for the Record
Hats Off To D. U
The anti-hunting movement is gaining momentum, and in certain circles it is "chic" to come down hard on hunters and to portray them as villains. But, when people sit down and take time to investigate the facts, they find that a good many hunters are dedicated conservationists.
Proof of this is manifest in Ducks Unlimited. This non-profit organization has for 36 years been engaged in a concerted effort to "conserve and propagate North America's waterfowl as a valuable natural resource." Without their efforts, it is difficult to say what would have happened to our waterfowl.
Ducks Unlimited is important in conserving waterfowl because their programs are directed toward preserving, creating, and renovating Canada's nesting habitat. Without this nesting ground in the far reaches of our northern neighbor, waterfowl would be limited to small isolated flocks. All of our efforts here in the United States would only be a token gesture. That doesn't mean our management programs are worthless; we can only do so much. We can develop suitable breeding habitat in some areas such as the Sand Hills. We must continue to preserve way stations —national refuges and state controlled areas for ducks to rest and stage for their continued migrations to the south, but suitable breeding grounds must be maintained if waterfowl are to flourish.
Federal money received from Federal Duck Stamps cannot legally be used in Canada. Approximately $100 million in government money is spent annually in the U.S. while only about $5 million was spent in 1973 in Canada, where 70 per cent of North America's waterfowl originate.
Since its inception in 1937, DU has raised over $32 million. The vast majority of this money is sent to Canada to preserve, restore and maintain wetlands habitat. According to DU, they have constructed over 1,200 water control structures and today have almost 2 million acres of prime wetland habitat with a shoreline of over 8,600 miles under lease. Ducks Unlimited has plans to turn an additional 4.5 million acres of Canadian waterfowl habitat into these drought-proof areas.
About 2,500 Nebraskans are members of DU; we at the Game and Parks Commission tip our hats to them. For those hunters and non-hunters alike appreciating the beauty and majesty of the annual waterfowl migration, DU is a worthwhile method of contributing to its preservation.
Speak up
Six-Man FootballSir / A year ago there were quite a few conflicting letters to you about the origin of six-man football. I wrote you a letter near the end of the season that was never published, i think you should set the record straight.
Steve Epler, then coach at Chester High, and Prof. Roselius, the coach at Hebron Junior College and Academy, wrote the rules as Steve Epler had conceived them. Steve Epler coached a group of boys from Chester and Hardy, and Prof. Roselius coached a similar group from Alexander and Belvedere.
They played an exhibition game on the Hebron Junior College field on Sept. 26, 1934. The writeup is in the Sept. 27, 1934 Hebron Journal. The final score was 19-19. I saw that first game and later played it myself. The paper has history, line-up, reports on the game, etc.
One of your writers could come up with a good story on this and clear the record.
H. W. Krueger Augusta, Maine NEBRASKAland Camper PowerSir / I recently took notice of the wonderful camping areas we have in the state of Nebraska thanks to the Game and Parks Com mission. I know it takes a lot of money to promote this type of undertaking. I really think it would be nice if you could get the power companies in different areas to put in electrical outlets for these campers. I am sure nobody would complain about having to pay an additional 25 or 50 cents to have hookups for electricity. We would be more than happy to have this convenience along with all others that are available now. I also believe you could cut down the thievery and vandalism if a few mercury vapor lights were installed in these parks. The men DECEMBER 1973 working in these areas are doing a fine job of keeping rest rooms clean, garbage taken care of and a wonderful job of keeping parks clean. Nebraska doesn't have to take a back seat to any state as far as I am concerned. I sincerely hope you will take this matter into consideration as I am sure it would pay for itself.
Richard Mortensen Grand Island, Nebr. Natural History BuffSir / I would like to compliment the staff of NEBRASKAland on its recent change of format and the very high quality of photographic work that has recently appeared. I believe that a concentration on ecology, biology, and natural history topics is far more significant and important than trying to make the magazine a repository for hunting and fishing stories. In fact, it is only in the last few months that I have bothered to start saving my issues of NEBRASKAland for possible future reference.
Dr. Paul Johnsgard Prof, of Zoology, University of Nebraska Poetic on WindSir / I was born and raised in the state of Nebraska. To me it's a beautiful and never ending place, full of surprises of nature and bountiful food crops. Some people write letters, but I see pictures in my mind and can write a multitude of poems about Nebraska. Hope you find this good enough to put in your wonderful magazine.
L. M. Davis Lushton, Nebr. The Great Nebraska Winds Across this vast and fruitful land If you listen you can hear Of messages the winds can tell Of progress or of fear. You learn to read the whines and roars The whispers and the sighs As the great winds of Nebraska Sweep across the skies The strong ones make the windmills turn In the pasture full of cattle Or change the mounds of sand dunes In nature's eternal battle The roaring ones are dreaded For they surely mean a storm Of heavy rains and violent winds Or maybe a tornado born The whispering ones sing you songs And lull you fast asleep Or help the winged ones in their flight Their yearly vigil helps them keep. As the winds sweep across the plains Listen closely and you'll hear the sighs Of the big trees whining and moaning And the weeping willows cry Whether they are strong or mild They surely are our kin Roaming wild across our state The great Nebraska winds
TRACKING THE CAT
Amid frigid weather and fresh snow, we founder along in pursuit of the bobcat
AT 7 A.M. in the winter, things can look pretty bleak even on a decent day, but when the thermometer says it's 25 degrees below zero and a stiff breeze is blowing, the entire world seems desolate and frozen.
Yet, we were going to go out into that December, 1972 wonderland for a day of bobcat hunting. Primarily, we were interested in exactly how you go about finding a bobcat. They are notoriously retiring critters, smart to the point of being crafty, and generally entirely nocturnal, so you seldom happen across one during daylight hours unless he has been startled from his bed by a hunter or other human intruder.
To enhance our chances as much as possible, we had prevailed upon rancher Ivol Buckley of rural Harrison to take us along on one of his expeditions. During the winter months, whenever there is tracking snow on the ground, he hunts bobcats. Accompanying him whenever not tied down with his job as a machinery salesman is Gene Liebentritt, who is also an accomplished taxidermist.
As our main objective was to photograph a bobcat, if we did encounter one, the cold weather would be doubly troublesome. Not only were we going to feel persecuted because of the discomfort, but our cameras were going to be balky, as well. It is hard to imagine shutters working normally in that kind of chill factor even if fingers could be moved to work the necessary knobs and levers.
Bobcat hunting had intrigued me for several years, but I had never participated in a hunt. Jack Curran of the Game Commission's TV and film unit and I had quickly volunteered to do a story, however, when the subject came up at a magazine planning meeting. Both having more than casual interest in photography, Jack also volunteered us to cover that aspect of the hunt as well, but at least he would be primarily responsible, and I would only back him up.
Many people are concerned about the welfare and 8
He was quick to express his views, too. He has formulated opinions about the bobcat and the role it plays in that area of the Pine Ridge, and he isn't worried about them making out.
"I have hunted cats around here since the mid-50s," he explains, "and there are between 10 and 20 times more around now than when I first started hunting them. We take an average of 15 each winter, all within a few miles of here. People who think they are being wiped out or taken advantage of just don't know what they are talking about."
NEBRASKAlandIvol and Gene also pointed out that they hadn't been hunting much the past two winters, which helped boost the bobcat population.
"I think we only got two in 1971 and seven or eight the year before," Gene recalled.
When asked why, they explained that there just hadn't been enough snow. "There has to be enough snow to cover the ground for the dogs to pick up the scent, and for us to see where there is a recent trail to put them onto.
Elaborating further, Ivol said he had trailed a cat which had walked for five miles on a railroad track —not along the tracks, but on a single rail. Only occasionally, perhaps once every several hundred yards, did the cat step off. That, to say the least, makes it almost impossible for the dogs or people to follow, and the cat apparently knew it. They also make use of every difficult piece of terrain when traveling so they leave as little scent as possible, such as walking on DECEMBER 1973 rocks, logs, and bare ground.
"You can't run bobcats on bare ground as they leave less scent than other wild animals do," Ivol added.
"Another thing they will do, just to show you how sneaky they are, is like right here along this road. On a hill like this, if dogs are on their trail, they will jump off any ledge into the top of a tree growing farther down the slope, then jump from that tree to another, if they can. That way, the dogs will fool around for 10 or 15 minutes where the cat left the ground, and he may not come down again for quite a distance. It really gives them a head start. Of course, they will also backtrack quite often, carefully placing their feet in the same holes in the snow. This really confuses me and the dogs."
While we had been talking, Ivol had been driving along a winding county road. Hills towered above on one side, and the river valley (Continued on page 41)
For a Christmas dinner or everyday meal, smoked game is a special treat
the Smoking Game
TOBACCO and the controversial habit of smoking it, are strictly American innovations, although the world may be hard pressed to find a suitable means of thanking us.
Another form of smoking, however, this one involving only the preparation of food, has been around for a lot longer, is a little more worthwhile, and hopefully will be around a lot longer. Now, preparing food may not appear to be one of the most exciting activities in life, yet few things are of more basic importance than food.
And, there is something special about smoking that produces a delicacy suitable for the most discriminating gourmet, while also serving the appetite of the meanest, roughest trapper. Whether smoking was invented by a bumbling caveman who dragged his fire into a cave to get it out of the rain, or more recently by Indians who apparently used fires to hurry the process of drying meat, is of little consequence. The main thing is that now, virtually anyone can enjoy the techniques and the products of smoking.
The smoking of meat, fish and fowl has been growing in popularity recently, just as the smoking of pot has. There is a difference, however, and a very delectable one. Somehow, the slow process of smoking converts an ordinary chunk of meat into some thing totally different in taste and texture while also serving as a method of preserving it. Apparently the smoke is absorbed by the cells of the meat as the moisture is removed.
To do this, the process must be reasonably slow, yet not so slow as to convert the meat into leather. A temperature range of between 150 and 200 degrees is considered best, probably 190 being ideal.
Basically, a smoker is a semi-enclosed box with a heating element such as a hot plate at the bottom, atop which is placed a pan of wood chips. As the chips are slowly heated they smolder, and this smoke gradually is absorbed, imparting flavor at the same time. Some type of adjustable vents can be used to control the heat and smoke.
