican is by far the leading producer of Master-Angler-size northerns. Other good lakes for northerns on the refuge are Hackberry, Watts, and Big Alkali. For easterners, the Salt Valley chain of lakes also produces many trophy-size northerns.

Compensating for their lack of stature with abundance are the prolific panfish that inhabit every water body in the state. Local sandpits and farm ponds are strongholds for crappie. bluegill, and bullhead. Outstanding for their perch and bullhead are the numerous Sand Hills lakes sprinkled across central and north-central Nebraska.

New additions to the state's piscatorial world have tapered off in the last years, but one of the experimentals stocked a few years ago has taken hold in a big way and are now offering unique trophy catches. Striped bass have taken hoid in Lake McConaughy, offering an exotic change of pace for even the saltiest old fisherman.

Any way you cut it —from the mighty Missouri to the Pine Ridge's trickling streams, across uncounted pits and ponds, along the Interstate Lakes, through isolated Sand Hills waters, or crisscrossing numerous rivers and creeks —there is ample opportunity for Nebraska anglers during the month of April and throughout the rest of the year. THE END

Roundup and What to do

April showers Nebraska with a broad variety of events to tantalize the taste of every adventure-seeker, and Rita Miller of Dalton finds spring's blue skies and chilly waters and incomparable atmosphere for donning wet wuit and scuba gear for a contest with Nebraska's finny creatures. Armed with an underwater-powered spear gun, Rita will try her skill on non-game fish until the opening of the game-fish seasons August 1.

Daughter of Mr. and Mrs. H. Alvin Miller of Dalton, Rita graduated from Sidney High School. She is now a business-adminstration major at Kearney State College. She lists high school Cotillion Queen and Homecoming Attendant among her titles.

Rita is presently a member of the Five Fathom Club, and Spurs. She lists skin and scuba diving, swimming, water-skiing, reading, and ceramics among her special interests.

Fishermen of all sorts may use a full variety of methods to bag their fish during April. Hook-and-line season, as always, is open and archery season on game fish opens the first. Snagging may continue through April 30, and non-game fish may be hand-speared or bagged with under-water-powered spear gun. Nebraska offers a host of game species to the angler. Trout will be giving anglers their early-spring rush, as walleye run enmass to meet the fisherman.

Action on northern pike will start falling off, but this species is still vulnerable, while panfish and bass will begin the movement that will gain momentum in May and June.

Among the most unusual wildlife spectacles is the courtship ritual of the prairie grouse. The dancing is observable throughout the Sand Hills wherever there is grouse habitat. Sharp-tailed grouse inhabit the entire Sand Hills region, whileprairiechickens occupy only the eastern half.

Among the activities scheduled for April in Nebraska is the sport of kings-horse racing. The ponies will berunningevery day except Sunday at Fonner Park in Grand Island until April 29, a swim show is on the agenda in Lincoln featuring the Aquaquettes, and in Franklin, the Sand Greens Spring Open kicks off the golfing season.

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 almost every other state as well as 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.

Nebraska City will be the hub of activity surrounding the Arbor Day Centennial celebration in Nebraska. Three days of festivities will kick off the year-long observance. Nebraska's first lady will be on hand to plant two Centennial trees, the green ash. There will be a parade, a revival of the old-time Chautauqua, a fly-in breakfast, and hobby shows. Members of a congressional delegation will lend authority to the proceedings. A children's day is planned when school youngsters will plant the greenery, and booths in which souvenirs of all types will be sold will fill the town.

April 15 is another big day for celebration when the McKelvie Forest south of Nenzel will be dedicated as part of the Centennial. That same day ground will be broken for a new forestry building on the University of Nebraska's east campus.

All the bronc-busting, calf-roping action of rodeo will swing out of the chute with the University of Nebraska Rodeo in Lincoln April 14 and 15. Horse shows, too, will contribute to the Western excitement.

The spring turkey season offers sport aplenty for nimrods taking to the fields for one last crack at big game before the long, hot summer.

A wealth of cultural events fill thecalendar to overflowing with community-theater productions scheduled throughout the state. The Omaha Community Playhouse will present "Indians" April 7 through 23. Set in the center ring of Buffalo Bill's Wild West Show and using his life as a central reference, the play shows a negative side of entertainment.

Country and Western fans will thrill to the Charlie Pride and Brenda Lee show to be staged in Lincoln April 16. The Dave Brubeck group will invade Lincoln the same day with a concert. The weekend of April 20 through 22 will be devoted to a music festival.

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 indoors and out to suit almost anyone's taste.

FORTS KEARNY

only did the sometimes-soldiers move, but they took the fort's name with them. And, it was up to the Missourians to build Fort Kearny all over again. They started out with crude adobe buildings, using sod to fill in the gaps. But they were more familiar with the woods of Missouri than the treeless plains of Nebraska and their efforts were crude at best. Passersby were known to comment on the post as the sorriest looking military establishment they had ever seen. Maybe, then, it was a good thing Fort Kearny was having name difficulties again. At least no one knew what to call the ragged collection of mud huts.

Troops on post called their home Fort Kearny. Official military correspondence referred to it as Fort Childs after Lieutenant Colonel Thomas Childs, a hero of the Mexican War. And still another faction simply called it "the post at Grand Island". Evidently tired, if not confused, the Department of the Army did away with further freelance naming by issuing an order dated December 30, 1848, in which the name was officially designated Fort Kearny.

Adobe and sod soon gave way to adobe and logs when the Mexican War ended. Missouri's Mounted Volunteers were replaced with a detachment of mounted rifles and throughout the summer they worked on the installation. Fort Kearny was beginning to shape up into the showplace the army wanted. Emigration began to rise in the 1840's and ran throughout the 1850's, and the post on the Platte became a landmark along the trail. In 1849, more than 50,000 travelers passed through Fort Kearny, using the post both for a supply point and for protection. Up to there, the prospect of Indian trouble was slim. But once past the fort, travel was dangerous and escorts frequently had to be provided to assure safe passage. One of the worst episodes came in 1854. Safety on the trail was almost nonexistent as Nebraska Territory reeled under the tremor created by the Grattan Massacre in present Wyoming. Nearly every wagon train that headed west had a military escort to ward off the hostiles. And, in the spring of 1855, an expedition was launched from both Fort Kearny and Fort Laramie to bring the Sioux under control. Kearny played a major role in the operation of that year, but life was routine for troops stationed there.

By November 1860, the Missouri and Western Telegraph Company had strung wires as far as Fort Kearny and a new life was breathed into the mid-Nebraska post. Through November 1861, Kearny was the end of the wire, and couriers picked up their messages there, racing westward with the news and mail. Riders such as Buffalo Bill Cody, then just plain Bill, and Bill Campbell called Fort Kearny their eastern home as they rode with the mail. There was something in the (Continued on page 64)

Outdoor Calendar

FORTS KEARNY

wind, though, and Fort Kearny was about to take a massive blow.

The nation was split north and south. Brother potted brother as the two sides met in the bloodiest battles the new nation had ever known. And Fort Kearny was in the thick of things, committed to its own private brand of battle. Deprived of its regular-army garrison, Kearny became home for Iowa and Nebraska volunteers. Southern-born officers departed the passionate arguments of Fort Kearny's officers' club for Richmond, and the volunteers bided their time. Most had enlisted for a crack at Johnny Reb and they weren't too happy about being stuck in a desolate frontier post a thousand miles from any blue-grey action. A good number of them simply went home or changed their names and re-enlisted hoping for a better assignment. And, homesickness took its toll as rollcalls dwindled. But by 1864, Indian trouble made life on Nebraska's frontier almost as hazardous as it was on the battlefields of the War of the Rebellion. Outbreaks along the Little Blue River a few miles south claimed some 25 settlers. A wagon train was raided and several whites killed near Plum Creek. So, sub-posts were ordered into existence throughout the area. Supplied by and under direct orders of Fort Kearny, they were designed to keep Indian problems to a minimum by placing troops nearer prospective hotspots.