Once a person decides to get involved in smoking, it is only a matter of time before he is avid. Everything that can be fit into the smoking compartment is tried, and most of the results are very gratifying. Among the most notable successes are small birds, so such things as ducks, pheasants, and quail are naturals. They do not come out either leathery or greasy, but rather appear to be gently cooked, succulent, tender, and as much fun to eat as to pursue in the field.
While the first effort may not be perfect, it is difficult to make a total mess of it. Even if not totally done when removed, the bird can simply be popped into the oven for an hour or two at low temperature, or can be placed back into the smoker for another bout.
Time is not critical because of the low heat, and the average pheasant will take about 8 or 10 hours or slightly longer to cook. During this time, more wood chips will have to be added about three or four times. The amount will vary depending upon personal taste, but normally a slight trickle of smoke should emanate from the vents nearly continuously.
Again, it should be emphasized that personal taste will be a major factor in smoking. For those who want a very heavy smoke flavor, a steady supply of wood chips must be fed to the pan to keep the meat surrounded. For only moderate tastes, an occasional handful is enough.
Almost everyone tasting smoked turkey for the first time remarks on the extreme change in taste- very delicious, but more ham-like than turkey. Other meat also changes, but the smoke flavor never seems to be overpowering.
Although game birds can be popped directly into a smoker, it is best to brine them first. This is true of domestic chickens, as well. Chickens and Cornish hens were used for these tests because they were handier, but cooking times are the same. Using a glass or crockery container, put in sufficient water to cover however many birds to be smoked. Then, for each four quarts of water, add 1 to 1 Vi cups of curing salt, 1/2-cup brown sugar, 1/2-teaspoon ginger, 2 to 4 tablespoons of pepper, a few dashes of lemon juice, a couple cups of cider, if available, and 1/4-teaspoon or so of maple flavoring.
The birds can then be simmered for about five minutes a pound in this brine, or can be cold soaked overnight. When ready, wipe them off with a towel or air dry for an hour, then rub them liberally with a mixture of brown sugar, a few spoons of onion or garlic powder, and black pepper.
Run a heavy string through the body cavity and truss up the legs at one end, leaving the string long enough to suspend the birds in the smoker. With the smoker ready to go, hang the birds inside and try to keep the temperature as close to 190 degrees as possible. Allow 11/2 hours for each pound that the bird weighs. At the end of the necessary time, and having added a few handfuls of wood chips during the process, check for doneness by twisting a leg bone. If it moves freely in the socket, your morsels are ready.
An alternative to the regular brine cure, one with a Chinese flavor, is prepared by mixing 1/3 cup water, 1 /3 cup soy sauce, 1 /3 cup sherry, 1 /4 cup honey and 1/2 teaspoon powdered ginger in a sauce pan over heat. First allow the mixture to cool and then marinate the birds, cut or whole, in the refrigerator for eight hours or more, turning several times.
When you're preparing that bird for smoking don't throw away the giblets. The livers, hearts and gizzards of all fowl are edible, and can be used to make delicious snacks or hors d'oeuvres.
To prepare the livers for smoking, drop them into boiling water and cook until there is no redness visible and the surface is firm. Remove and drain. This step will prevent the livers from sticking to the smoker's racks. It is not necessary to do this with hearts and gizzards.
Next, place the cooked livers, gizzards and hearts in a plastic bag with table salt, garlic salt, monosodium glutamate, pepper and sugar. Tie the bag and shake so that the giblets are uniformly coated with seasoning.
Place the giblets on the smoker's racks for 45 to 60 minutes at 80°F. Then increase the heat to 225° or 250°F. for an additional 30 to 60 minutes.
Remove the smoked giblets and place in a wide mouthed jar. Add a small amount of vegetable oil and roll the jar about until the pieces are well coated with oil. Leave the jar under refrigeration for at least 24 hours for the finest flavor.
Not only are the smoked livers delicious alone but they can be used as the basic ingredient for making other dishes. Here is a recipe for smoked liver stuffed eggs.
12 hard-boiled eggs 1/2 lb. smoked livers 2 teaspoons chopped chives 1/2 teaspoon salt 1/2 teaspoon pepper 1 teaspoon bacon fatCut the eggs in half and remove the yolks. Mix the yolks, livers, chives, salt, pepper and bacon fat together. Place in an electric blender until the mixture is a paste-like consistency.
Stuff the mixture back into the halved egg whites and chill. Garnish to taste and serve. However finished, a real taste treat awaits, and it is just as good cold or warm. Each time something is smoked, the flavor can be improved to suit each person. Amazing stuff, that smoke.
Winter Patterns
Wind and snow combine to bring beauty and new meaning to the land. Under a mantle of white even commonplace takes on a glow of artistic wonder
LIKE A gifted artist, Nebraska's wind and winter weather combine to unfold images of beauty and wonder across the state each j year. At its best, with high blue skies and sunlit fields of snow, wirtter easily qualifies as the season for those interested in viewing the pageantry of nature's work upon the land.
Building up areas with wind-driven snow, common sights little noticed at other times of the year take on special significance with the artistic touch of winter's hand. Farm scenes glimmer under a mantle of white, miniature Grand Canyon-like vistas abound, and even snow fences are transformed into uncommon abstractions.
Much like the portrait painter confronted with the responsibility of producing a better-than-life "likeness", so too, Nature must work.
With a cosmetic sweep of brush, layers of glistening snow are built up. Erosion-produced age-scars disappear, new meaning is given the commonplace, and the unsightly products of man's reign on the land are softened to blend more harmoniously into the overall scheme of pattern and design.
Man's buildings, roads, and fences do little to destroy the creative mastery of winter. Using all these things, snow is piled high, ice diamonds sparkle, and shadows lean and prowl to provide the sensitive viewer more than just the tangible offerings of reality.
The beauty and serenity of the snow-covered land belies the forces at play when nature chooses to rearrange great areas of the land with powerful storms and gusting blasts of arctic air.
Like the Phoenix rising from ashes of a consuming inferno, each drift of snow, each beautiful scintillation, is the product of powerful, sometimes deadly, forces of nature.
12 NEBRASKAland DECEMBER 1973 13
As the storm subsides and the wind clouds scuttle from view, the breaking sun provides a sense of warmth on the exposed skim. At these times, it's easy to forget the little problems of everyday life and concentrate on recording in your mind, or camera, the numerous objects that have been bequeathed for your enjoyment.
But each work of art, each ice castle, each drift of snow, provides only a few fleeting glimpses before the mold is broken and the sun's warmth continues the transformation.
Harsh lines are softened and unwanted details removed, and the melting snow in turn scars the soft earth as it, too, withdraws.
If not recorded on paper or canvas, the quickly changing panorama also melts from memory, to be revived with the coming of next year's snow, but never with the exact same detail.
Cedars for Christmas
Treated as a weed by most landowners, a wild juniper can be used as a versatile decoration for the holidays
ALMOST EVERYONE is interested in saving a dollar and a lot of people nowadays are concerned with utilizing our natural resources to their full potential. The Eastern red cedar, a member of the juniper family, provides a good example of how we can do both.
Most cedars are treated as weeds by land owners and destroyed to make more room for grass. Fortunately, many landowners are learning just how valuable the cedar is. For years conservation plantings in Nebraska have relied heavily on the cedar. Cedars are planted to protect homes, livestock, soil, crops and wildlife. Many wildlife species utilize cedar berries for food but the juniper's real value to wildlife is in providing protective cover.
Aside from its value to conservation, the red cedar can be an asset come Christmas time. This is where saving a dollar comes in. If you doubt its value as a Christmas tree just spend one season with the cedar. Leave the artificials stored in their boxes and skip the commercial tree lots. Instead go to a landowner who has cedars in a pasture. Tell him what you want and more than likely he will give you a free hand in collecting the trees.
Cedars growing in the wild take on many shapes, but with good numbers to choose from you are certain to find one that suits your taste. family tree while three or four smaller ones might serve nicely to decorate tables, mantel and windows. You might also want to try cedars as party favors. Some will go nicely as gifts or gift-bearing trees. You can decorate them with fishing flies, popping bugs, jewelry or wrapped candy.
The tinsel used on larger trees serve well as garlands for the miniature trees. As you move to plants two to three feet high, the traditional ornaments come into use, including miniature lights. You might even try a variety of spray snows and paints on cedars of any size.
Artificial snows and paints tend to seal the foliage, shutting in the odor of the cedar. For
Advance pruning will insure well-shaped trees for coming years. Sometimes only a branch or two needs to be shortened on an otherwise perfect tree. Limber tops, when carefully trimmed, provide a firmer support for tree-top ornaments. Be cause of the nature of the cedar's branches and foliage, shaping operations do not leave apparent scars. For young specimens having twin tips, remove one to prevent a permanent fork. Many trees with thin foliage benefit from having all branches shortened to encourage a dense growth.
It goes without saying that you should always check with the owner before starting this manage ment work. Though he is likely to appreciate a good job of trimming, he may have more experienced help in mind for the task.
Working with the red cedar can be uncomfortable because of the sharp needles. Good gloves are a necessity. Fresh, green needles are not much of a problem, but dryer ones are real offenders. A coarse-toothed pruning saw mounted on a long handle should be your primary cutting tool.
Cedars turn a reddish brown in cold weather so collect early if you desire a fresh green color for your Christmas tree. Plants that are cut early can be kept fresh by standing them in water. Plants that have already turned brown can be restored to a green color by standing in water too.
Keep in mind the different ways a Christmas tree can be used and collect several cedars of different sizes. Larger ones are just the ticket for the people that find the cedar's pungent aroma distasteful these sprays might be an answer. Spray coatings will also help retain the tree's freshness through the holiday season.
Finding stands for the small trees need be no problem either. For the smallest ones just drill a hole in a block of wood or styrofoam. Soil-filled cans will adequately brace trees up to three feet in height. Larger trees should probably have the commercial type of stand that makes water continuously available to the plant. Flower pots are more attractive than tin cans and both benefit from a covering of foil or other wrapping.
Living, miniature trees make unusual and at tractive gifts and serve a useful function when the holidays are over. Just transplant small cedars to pots a month or so before Christmas for these unique and inexpensive gifts.