As the Civil War wound down, Fort Kearny began to receive backing from the War Department. Toward the close of the hostilities, a company of Pawnee Indians was stationed at the post. Recruited for tracking and interpreter duties, the Pawnee saw active duty all along the Overland Trail. But, probably the most colorful outfit ever to call Fort Kearny home were the Galvanized Yankees. Confederate soldiers, captured during the war, were held at several prison camps throughout the north. Weary of war and eager to be released from prison, they volunteered to join the Union Army. Their enlistment carried one condition, however. They were not to be sent into battle against Southern units. Instead, they were to be transferred to the western frontier where they were considered among the best, most reliable of troops. And, as the Galvanized Yankees made the West their new homes, so did thousands of others.

Fort Kearny had been a landmark on the trail for quite some time. In one year, more than 20 million pounds of freight passed the fort, requiring 40,000 oxen, 4,000 wagons, and more than 4,500 men to handle the loads. As many as 500 loaded wagons passed the fort in a single day and the crack of bull whackers' whips became as familiar as the song of the meadowlark floating over the Platte Valley.

Fort Kearny boasted a total reservation of slightly more than 100 square miles, and as regular army units replaced volunteers after the Civil War, it was a bustling hunk of real estate. Passenger traffic was booming along the trail, and road ranches were raising quite a fuss. The Fort Kearny area was no place for the faint of heart. Some road ranches featured every means of recreation, most of it illicit, and even though the dainty were welcome, few dared spend the night. Accounts vary as to the goings on at these stopovers, but those around military posts seem to have certain things in common. First, they were dirty. Second, they ran deep in rotgut. And third, flashing a large amount of gold was to invite a smack in the head and an empty purse. Though such establishments were banned on the post proper, they sprang up just outside its boundaries. And, along with them came the traditional post town. Just west of the 65,000-acre reservation, Dobytown took shape. So named because of its earthy origins, the town hosted any number of rough characters who preyed upon the soldiers. At one time, Dobytown reputedly boasted more saloons than any community between the Missouri River and San Francisco. And a church or school among its dozen or so buildings would have given the populace heart failure. The almighty dollar was god and bluecoats were the disciples. Revelry "Maybe you'd care to see an older model'wasn't confined to enlisted men either. Officers spent almost as much time in the saloons as did their men, swilling champagne at payday and guzzling redeye as the month wore on and money ran low. Dobytown never closed, and its charms never slowed. It got so bad toward the end of Fort Kearny's reign that the town was hailed by some as the straw that broke the War Department's back. But that was still in the future and Fort Kearny still had many a glory day ahead.

Fort Kearny, like many of the frontier outposts, was never attacked. Indians were just too smart to walk into withering fire from a full garrison. And fortifications, strengthened in 1864 just in case the unexpected happened, made the prospect even less likely. Around the fort, an earthwork surmounted by a wooden stockade was erected that year as a deterrent to attack. Perhaps it created more of a threat than it dispelled, because in August 1864, a sentry was fired upon. That had never happened before.

Frontier service was dangerous, nonetheless. In time of crisis, escort duty kept troops in the thick of things. As more and more people poured into the West, more and more guards were assigned to ride along. But by 1867, it was quite evident that Fort Kearny was on its last legs. The railroad had brought a halt to overland freighting and Indian trouble was beginning to lag. In May, Fort Kearny served only as a staging area for the Powder River Expedition. About the same time, General William T. Sherman visited the post. In the backwash of the Indian Wars, the place was coming apart at the seams. Far from impressed, Sherman was said to have considered disposing of the post immediately. Nothing, however, was done about his recommendation, if he ever sent one, and Fort Kearny continued its death throes for a few more years. Then, in 1870, the War Department finally became convinced that Kearny had served its purpose. The garrison had been down to only 50 men for some time, and orders were cut to abandon the post. The next year, the remaining troops were transferred to Omaha barracks and Fort Kearny lapsed into silence.