If you don't already have an evergreen in your front yard to decorate for the holidays, your own living Christmas tree could be planted there! A growing cedar can easily be trained into the shape exactly to your suiting and retained there for a number of years by regular clipping.
Remember that your long range objective is to make use of a natural resource that otherwise would be wasted when cedars are destroyed. As red cedars become popular for Christmas trees pasture owners will have a second income rather than a job of controlling weeds and wildlife will have a home.
Bringin' Home the Bread
HE'D DRIVEN some kind of bread truck over the highways of Nebraska for as long as I could remember, usually complaining all the while that his was the most thankless job in the world. He claimed people bought bread, ate bread, toasted bread and griped about the price of bread, but never paid a bit of attention to the poor soul who drove through hell and high water to put that bread on the store shelf. But still it was his world, and he loved every minute.
For a while he had the night run out of Lincoln down to Marysville, Kansas, but for the most part his hours were from very early morning, before any 22 one else had launched into their third dream of the night, until late supper time; unless the State Fair was boom ing, and then neither he nor his bread truck paused long enough to catch their breath.
But if the long hours were the hardest part of his job, the things he saw and the people he met were the best. And in the evenings, we'd hang on the arm of his chair and he'd share his experiences with us, using a pencil in his calloused hand to cartoon the story more vividly.
One night we'd sob as he'd tell of an accident along the road, and the next night we'd laugh at an encounter with skunks. But the story we remember the most happened the year of the big storm.
People were lavishly predicting the late arrival of winter that year. A prediction made on fairly safe ground since it was already well into November and had barely cooled beyond the light jacket stage. Still it was November and we should have been prepared. But the days were mild and the long Johns were left stowed in the bottom dresser drawer.
That was the year he was made route supervisor and his time was spent in setting up drivers' schedules and in general seeing that things along his bread routes ran smoothly. He wouldn't have been on the road at all that day, if it hadn't been for the eye glasses one of his drivers needed repaired. But since filling in was part of the job, the run to Papillion was his for the day.
It was nearly five o'clock when he left the bakery loading dock that morning, and the early morning air was be ginning to sift a slight drizzle. He worked the wholesale stops along the route for nearly two hours before it changed to snow. Even then, the pull ing didn't get rough until after the Papillion stop at noon. But by then, the drain the storm had put on the engine had pulled the gas gauge down to E, so at the crossroads called Richfield he planned a refill.
Perhaps that's when he began to fear this white resistant blowing in from across the plains the most; when the gas pump in front of the general store stood frozen and useless because the power was off.
Perhaps that's when he began to feel its cold; when the snow smothered the road to a lane difficult to define and his NEBRASKAland gloveless hands numbed to insensibility.
Perhaps that's when he began to feel the helplessness of his situation; when deeper and deeper drifts began accumulating on the road before him and his truck began to complain with each new one it was forced to negotiate.
It wasn't the gas tank that defeated him that day. When it finally did run dry, a farmer traveling in a car behind him had a five gallon can of tractor fuel he was able to buy. Instead it was the east-west cutbank sandwiching the road and the drifting snow it caught and held that called the halt.
The bread truck was new, so he left the engine idling to keep it dry while he helped dig the others out. He dug not because it was his good deed for the day, but because he couldn't get through from the east until they came through from the west. But the cavity never emptied to permit his turn. As soon as one vehicle was freed from the bog, another took its place.
So for two long hours he dug, aided by the farm lad who came to help. And for two long hours he chilled in the dampness of his sweat and the cold in his lungs.
A lady school teacher was the last one he dug out before he exhausted, and after a promise to return, he watched the farm lad lead her to the safety of a widow's home near by, while somewhere on the snow near a half buried bread truck he rested and waited and felt the blanket of cold and darkness engulf him. And he thought of his family 30 miles away. Were they safe? Had they all made it home before the blizzard hit? Did they have lights and more importantly heat? It weighed heavily on him to be so close when his family may need help and yet be unable to reach them.
The inside of the farm house was warm and welcome that night. With a steaming supper on the table, the fury outside seemed far removed. A wreath of mourning for the mother of the home still hung on the parlor door, but the farm lad and the father did their best to make him comfortable.
He tried yet that evening to call us in Lincoln, but the storm had taken its toll in telephone lines and his voice carried no farther than the operator in Springfield, while in our livingroom at home, we sat by the telephone and listened to the storm and told each other he'd be all right. It wasn't until DECEMBER 1973 the next morning we heard for certain.
He never understood just how the ham radio operator in Springfield was able to reach the manager at the bakery, or how the telephone operator could let him listen to a garble of their conversation over the farm phone. "I hope he knows there's only water in the radiator of that new truck", were the only words from Lincoln he heard clearly, but it was ertough to set him in motion.
The farm lad loaned him a pair of overshoes before he set out in the morning. Those, along with a gunny sack he used for a scarf, transformed his summer attire of yesterday into a winter wrap for today.
It was still snowing when he found the top of the bread rack that indicated a truck buried beneath. When he had turned off the ignition the night before the hood had been drifted invisible and the snow that covered the warm engine then proved the insulation that saved it. Thus assured, he started the long journey home.
The half mile walk from the marooned machine to Highway 50 went quickly and the ride he caught on the back of a tow truck to the cafe in Springfield was tolerable. In the stifling atmosphere of the dining house he made an acquaintance and took the next stride on the road to Lincoln.
The earthmoving equipment operator was headed for Grand Island. Thanksgiving dinner was only 24 hours away and the operator intended to eat it at home. There remained only to find a passage his automobile could maneuver, and an extra man in the car meant additional aid in case of difficulties.
They made it to Louisville without any trouble, but the roads south and east of there were impassible, so they went west toward the fish hatchery where the avenue was never known to block. Six feet of snow turned them back.
New hope arose when fresh truck tracks along the river bottom road of the Platte appeared and they followed the ruts. But the hope and the truck tracks ended at a farm house a few miles away. So in the deepening dusk of a Thanksgiving eve, they turned back in the direction from which they'd come. There was little more they could do, no more alternatives they could try. Though he didn't want to admit it he was already beginning to prepare for his second night away from his family.
The two of them parted company at Meadow, at the faded facade of a Rock Island station where the train tracks were still hidden beneath a blanket of white. A track plow was due from the east sometime during the night, and in tired desperation he decided to wait for the train thatwould undoubtedly foliow.
Five others shared the awkward wooden seats with him that night in the desolated depot —three men, a German shepherd and the station master. The men were workers from Louisville trying to reach their homes in Murdock, a mere 15 miles away. Together they divided a supper of coffee and together they listened to reports on the telegraph of the track plow's progress.
It was east of Council Bluffs. It was west of Council Bluffs. It was this side of Omaha. First a Rocket was behind it. Then a local was behind it. And at 3 a.m. it arrived followed by one engine, one baggage car and one chair car, all stopping at Meadow for the first time in ten years.
The first twilight of dawn greeted the train as it rolled into the depot at Lincoln. When he got off, people still hoping to get home for a turkey dinner were lined two abreast to get on.
But for him the trip was almost over.
No cabs were running through the snowclogged streets of the capital yet, but that didn't matter. He was only 15 blocks from home now. And when there is a home and a family and a Thanksgiving breakfast waiting, and an ordeal behind, 15 blocks can be walked in a matter of minutes.
He's eligible to retire from driving a bread truck over the highways of Nebraska next year. But I doubt that he will. He'll continue to complain of course, but without the long hours and the people and the experiences, his world would cease to exist. And if he did put it all behind him, an often neglected but noble profession would lose a king.
They Come with the Snow
THE STORM had passed! We awakened to a beautiful December day. Finally, the winds had calmed and the sun shown on deep drifts of snow. Our world was blanketed in white with only the tallest of weeds standing above it.
For three days a Nebraska storm had raged, and during that time few of the winter birds had attempted to feed. We knew they would soon emerge from their sleeping quarters only to find their natural supply of food buried under several inches of snow. The many feeders about our farmstead would be in demand.
John was up early to begin his rounds, replenishing the seed in each feeder. A male cardinal greeted him as he approached our large self-feeder on the fence, as though urging him to clear the snow packed in its trough. His plumage looked especially bright against the new-fallen snow. Two black-capped chickadees chattered nervously overhead as was their custom each time John poured grain into the feeder's bin.
As I measured out the coffee I watched John tramp through the deep drifts to reach the feeders west of the house. The wind had blown the snow clear, but they, too, needed to be filled. Before the day would end, many birds including the cardinals, black-capped chickadees, and white-breasted nuthatches, would gather there to gorge on sunflower seeds. Even without watching, I knew how each would free the white kernel from the hull-the cardinal cracking the shell in his heavy beak, the chickadees and nuthatches by holding the seeds in their feet.
Blue jays by the dozens would come too, filling their cheeks until they bulged. Some seeds they would shell and eat immediately, others would be stored in the crotches of trees, under the bark, or perhaps under a shingle of the house.
Other feeders needed attention, those to be filled with millet or a mixture of many grains. Dark-eyed juncos, tree sparrows and Harris' sparrows would be feasting at these. A single white-crowned sparrow that was wintering with us would also eat them. Soon, the ground below the feeders would be lit tered with the paper-thin hulls of millet.
The warm aroma of strong coffee drifted through the kitchen.
Knowing that most species would prefer to eat from the ground, John shoveled the snow from an area where he had fed birds all winter. There, on the black soil, which contrasted with the pure-white snow, he generously scattered millet and mixed bird seed, sprinkling a layer of sunflower seeds over the top. Many birds would spend the entire day feeding there. Cottontails would come by night to forage on any grain remaining.
While John went busily about his task,
more and more birds were appearing from their roosting places in nearby trees and shrubbery. From only a short distance away, they watched his every move.
Like most wildlife, the winter birds had waited out the storm in whatever shelter they could find. Some had probably perched snugly together side-by-side on the inner branches of the cedar trees about the place. Others had found sanctuary squeezed tightly together in holes of dead American elms. Sometimes we would see chickadees at the feeders with crooked tails, evidence that they had slept in a hole too small or one crowded with too many birds.
As I watched John leave to check more feeders, several black-capped chickadees dropped down to steal a seed and then leave quickly. A female cardinal came in, picked up a seed and quickly cracked it. Dropping the pieces of shell from her beak, she swallowed the meat.
Soon the Harris' sparrows began coming to the feeders. It pleased me to know that these handsome, black-bibbed sparrows that had nested in the Arctic just months ago, had stopped here to spend the winter. They had arrived the first week of October and probably would still be here until mid-May.
The Harris' sparrows had obviously found the food and shelter on our farm to their liking. From my banding records I knew some had returned for as many as six or seven winters. For one hardy individual, this was his ninth season.
John's job was bigger than usual as most of the feeding stations were nearly empty. The birds had seemingly sensed the impending weather change and were unusually active just before the storm, eating large quantities of food.
I glanced out the window at the wire basket of suet hung from an outstretched branch of the old elm. It had been a source of food for dozens of woodpeckers about the place for many years. The little black and white downy woodpecker and his larger look-alike cousin, the hairy woodpecker, would be the most frequent visitors. The solitary red-bellied woodpecker, which has hardly any red on his belly at all, would also stop by. Perhaps, if he can find a mate, he will spend the summer and enlarge some isolated tree hollow in one of the falling elms for a nest.
Wind had whipped the snow into deep drifts under the suet feeder by the kitchen window at the corner of the house. John must be thankful, I thought to myself as I readied breakfast, that it was full and he need not wade the drifts. Chickadees, nuthatches, cardinals, and of course the blue jays would be sharing it with the woodpeckers.
One more feeder to fill-a pie pan on an
28 29
30
aluminum pole near another window. This feeder John filled with peanut butter. We knew it would attract several customers for us to watch during the day.
As John mounded up globs of the peanut butter, I watched out the window, observing all the activity where the grain was scattered on the ground. The number of birds increased by the minute and the dark patch of earth seemed alive with dark-eyed juncos and tree sparrows.
Suddenly, the ground was bare. A fox squirrel came to munch on the sunflower seeds, and the birds made room for him. As the squirrel greedily gobbled the grain I noticed a movement on the snow quite some distance away.
There, across the drifts of snow in the opening of trees, came a line of bobwhite. One by one, single file, they came. Heads high and hurrying, they headed directly to the grain. Throughout the fall they had visited the site and knew its location well. I counted them; today there were only twelve. A few days before there had been 14 in the covey. Perhaps two had not survived the storm, or had served as meals for hungry hawks or owls. The remaining dozen ate hastily, then moved away into nearby cover.
The feeders were filled and the bird bath had open water. From the window, as I poured coffee and turned eggs, I could see the downy woodpeckers tugging at the suet feeder only feet away. South of the house, on the fence, cardinals were busy shelling sunflower seeds, and even though I couldn't see west to the feeders, I knew they were busy with juncos and sparrows. It would be a good day.
Willetta Lueshen is president of the Inland Bird Banding Association and is actively involved in many wildlife organizations in Nebraska and nationwide. Annually she compiles an index of published papers for the AUK, an international ornithological scientific publication. A former elementary school teacher, she still presents many programs to school-age children and teaches a college level ornithology course at Norfolk Junior College. Willetta and her husband John share their intense interest in birds on their farm near Wisner, Nebraska and as far away as Churchill, Manitoba on Hudson Bay.
the Feeding of Winter Birds
FEEDING WINTER BIRDS can be as simple as scattering grain or bread on the snow or it can be nurtured into a precise art. An experienced bird feeder knows the exact food requirements of each wintering species and the best ways to attact them.
If you want to draw winter birds to your home, keep in mind that birds, and in fact all wildlife, have three requirements for survival: food, water, and shelter. Many neophyte feeders think that an abundance of food is enough to draw and hold birds. That can sometimes be true, providing that shelter and water are available in the neighborhood, but you'll have a greater variety and number of birds if you meet all their needs.
If you want to keep your feeding chores to a minimum by using only one type of grain, sunflower seeds are probably the best choice. They are the,favorite food of cardinals, black capped chickadees, blue jays, evening grosbeaks, tufted titmice and nuthathces. They are also a favorite with the squirrels.
Squirrels can put away a lot of sunflower seeds and run up quite a tab over the winter months. If you would rather not support the neighborhood squirrels all winter, place a guard on the post below your feeder. A large, upside-down cone of metal is as effective as anything, easy to make, and inexpensive. A couple of ears of dried field corn put in a tree crotch every day will also help keep squirrels away from bird feeders.
Mixed bird feed is probably used in more feeders than any one grain. These mixtures are combinations of many grains; millets, cracked corn, milo and sunflower seeds. Wintering sparrows, and there are several species in Nebraska, will accept the smaller seeds from these mixtures. Cardinals and chickadees will come for the sunflower seeds.
Buying mixtures in five and ten pound bags at the supermarket can get to be an expensive proposition though, especially if you're serious about feeding. Many bird feeders have cut their expense substantially by purchasing the components in bulk quantities and mixing their own.
Millet, the major grain in mixed bird feed, will be the primary fare for the Harris' and tree sparrows and the dark-eyed juncos, the most common wintering birds in rural Nebraska. Large aggressive birds like the cardinal and blue jay, easily dominate a feeder filled with mixed grains, forcing smaller birds to sit patiently by and flit in for a bite at the first opening. If you want to see the smaller birds around, consider filling one feeder with just millet.
Suet, the fatty part of beef, is the favorite of numerous species of wood peckers. Hairy, downy and red bellied woodpeckers will probably be the most frequent visitors. Chickadees, blue jays, cardinals and nuthatches will also eat their share. You can get suet free, or for almost nothing, from most supermarkets and locker plants.
Any bird that will eat suet will also eat peanut butter. Cats and dogs also have a fondness for the sandwich spread, so like suet, keep it high out of their reach.
That erratic winter visitor, the cedar waxwing, will come in flocks to an area baited with the proper food. Dried apples, raisins, canned peaches, plums, or other fruits and juices will hold the waxwings near your home.
If you have a small measure of sympathy for house sparrows, grackles and starlings it is more than easy to attract them with stale bread or crackers.
Feeders come in many sizes and designs, from practical home-made types to the expensive, decorative feeders displayed at many garden centers.
The best way to make suet available to the birds, is to hang it in a wire basket made of quarter-inch hardware cloth. Be sure to suspend it from a long length of wire to prevent stray cats from reaching it. The birds won't mind swinging in the wind to eat nearly as much as having to share a meal with the neighbor's tabby.
Peanut butter can simply be mounded in an aluminum pie pan nailed to the top of a wooden post but grain or seed should be placed in a feeder protected from the elements. Self-feeders with storage bins are probably the most popular since they need to be filled only periodically.
A windowsill feeder is a delightful addition to any household and will provide hours of entertainment. Birds are often reluctant to use a new windowsill feeder so keep the curtains drawn until the birds are well established. Then, gradually, open the curtains a few inches each day until the birds become more comfortable with the house's inhabitants.
Even though snow will meet the moisture requirements of winter birds, they prefer water. When all water supplies are frozen and there is no snow cover, it may, in fact, draw as many or more birds than a well supplied feeder. Not only will birds drink there, but many will also bathe, oblivious to the sub-zero weather. Their quick dips, then deep plunges into the water are followed by preen ing and shaking on a nearby perch.
A small, automatic poultry heater, placed in a bird bath or basin, is all that is required to provide birds with open water. These heaters retail for under ten dollars.
Shelter is the third prerequisite for attracting and holding winter birds. Most shrubs and trees provide some shelter but a few are especially good choices, offering food as well as protection. Cedars, yews, most fruit trees, sunflower, autumn-olive, coton easter and mountain ash are good food plants for birds. Evergreens or dense bushes that offer shelter from the elements are important components of any planting for wildlife.
The quickest way to provide good shelter is to build a brush pile. Begin with a few large branches, then pile on smaller branches and sticks, making it rather dense at the top. Rabbits, pheasants and quail can hide from the cold blasts of winter in the spaces created by the larger branches. Smaller birds will snuggle in the openings at the top.
For the greatest enjoyment locate all your feeders and bird baths where they can be seen from the house. And above all, keep them filled! Once you have invited the birds to your yard it is your responsibility to have a continuous supply of food and water available.
In just a few short years feeding winter birds has become a relaxing pastime for hundreds of thousands. With a little thought and small investment it can be for you too.
32 NEBRASKAland
Trap Shooting Nebraska Style
A TRAPSHOOTER'S WIFE once described trapshooting as a game involving a shotgun, a round, clay saucer called a target which sails through the air, and a glassy-eyed shooter with a permanent bruise on his shoulder from recoil. His milieu is a trap range, which consists of a half-buried outhouse and a fan-shaped series of five little sidewalks marked off from 16 to 27 yards from the little house. The shooter, equipped with shotgun, earplugs, vest, shells and shooting glasses, moves from one little sidewalk to the next, shooting at the targets which fly from the buried outhouse every time he calls "pull". The object of the game is to hit as many targets as possible. Not to be confused with a dice game, trapshooting has little to do with luck.
An upswing in trapshooting popularity in Nebraska began in the early 1960s as the result of a growing need for additional outdoor activity without age, sex or physical-ability restrictions.
Trapshooting is one of the oldest of sports, having originated in England in 1793 where live birds were released from a small box or "trap". In 1866, clay pigeons, similar to the ones used today, and the means to propel them, were invented by George Ligowsky of Cincinnati, Ohio. No one knows whether his creation was the result of a shortage of live birds or whether he had the unenviable task of cleaning their cages. Regardless, his invention was the forerunner of today's electric traps and fluorescent clay pigeons.
In 1900 the first trapshooting championships were held under the guidance of the newly formed Interstate Trapshooting Association. In 1923 the Interstate Association became the Amateur Trapshooting Association or A.T.A., and a permanent home was established in Vandalia, Ohio. The A.T.A. is still the governing body of registered trapshooting and keeps the records of every score fired by over 80,000 members across the country, including nearly 1,000 from Nebraska.