In 1873, William O. Dungan, a former soldier who never served at the post, squatted on the land. He built his house on the former parade ground and when, in 1876, the land was transferred to the Department of the Interior and resurveyed, Dungan bought the rights to it. There he stayed until his death in 1922.

There wasn't much market for a playedout military post in the closing years of the 19th Century. So, Dungan didn't bother to keep the place up. Fort Kearny, and in turn, Dobytown slumped to the prairie and disappeared. It really was a blow to some imaginative politicians who planned to move the nation's capital there in 1871, but nothing ever came of the scheme. And, Fort Kearny became just another remnant of Nebraska's frontier heritage. THE END

Outdoor Elsewhere

Bedroom Bedlam. A certain Maine sportsman admits that he was probably the most unprepared deer hunter of the year on opening day of the firearm season last fall. The hunter was still fast asleep at home opening morning, when a deer crashed through his ground-floor bedroom window and landed on the fellow's bed in a shower of broken glass. The sleepy-eyed hunter awoke with a start and spooked the deer even more. The animal then exited down the hall to the living room, and finally escaped by jumping through another window and racing off with the curtains draped over his antlers. — Maine

Double Trouble. During a red-hot hunting session for doves, a Georgia sportsman scored a perfect double. The fel low put his gun down to mark the spot where one bird had fallen while looking for the other. Then, the gunner and his son spent more than an hour search-ing for the gun. It was a severe case of double trouble, but they finally found both the gun and the other bird and continued their hunt.-Georgia

Chemical Breakthrough. The United States Forest Service has announced the development of a highly selective, nonpersistent chemical substitute for DDT in controlling spruce and jack-pine budworms. Called Zectran, the chemical is said to be 20 to 25 times more toxic than DDT, but breaks down into harmless elements in less than two days after application. — Washington, D.C.

Excellent Shooting. In most cases, a triple on ducks is an excellent display of shooting ability. Flowever, in the case of a certain New York resident, this commendable shooting foray carried a price tag of $102.50 plus a strong lecture. The fellow had just purchased a new shotgun and couldn't wait to try it out. The hunter downed three mallards with only two shots, testifying to the fact he had a good gun. But, duck season was still two weeks away, testifying to the fact that as a sportsman he didn't have good sense. — New York

Turkey Sense. An Ohio hunter was after wild turkey in Pennsylvania last fall when a most unusual set of circumstances made him one of the happiest fellows in the wilderness. It seems that the hunter never failed to sight wild turkey during both the archery and rifle seasons for deer, but he had never seen one while actually hunting turkey. Well, all thischanged last fall. On opening day of turkey season, the sportsman sat under a large hemlock tree for more than two hours. Finally, he saw a black squirrel. He took a shot at the squirrel, and missed. Wouldn't you know it? A turkey flew out of the very tree he was sitting under. Unfortunately, the fellow was using a single-barrel shotgun and never got a shot at the turkey, but he was happy because at last he had seen a turkey in season. — Pennsylvania

Beginner's Luck. The very first time a Michigan angler went fishing for salmon, he caught a coho that set a new Michigan state record, and came within half a pound of the world record. The angler's monster tipped the scales at 301/2 pounds, which compares very favorably with the world-record, 31-pounder caught 24 years ago in British Columbia. — Michigan

Determination Plus. On a recent deepsea fishing excursion off the Florida coast, an angler was lucky enough to hook a blue marlin. The super-acting, big fish raced through the water until he had pulled the line off the angler's 80-pound-test rig. But, the fisherman wasn't about to give up his catch. To everyone's surprise, he clutched his rod firmly and leaped over the side of the boat into the ocean. As the fish pulled the angler along the surface, the flabbergasted captain turned the boat around and gave chase. Finally, the craft caught up with the water-soaked angler and hauled him aboard. The fisherman, still clutching his rod, handed it over to his rescuers, who assumed the task of bringing in the tired marlin. But, they suddenly lost the fish when it went under the boat, cutting the line on the propeller. — Florida