Trapshooting events are divided into three categories; singles, doubles, and handicap. The singles and doubles events are shot from a distance of 16 yards and as their names imply, one target at a time is thrown in the singles event while the doubles are thrown in pairs. The handicap event is shot from distances of 18 to 27 yards at a single target. Yardage is assigned by the A.T.A. and is based on each shooter's average, known ability and wins, thereby making the 27-yard-line the goal of every competitor.
Trapshooters are family people participating together in a sport that offers them exercise, comradeship, competition, sportsmanship, an opportunity to see old friends and make new ones, and a good excuse to go someplace on a beautiful Nebraska weekend.
It's been said that shooting doesn't start in Nebraska until a log chain will stand horizontally when attached to a fence post, yet trapshooters are un qualified optimists when it comes to their favorite sport. A shooter will leave Omaha in a blizzard expecting the sun to be shining when he gets to the gun club in Lincoln; and when it isn't, he will still take to the range with visions of "100 straight" behind his name on the scoreboard.
Each June this optimistic group converges on Doniphan in central Nebraska to decide the Nebraska State Championships. This year marked the 95th annual meeting and tournament of the Nebraska State Sportsmen's Association. In addition to 78 registered trapshoots held in Nebraska in 1973, there were many leagues and trophy shoots held each weekend statewide, with millions of targets shot annually.
In 1972, the first shooters were inducted into the Nebraska Trapshooting Hall of Fame. The first inductee was Bueford Bailey of Big Springs, followed by Floyd Daily of Fremont, Dayton Dorn of Big Springs, Marion Ingold of Fremont, Bud June of Scottsbluff, Wayne Kennedy of Kimball, James McCole of Gering, Edwin Morehead of Falls City, and Cal Waggoner of Diller in the men's category. The ladies in ducted were Blanche Bowers of Benkel man, Carol Estabrook of Omaha, Ruth Justice of Wauneta and Doris Voss of Omaha. Associate members include Harry Koch and Gregg McBride of Omaha, and Frank Middaugh of Fremont.
Trapshooters come in a variety of shapes, sizes and backgrounds. To see one on the street you would never know he was any different from anyone else; an 11-year-old girl, an 85-year-old grandfather, handicapped men in wheelchairs and with only one arm. A trapshooter is a farmer from Ashland, a housewife from Gothenburg, a construction boss from Omaha, a rancher from Big Springs, a conservation officer from Gering or a student from Lincoln. Collectively, these shooters are responsible for channeling millions of dollars into the nation's economy as they travel to distant ranges to compete. They are the outdoorsmen who have imposed themselves an excise tax on sporting arms and ammunition earmarked for conservation use by the federal government. They are among those who make the Grand American Trapshoot in Vandalia, Ohio the largest participation tournament of anv kind in the world with everyone competing for one prize. They devote their time to the teaching of safety as well as the skillful use of a shotgun, and their efforts have paid off. There has never been a fatal accident in the 180-year history of trapshooting.
In 1922, Annie Oakley attended a
Surgical Association meeting in Pinehurst, New Jersey. There she was
greeted by Dr. Edward III a surgeon
who had treated Miss Oakley after a
serious injury she received in a train
wreck 19 years prior. At that time his
prediction was that she would never be
able to shoot again. Miss Oakley enter
tained the members of the association
34
NEBRASKAland
DECEMBER 1973
35
with her 1,408th exhibition since her
accident.
Like Annie Oakley, these hearty Nebraskans set no limit on their abilities. Neither do they let age, sex nor physical handicap dampen their competitive spirit and love of their sport. And, they all have one thing in common —they are trapshooters.
Bueford Bailey of Big Springs is probably one of the best-known trapshooters from this state. He has earned numerous championships, been on the All American Team for 18 years and has won the All-Around Championship at the Grand American in 1964 and 1965.
Bueford has a son, Clint, who has followed in his footsteps, learning each phase of trapshooting to perfection. He has already won state recognition and undoubtedly will be heard of in the future on a national level.
A very active young man from Omaha doing honors to his state is Jim Beck. Jim started shooting in 1962 and has shot more than 24,000 targets. He was junior state champion in 1965, and be tween 1966 and 1969 served in the U.S. Army, but that didn't curb his shooting. He was on the Army team during this period, and was also named to the U.S. Olympic Team in 1968. He won the gold medal in Mexico City, for International Trap, which permits a clay target to come from any one of 15 houses and at greater speed and angles. He was again chosen for the U.S. Olympic Team in 1969 and won a bronze medal in Spain. Jim still holds a world record of 297 of 300 targets in international trap. He was class AA doubles champion at the Grand American Clay Championships that same year. Jim was on the Junior All American
Team in 1965, the men's All American Team in both 1966 and 1972, and on the International All American Team in 1969.
One must not overlook John Storm of Ashland, who didn't take trapshoot ing seriously until the 1960s. He farms and sometimes finds it difficult to get away, especially in the spring of the year, but that hasn't prevented him from excelling. He won a place on the Nebraska All-State Team in both 1971 and 1972 and was on the squad that holds the Nebraska record of 498x500. In 1971, John received special recognition on a national level by holding the nation's highest 16-yard average with a .9924 percentage for 2500 targets. He was on the men's All American Team in 1972 and 1973. His son, John Jr. is following in his footsteps and has already served as tough competition for other shooters.
Few Nebraskans have not heard the name Morrisey in the trapshooting world. They are a trapshooting family. B. E. Morrissey and sons Mark and Mike are from Omaha, while B. E.'s brother Pat is from Papillion, and another brother, Ron, hails from North Platte. All are known for their trapshooting ability. B. E. Morrissey carries better than a 98 average on the 16s and is a 27-yard shooter, making him one of the best in the nation. He has won zone and state championships and was on the All American Team from 1971 through 1974. This past August he placed second for the All-Around Champion at the Grand American, thus beati ng out thousands of other shooters.
Jim McCole of Gering, a conservation officer for the Nebraska Game and Parks Commission, is another trapshooter who has done his state honors. He took up the sport in 1949 and evidently found it to his liking. He has won every state championship but one for which he was eligible, and in 1958 decided to go to the Grand American in Ohio. There he won the All-Around Championship for Class AA, high over all, and tied for the Grand American handicap with a 99x100.
Ed Morehead of Falls City was chosen to be in the Nebraska Hall of Fame in 1972; being a past doubles and singles state champion.
From North Platte we find people like the Platte Wing family. Platte and his three sons, John, Don, and Terrance, all shoot and Mrs. Wing faithfully follows her husband and children to the shoots, being both moral supporter and helper.
Many people think of trapshooting strictly as a man's sport, which is far from fact. Nebraska has top-notch women shooters like Carol Estabrook, Doris Voss, both of Omaha, Ruth Justice of Wauneta and Jon Morris of Gothenburg. Carol has been on the Women's All American Team three years and has won the Nebraska women's handicap four years and the women's singles championship five years.
Ruth Justice loves to shoot and has won four state championships. She, along with Jon Morris, have encouraged many other women to take up trapshooting.
Blanche Bowers of Benkelman went for shooting in a big way. She was on the All American Team five times, won the state singles championships 9 times, was women's doubles winner for 8 years and was the lady's handicap winner in 1950, 51 and '55. Blanche has now retired, giving other women in the state a break. Blanche also has the honor of being selected for the Nebraska Hall of Fame.
Nebraska has had one citizen whose picture hangs in the National Hall of Fame. This is Cal Waggoner, who lived in the small town of DeWitt, but who did most of his shooting at the Beatrice Gun Club. Mr. Waggoner did much to promote trapshooting during his lifetime. He first started shooting trap in 1899, and was an All American in 1934, and has been a state champion also. The Beatrice Gun Club still has a yearly shoot in Mr. Waggoner's honor.
Del Grim, now of Grand Island but formerly of Lincoln, will not forget 1966. It was in that year that he won the Grand American Handicap back in Vandalia with a perfect score of 100. This is the fulfillment of every trapshooter's dream.
A new shooter by the name of Jim Newman of Fremont decided to go to a registered trap shoot one day in the spring of 1973 at the Lincoln Gun Club. He joined the Amateur Trap Shooting Association and entered the events that day. In the very first event, singles, he promptly proved trapshooting is easy by breaking a perfect score of 100. About three years ago a gentleman from Plattsmouth by the name of George McGraw did another unusual feat, broke perfect scores in both the singles and handicap, both on the same day.
On a given day, one can go to a registered shoot and find the competition tough, and all are Nebraskans. One might have to shoot against someone likeM. A. McGeeof Omaha, who does not let (Continued on page 50)
early season Squirrel Hunt
Heavy foliage, shooting eyes rusted from a long lay-off, and a wise quarry makes hunting difficult
Upon learning of my assignment to do a squirrel hunt, the thought occurred to me I didn't even have a rifle. And having not fired a rifle at anything other than some beer drinkers' contributions to the environment in more years than I care to remember, the thought of actually trying to hit some thing that just doesn't sit there reflecting sunlight was a little hard to imagine.
After the original shock wore off, memories of warm autumn days long gone by began returning. Memories of easier times, times when you didn't have a nickel in your pocket or a care in the world and relaxation meant getting the "guys" together after school or better yet on a weekend for a few hours of sitting under that big cottonwood down on the creek bank. Hours of good conversation, conversation not about inflation and gas and meat shortages, not about Watergate and Viet Nam or Cambodia or Laos but conversation about the more im portant things —things that make for good memories.
Things like plinking at an inquisitive ball of fur on a high branch.
"Bet you a nickel you can't head shoot that one."
And the lazy, almost slow-motion tumble to earth....
"You were just lucky on that one."
With a borrowed .22, Dick Petty and son Rick of Lincoln (Continued on page 44)
TRACKING THE CAT (Continued from page 9)
was on the other. Tracks crisscrossed in the snow everywhere, yet we seldom stopped for a closer examination. Ivol could tell from inside the moving pickup what the tracks were. "Coyote", or "deer", he would say, and only when he spotted a cat track would he stop, and then only to determine how old it was.
Three very anxious dogs bounded around in the back of the pickup. There was Old Red, an identically colored young offspring named "Pup", and a white and black middle-aged critter by the title of "Spot." Old Red was the seasoned veteran of the group. Spot had hunted only a day or two the previous year, and Pup had not been on a cat track before. He was the most nervous of the group, yet that day he tended to stick closer to us or the pickup than the other two.
After checking out a patch of riverbottom land which had plenty of tracks but no hot trails, Ivol suggested we head up to the top. That didn't look far away, but it was mighty steep in between. The temperature hadn't gone up any since we started, either, so it looked much bleaker up there than down in the sheltered valley. But, there was a road of sorts up around the edge, so we drove most of the way.
Amid the snow and scenery on top, an abundance of tracks awaited us. A few were from deer, there was a coyote trail, and the rest appeared to be the workings of several cats. They crisscrossed the area where we stopped, and it was difficult to tell which were the newest. The stiff breeze kept the dry snow moving, and even our tracks were soon almost covered and looked ancient. Gene took a couple of dogs with him and started out on one trail, then we found what appeared to be a newer one, so we called him back.
The dogs, poking their noses into the cat depressions until even their eyes were below the surface of the snow, were somehow able to pick up the scent. After just a few such probings, the dogs looked like they were auditioning for Santa Claus parts, for they all had white beards hanging from their muzzles.
It was so cold, it was uncomfortable standing still and nearly as bad moving around. The wind cut through the trees and gusted across open areas with a harshness that couldn't be escaped. Two of the dogs whipped off down the slope into a wide, shallow valley and disappeared. Gene and Jack took Pup and went along another trail east, and Ivol elected to check out where the other two dogs had gone. I shuffled around the area atop the hill, alternately walking along a ridge then quickly retreat ing to the pickup to thaw out. I was basically listening for any signals in case I had to retrieve one of the guys with the pickup.
About a half-hour elapsed without any activity, then Ivol returned. He had not
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found the dogs, so we figured they had cut up another canyon and gone east toward Gene. Heading that way ourselves, we soon located him and started down to join him. Then, about halfway down the hill, we found where a cat had been jostled from his bed by the activity below him. Either the guys or the dog had been close enough to goad the cat into moving, and rather quick ly, judging from the tracks.
We followed the new trail for a way, but the maze of new and old trails soon were so confused that we gave up. Besides, it was late afternoon by then, and the light was going fast. After gathering up us and the dogs, we drove down into the valley where the dogs had gone earlier, and tried to reconstruct their movements. It appeared the dogs had either jumped a cat and chased it to a tree, or had been on a hot trail. They had milled around under some trees for a while, then their trail doubled back the same way they came.
"It looks like they got a cat out of here somewhere and chased him up onto that point there, Ivol theorized. "I bet they treed him, but we were so far away we couldn't hear them. They won't hold a cat in a tree very long. If you don't come within a half hour, they just leave the cat and start look ing for another trail. A little later in the season they will stick around longer, but this is their first time out for a long time."
With the weather looking the most promising that evening than it had for several weeks, we planned to resume our hunt the following morning, expecting it to be some what warmer. But, the clearing weather brought only lower readings, for it dropped to 30 below that night. A similar drop occurred in the wind, however, and it was so calm and white and beautiful just before dawn that it gave the morning an auspicious feeling. Things just had to go right on such a day.
Upon joining Ivol and Gene, who had picked up a fourth dog, we again patrolled the twisting road along the river, but drew blanks even after checking out a couple promising leads. The new dog, Drum, was also a newcomer to the sport of cat hunting. Again, Ivol headed the rig up into the hills, for he had another plan in mind. Of course it involved us and the dogs covering a lot of terrain, but that was to be expected by that time. Somewhere off in an easterly or south erly direction was a favorite hangout for dozing bobcats. Rocky, steep sidehills in a long canyon provided dozens of ideal denning sites.
"I can't remember ever hunting up there and not jumping a cat," Ivol claimed. That was mighty encouraging, and there were certainly plenty of cats around if the number of tracks was any indication. So, maybe our luck was about to change.
Part of the strategy was to walk out a swath between us and the canyon, and if nothing was encountered between here and there, to go to the upper end of the canyon and scour it. Of course, that first maneuver could take quite a while, as covering much ground up and down those hills consumed as much time as it did energy.
In fact, it was before 10 a.m. when the hike started, and it was after 1:30 when we all joined up again. We had seen a lot of territory and tracks, many of them recent, but nothing to initiate a long trek, according to the dogs. So, Ivol indicated we should go to the deep end of the big canyon.
Stopping about 200 yards from the high wall, we turned the hounds loose and watched as Gene started toward the far side. The rest of us were still debating who was going to the other end. While we pondered, I wandered out onto a point, walking almost parallel with Gene, who was down in the bottom by then. I could see the dogs ranging along the base of the hill, and then I saw something else. A big cat, looking slightly larger than the dogs, jumped from under a ledge and started up the hill.
Momentarily surprised, it took me a second or so to realize what I had seen and to start yelling and waving to Ivol. The spotted dog was hot on the cat's trail by that time, and things really started to happen fast. I thought the cat couldn't go far without hit ting a safe tree, but they apparently move mighty fast.
At first, Ivol thought we should drive around to the far side, as he expected the cat to go on top and head across country. In that case, we would never see him again. But, the dogs were fresh enough to really put the pressure on, and the cat headed along the top of the hill to our right. It was 10 minutes after 2 p.m. when I saw the cat, and it was only a couple minutes before he climbed a tree just a few hundred yards from us.
That was a tough distance though, mostly in deep snow on a hillside that appeared too steep to hold snow. The dogs were variously engaged, all noisily, all the while we climbed toward them. The spotted dog sat uphill a ways where he could see the cat. The other two ran and jumped around the base of the tree barking and trying to climb up the trunk.
For the first time, the cold affected the cameras. As Jack and Gene climbed the tree for a closer look at the cat, I tried to get pictures from below between thick evergreen branches. Each time I took an exposure, the shutter release froze down, and I had to breathe on it to slowly retract it. Meanwhile, Jack's hands were so cold they became numb and he could hardly hang onto the tree, let alone work his focus ring. But, the cat was very accommodating, staying right where he was.
In fact, the cat didn't seem overly concerned about our or the dogs' presence. Except for its size, it could be a domestic cat, although a tame cat probably would have been more frightened. This one merely laid along the branch and stared at us.
Now comes the part where a squeamish person might blanch, but also the time when common sense must be called upon. Ivol pulled out his .22 magnum and shot the
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1973 NEBRASKA
Hunting Seasons
Species Inclusive Dates Daily Bag Limit Possession Limit Open Area
Cock Pheasant Nov. 3-Jan. 13 3 9 Statewide
Quail Nov. 3-Jan. 31 6 18 Statewide
Grouse Sept. 22-Nov. 4 3 6 Sand Hills/ Southwest
Duck and Merganser Oct. 6-Dec. 4 Statewide
Dec. 22-Jan. 6 roint oystem West
Goose Sept. 29-Dec. 9 5** 5** Statewide
Crow Sept. 28-Dec. 31 None Statewide
Wilson's Snipe Sept. 15-Nov. 18 8 16 Statewide
Rail (goraand Virginia) Sept. 1-Nov. 9 25 25 Statewide
Coot Same as Duck 15 30 Same as Duck
Shooting hours are one-half hour before sunrise to one-half hour after sunset
for antelope and deer; one-half hour before sunrise to sunset for cottontail,
squirrel, snipe, and rail, and 15 minutes before sunrise to sunset for all other
species. 'Daily bag limit is 100 points, and possession limit is two daily bags.
Point values —canvas-back and redhead, 100 points; hen mallard, wood duck, hooded merganser,
70 points; blue-winged teal, widgeon, scaup, all mergansers except hooded,
10 points; and drake mallard, pintail, gadwall, green-winged teal, all other ducks,
20 points. "East of U.S. Highway 183, the daily bag and possession
limit on geese may not include more than one Canada, throughout the season.
West of 183, the limits may include two Canadas or one Canada and one whitefront
through November 25. Beginning November 26, the daily bag may not include more than one Canada.
Throughout the state, the daily bag and possession limit may not include more than one
whitefront and one Ross' goose. Portions of the Sand Hills are closed to hunting of Canadas and whitefronts.
Cottontail Sept. 1-Feb. 28 7 21 Statewide
Squirrel Sept. 1-Jan. 31 7 21 Statewide
Wild Turkey Oct. 27-Nov. 5 Special Permit Required
Antelope (firearm) Sept. 22-Sept. 30
Antelope (archery) Aug. 18-Sept. 21 Oct. 1-Oct. 31
Deer (firearm) Nov. 10-Nov. 18
Deer (archery) Sept. 15-Nov. 9 Nov. 19-Dec. 31
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cat. Now I like cats and am not particularly fond of dogs, but after two days of hard work in severely cold weather, I would happily have shot that critter myself.
Earlier, we had discussed the predator habits of the bobcat, and although rabbits are probably their major food source, they are mighty fond of turkeys. And, they can take a big toll in those areas where their territories coincide. As Ivol had said, they like turkeys, and are very efficient at taking them. They slip into a roosting tree during the night while the birds are dozing and simply leap upon one of the most convenient. It's easier than trying to get into a chicken coop and back out with a chubby hen.
Actually, Ivol and Gene are carrying on a game management program within the area — keeping the cat population within tolerable limits. If they did build up in numbers without any checks, people would soon be come unhappy with their activities and try to wipe them all out. After all, the cats have no natural enemies except man.
Ivol doesn't try to justify his role, and doesn't believe it is necessary to. He feels he is doing the right thing, and enjoys it. The fact that you have to be tougher than leather to withstand the elements and to run up and down those hills is secondary to the other requirements for the task. Know ing what to look for and where to find it are the big factors. You just don't stumble across cats. You have to look in the right places, and look hard.
With cat hunting restricted to those times when adequate snow cover permits track ing, and then perhaps hunting one or two days per cat, precludes a heavy harvest. So, with so few people willing to put up with the rigors, things really iook pretty good for the bobcats.
EARLY SEASON SQUIRREL HUNT (Continued from page 39)
and photographer Bob Grier, along with the hope that I wouldn't make a complete fool of myself, the hunt began. We left Lincoln early Sunday morning and headed for Holmesville, southeast of Beatrice.
We all admitted our apprehensions about being able to hit anything, especially the first time out. Dick used to hunt squirrels quite a bit, but he too, in recent years had drifted away from it. Now he leaves it up to his son Rick to bring home the stew meat. Why more people don't hunt squirrels any more is difficult to say because when it's all said and done, squirrel hunting is still as enjoyable as it used to be. It is still as difficult, too; even if you are the worst shot in the world, the most difficult chore is spotting them. It didn't take us long to remember that.
Dick directed us down gravel roads past what seemed like thousands of doves to one of his favorite spots. After giving us permission to hunt, the owner pointed to a
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stand of trees in his pasture and said, "There's one in that middle tree."
There was one there too but for the life of me I couldn't see it. Dick and Rick fired several times, witness to their rustiness, before I finally spotted the target. But by that time the quarry was on its way down, not like those long lazy spins I remembered, but down just the same.
For the better part of an hour we rambled up and down Mud Creek, an aptly titled stream, without success. Anyone wonder ing why it's hard to shoot squirrels only needs to try it once. Squirrels outside the city limits of any town are a different critter than their brethren residing "in town." Foliage at this time of year is virtually impossible to walk through and even more difficult to see through. Add one measure of nature's protective instinct, even on this first week end of the season, throw in innumerable nests and hollow limbs to hide in and you can almost hear the little devils up there chuckling. These "country" squirrels don't sit over your patio and scold you for existing.
Before moving on Dick suggested we field dress our first squirrel. He had a note worthy method it turned out.
"First you wet the squirrel by dipping it in water," Dick told me. "That way you don't get as much hair on the meat.
"Then make a diagonal cut through the hide about mid-way on the back. Using their fingers two people can pull the hide toward the front and rear. Then, it is a simple matter of removing the head, tail and legs at the first joint and gutting the animal.
"When you get it home, give it a more thorough cleaning and it's ready for freezing."
We moved on to another location that was to prove more productive than the first. The bottomland was covered with cottonwood, walnut, oak, hedge and other trees, and paralleled by a corn field —perfect squirrel habitat. Only this time, because the entire area was pasture, the walking was considerably easier.
Crossing the creek and laboring up the bank, I heard Dick shout, "There goes one." As I reached the high ground, I saw the quarry heading for a big cottonwood. Luckily I managed to see the squirrel scurry all the way up to the very tip of that tree, speed ed in his headlong flight by two or three ill placed shots.
One of the rrlore difficult tasks even for a good marksman, I imagine, is trying to hit a small target at the very tip of a huge tree with the wind whipping the branch. I don't claim to be a good marksman, and it must have been luck for me —bad fortune for the squirrel —that one of the last rounds in my rifle found its mark. Whatever it was, down came the squirrel.
After the sun had been up a couple of hours, the early morning humidity and low, fast-moving clouds were burned off leaving us a blustery but nice day. Late summer and early fall have long been favorite seasons of mine. Years ago this was the season for making jelly —plums, elderberries, chokecherries, and other delicacies abound in nature's fruit stand. Now, I suspect, most jelly, like most other things, comes from the supermarket. However, Rick and Bob both picked plums and had a tasty snack as we continued our hunt.
Early fall is also the time when most of the crops are made, the days are warm, and the nights cool offering hints of the frosty mornings soon to come. It is a good time for
WORLD BOOK ENCYCLOPEDIA
Snatch
ifclll
Mr. Gilbert Eley
5800 Adams
Lincoln, Ne. 68507
Ph. 466-1232
Mrs. Viola Givens
3721 DSt.
Lincoln, Ne. 68510
Ph. 488-7751
John Eley, Reg. Mgr.
1503 W. 35th
Kearney, Ne. 68847
Ph. 237-3310
Mrs. Jan Irick
1218 5th Ave.
Nebraska City, Ne. 68410
Ph. 873-7658
Mrs. JoAnn Stoltenberg
Carroll, Ne. 68723
Ph. 585-4738
Mrs. Agnes Geilenkirchen
Rt. #1
Lindsay, Ne. 68644
St. Bernard 305
George Slone, Dist. Mgr.
2320 Kramer Place
Gering, Ne. 69341
Ph. 436-5204
Grace Cunningham
406 Grove St.
Fullerton, Ne. 536-2110
Thelma Browers, Dist. Mgr.
Box 333
Kearney, Ne. 234-2067
Margaret Perlinger, Sr. Area Mgr.
Elsie, Ne. 228-2359
Ira & Ruth Gardner
929 No. 12th
Broken Bow, Ne. 872-2853
Jacqueline Griess
Rt. 3-Box 131
Aurora, Ne. 773-7108
Daisy Campbell
1504 W. Grand Ave.
Grand Island, Ne. 384-0062
Hilda Morthole, Dist. Mgr.
Rt 3
Culbertson, Ne. 278-2567
Patricia Aden
512-18th St.
Gothenburg, Ne. 537-2091
Ethel Spratt
Rt. 1
Arnold, Ne. 848-2966
Eulalia Hansen
Rt. 1 - Box 74
Edgar, Ne. 773-5058
Patricia Prewitt, Area Mgr.
Box 98
Sargent, Ne. 527-4207
Nolah Bolli
344 Ave I
Burwell, Ne. 346-2586
Barbara Dalgarn, Area Mgr.
1201 East 38th
Scottsbluff, Ne. 635-3433
Lulu Hickman
2045-17th St.
Mitchell, Ne. 623-1521
Mrs. Eleanor Lea Frederick Fischer, Dist. Mgr.
1014 G St. 4261 Michigan Ave.
Fairbury, Ne. 68352 Grand Island, Ne. 68801
Ph. 729-3826 Ph. 384-3432
Laura Hughes Mrs. Margaret Day Mrs. Leona Pasco
Rt. 6 Box 108 Rt. #2
Burwell, Ne. 346-3277 Osceola, Ne. 747-6591 Auburn, Ne. 274-2074
Ruby Christensen Mrs. Clotilde Schmidt Mrs. Mary Ann Lenzen
Box 35 812 Tipperary Drive Wynot, Ne. 357-2389
Halsey, Ne. Papillion, Ne. 339-8015 Mrs. Anita Meyer
Curt Thompson, Area Mgr. Mrs. Dee Haldeman 622 Sunset Drive
903 Bordeaux R.R. Deshler, Ne.
Chadron, Ne. 432-5798 Gretna, Ne. 332-3794 Mrs. Hazel Smith
Brenda Prill Mrs. Virginia Martins 313V2 Lincoln
Rt. 1 1234 Sunset Dr. Wayne, Ne. 375-1690
Stuart, Ne. 924-3918 Bellevue, Ne. 291-1369 Mrs. Irene Drevo
Mrs. Shirley Korinek Mrs. Katherine Carpenter 605 Grove Ave.
RR 839 So. Madison St. Crete, Ne. 826-3554
Wilber, Ne. 821-3170 Papillion, Ne. Mr. Robert Smith
Mrs. Eunice Morse Mrs. Faye Cooper 1101 OkeSt.
1144 Ivy 1111 No. 10th Papillion, Ne. 331-7317
Crete, Ne. 826-2367 Nebraska City, Ne. 873-6388 1 Mrs. Beth Kniqht
Mrs. Alida Freese Mrs. Audrey Betz 2830 S. 47th
Plymouth, Ne. 656-3851 1718 No. 11th Lincoln, Ne. 624-8147
Mrs. Lillian Schwarz
3840 S. 46th #10
Lincoln, Ne. 488-9049
Sandra Miller
1210 So. 24th #3
Lincoln, Ne.
Mrs. Lucille Geldmeier
Box 6
Otoe, Ne. 265-2732
Mrs. Dorothy Cash
Shubert, Ne. 885-2783
Mrs. Gloria Leseberg
Wayne, Ne. 375-2663
Mrs. Elaine Anderson
Ponca, Ne. 755-2502
Mrs. Evelyn Mattson
R.R. #2
Osmond, Ne. 329-6772
Mrs. Loris Schwisow
4810 So. Haven Dr.
Lincoln, Ne. 488-7541
Beatrice, Ne. 223-5055
Mr. Robert Chamberlin
3317 36th St.
Columbus, Ne.
Mr. Richard Miller
RFD
Roca, Ne. 488-8167
Mr. Wallace Brueggemann
8120 Sandalwood Dr.
Lincoln, Ne. 466-3106
Mrs. Laura Sturm
506 E. Washington
Shenandoah, Iowa 246-2007
Mrs. Donetta Weible
Dunbar, Ne. 259-2595
Mrs. Elfreda Gawart
610 5th Ave.
Nebraska City, Ne. 873-7413
Mrs. Connie Wozny
718 Cherry
Louisville, Ne. 234-4410
Mrs. Sonja Switzer
Malvern, Iowa 624-8147
Mr. Herbert Hackman
1811 No. 63rd
Lincoln, Ne. 466-5697
Mrs. Rose Flynn
P.O. Box 30005 (205 S. 35)
Lincoln, Ne. 435-2403
Mr. Robert Lindsteadt
917 So. 2nd
Norfolk, Ne. 371-9158
Mrs. Theodora Petersan
1601 Elm
Stanton, Ne. 439-2197
Mrs. Marcella Shonka
Rt. 2
Schuyler, Ne. 352-2042
Mrs. Donna Czuba
1603 6th Street
Columbus, Ne. 564-6378
Why not give a Gift of Knowledge this Christmas
For information on World Book, write or call one of the above representatives.
No obligation of Course.
Opportunities exist for full or part time Representatives. For information, write or call:
John H. Eley, Regional Manager
1503 West 35th St.
Kearney, Ne. 68847 308-237-3310
Gilbert Eley, Division Manager
5800 Adams St
Lincoln, Ne. 68507 402-466-1232
getting out and taking in nature's works. Although we didn't do it on this outing, you can take along the fishing gear, and when you tire of hunting, stretch out on a bank and let the lazy days float by.
As we continued our slow, ambling progress through the trees, stopping for long in tervals to make sure we didn't miss any of our quarry yet knowing they were there, stretched out flat on some high branch or peering out at us from some dark nest or hollow limb, nature's sounds penetrated our senses. Blue jays squawked, flies buzzed, quail whistled, and far off a dog barked. Mix all these sounds, with the exception of the flies, together with the "snap" of a dead branch under a heavy foot, and every creature knew we were about.
"Hold it, there's one." Dick's sharp eyes had spotted another.
This time the squirrel, after surviving several errant shots, headed for the ground and up another tree. They take a most erratic path but in their mad, headlong flights, squirrels seem to know exactly where they are heading and this time it was into the security of a hole about 20 feet up in an old oak tree. But squirrels have one trait that often proves fatal — their natural curiosity.
We all sat down and waited for his curiosity to overcome his instincts to remain hidden, but after an initial, quick peek out side he decided to stay put.
When I met Dick a couple of days before the hunt, he said he often used to hunt squirrels by himself.
"You pick out a likely looking spot, sit down with a thermos of coffee, call them, and pick off the curious ones."
To call them, he explained, you cup your hand over your mouth and make a "kissing sound" into the hollow created by your index finger. Having been the victim of pranks before, I was naturally suspicious, but with a quick demonstration, he proved that his method sounds, at least to me, amazingly like a squirrel chattering. While we sat, Bob Grier tried his hand at calling and, to our amazement, the squirrel stuck his head out.
Who knows what brought him out. Bob was the only one who thought it was his calling, but the high shot I cut a branch off with sent him back into the hole. We continued to wait but after a time decided to leave Rick behind and move on along the creek. Soon we heard the two sharp reports
The Call You Dial Yourself Gets There Sooner THE LINCOLN TELEPHONE CO.Trading Post
Acceptance of advertising implies no endorsement of products or services. Classified Ads: 20 cents a word, minimum order $4.00. January 1974 closing date, November 9. Send classified ads to: Trading Post, NEBRASKA- land, 2200 N. 33rd St., Lincoln, Nebraska 68503, P.O. Box 30370. DOGS AKC hunting dogs. Irish setter, English springer spaniel. Pups and dogs. Breeding stock and stud service. Also Westie and Basenji. Kirulu Kennels, Hebron, Nebraska 68370. Phone (402) 768-6237. AT STUD. Todd's Buck, AKC Registered German shorthair. Proven sire. Excellent hunter, natural retriever, solid on point. Big, strong, hardworking dog. For more information contact Pat Thomas, P. O. Box 308, Sutherland, Nebraska 69165. DRAHTHAARS: (German Wirehaired Pointers) If you can only have one hunting dog—make it a Drahthaar. Sagamore Kennels. Office 501 Jeffery Drive, Lincoln, Nebraska 6a505. Phone (402) 466- 7986. ENGLISH pointers. Excellent gun dogs. Pups, dogs, and stud service. M. D. Mathews, M.D., St. Paul, Nebraska 68873. ENGLISH Setters: Pups, started dogs and stud service. Mississippi Zev, Wonsover, Commander and Crockett Field trial bloodlines. E. L. Bar- tholomew, Ainsworth, Nebraska 69210. HUNTING DOGS: German shorthairs, English pointers, springer spaniels, Weimaraners, English, Irish, and Gordon setters, Chesapeakes, Labradors, and golden retrievers. Registered pups, all ages, $75 each. Robert Stevenson, Orleans, Nebraska 68966. MISCELLANEOUS "A" FRAME cabin. 1184 square feet: $1950. ma- terial Purchase locally. Complete plans, instruc- tion manual and material list: $5.00. Moneyback guarantee. Specify plan #1501 VDePendable Products," Box #113, Vista, California 92083. BRASS nameplates for dog collars and LOOO's of identifications. Free catalog. Write Bill Boatman & Co., 241 Maple Street, Dept. 97C, Bainbndge, Ohio 45612. BUY a fancy Browning this Christmas. All models, most grades including engraved, gold inlaid. Phone (402) 729-2888. Bedlan's Sports, Hiway 136, Fair- bury, Nebraska 68352. CENTRAL Ontario—Choice 640 acre sportsmen's paradise still available—$20.00 plus $6.50 taxes yearly. Maps, pictures, $2.00 (refundable). Infor- mation Bureau, Norval 70, Ontario, Canada. "CHUCK Wagon Gang" records. Giant package. Five new collector's longplay stereo albums. 50 great old gospel songs sung by the original group. $9.95 postpaid. Keepsakes, 202NL, Carlsbad, Texas 76934. FISHER knives hand-made to your specifications. Send sketch and description for quote. Firearms repaired, reblued, and restocked. Mike Fisher, RR 3, Beatrice, Nebraska 68310. GOVERNMENT Lands Digest. A Monthly review of government Real Estate offerings throughout the U.S.A. . . . Free subscription information! Digest, Box 25561-PT, Seattle, Washington 98125. IDEAL 5-acre ranch. Lake Conchas, New Mexico. $3,475. No down. No interest. $29 monthly. Vaca- tion paradise. Hunt, camp, fish. Money maker. Free brochure. Ranchos: Box 2003RW, Alameda, California 94501. OLD fur coats, restyled into capes, stoles, etc. $25.00. We're also tanners and manufacture fur garments, buckskin jackets, and gloves. Free style folder—Haeker's Furriers, Alma, Nebraska 68920. PHEASANT and quail hunting November 3 through January 13. Deluxe cabins across from hunting area. Country-Lakeview, Alexandria, Nebraska. Phone (402) 749-4016. "PREPARE for driver's test." 100 questions and answers based on the newest Nebraska Driver's Manual. $1.25. E. Glebe, Box 295, Fairbury, Ne- braska 68352. SHOP at the Country Store. Where you will find gifts galore. Handmade items with that special glow. Made by ladies at Broken Bow. Open during November and December. Custer County Craft Guild, Broken Bow, Nebraska 68822. SOLID plastic decoys. Original Do-It-Yourself Decoy-Making Kit. All species available. Catalog 25 cents. "Dept. ON," Decoys Unlimited, Box 69E, Clinton, Iowa 52732. WAX worms—500 - $5.50; 1,000 - $10.00; Postpaid; Add 2V2% sales tax. No C.O.D.'s. Malicky Bros., Burwell, Nebraska 68823. TAXIDERMY BIG Bear Taxidermy, Rt. 2, Mitchell, Nebraska 69357. We specialize in all big game from Alaska to Nebraska, also birds and fish. Hair on and hair off tanning. 4Y2 miles west of Scottsbluff on High- way 26. Phone (308) 635-3013. CREATIVE Taxidermy. Modern methods and life- like workmanship on all fish and game since 1935, also tanning, rugs, and deerskin products. Joe Voges, Naturecrafts, 925 4th Corso, Nebraska City. Nebraska 68410. Phone (402) 873-5491. KARL Schwarz Master Taxidermists. Mounting of game heads - birds - fish - animals - fur rugs - robes - tanning buckskin. Since 1910. 424 South 13th Street, Dept. A., Omaha, Nebraska 68102. PROFESSIONAL taxidermy. Quality material used. Specialize in life-like appearance. House of Birds, 1323 North Tenth, Beatrice, Nebraska 68310. Phone (402) 228-3596. TAXIDERMY work—big-game heads, fish-and-bird mounting; rug making, hide tanning, 36 years experience. Visitors welcome. Floyd Houser, Sutherland, Nebraska 69165. Phone (308) 386-4780. TODAY'S BEST ADVERTISING INVESTMENT WRITE: NEBRASKAland Att: Advertising Department P.O. Box 30370 Lincoln, Nebraska 68503 CLOSING DATES: Black and White: 5th of second month preceding date of issue. COLOR: First of second month pre- ceding date of issue. DISPLAY ADVERTISING RATES Color: Full-page outer back cover-$565; full-page inner back cover—$515; full-page inner front cover — $515; full-page inside magazine —$455; 2/3 page -$325; 1/2 page-$259; 1/3 page (minimum size for color)-$136 plus $20 for each extra color. Black and White: full page-$400; 2/3 page-$270; 1/2 page-$204; 1/3 page-$136; 1/4 page-$113; 1/6 page-$75; one-column inch-$15.20. NEBRASKAland ads bring resultsOUTDOOR NEBRASKAland of the Air
SUNDAY KHAS Hastings (1230) 6:45 a.m. KMMJ Grand Island (750) 7:00 a.m. KBRL McCook (1300)8:15 a.m. KRFS Superior (1600) 9:45 a.m. KXXX Colby, Kan. (790)10:15 a.m. KLMS Lincoln (1480) 10:15 a.m. KRGI Grand Island (1430) 10:33 a.m. KOOY North Platte (1240) 10:45 a.m. KOTD Plattsmouth (100) 12 Noon KCOW Alliance (1400)12:15 p.m. KFOR Lincoln (1240) 12:45 p.m. KCNI Broken Bow (1280) 1:15 p.m. KAMI Cozad (1580) 2:45 p.m. KUVR Holdrege (1380) 4:45 p.m. KGFW Kearney (1340) 5:45 p.m. KMA Shenandoah, la. (960) 7:15 p.m. KNEB Scottsbluff (960) 9:05 p.m. FRIDAY KTCH Wayne (1590) 3:45 p.m. KVSH Valentine (940) 5:10 p.m. KHUB Fremont (1340) 5:15 p.m. WJAG Norfolk (780) 5:30 p.m. KBRB Ainsworth (1400) 6:00 p.m. SATURDAY KICS Hastings (1550) 6:15 a.m. KJSK Columbus (900) 6:30 a.m. KEYR Scottsbluff (690) 7:45 a.m. KICX McCook (1360) 8:30 a.m. KRNY Kearney (1460) 8:30 a.m. KTNC Falls City (1230) 8:45 a.m. KROA- FM Aurora (103.1) 8:45 a.m. KSID Sidney (1340) 9:15 a.m. KCSR Chadron (610) 11:45 a.m. KYNT Yankton (1450) 11:55 a.m. KGMT Fairbury (1310) 12:45 p.m. KBRX O'Neill (1350) 4:30 p.m. KNLV Ord (1060) 4:45 p.m. KKAN Phillipsburg, Kan. (1490) 5:15 p.m. KOLT Scottsbluff (1320) 5:40 p.m. KMNS Sioux City, la. (620) 6:10 p.m. KRVN Lexington (880) 9:15 p.m. KJSK-FM Columbus (101.1) 9:45 p.m. DIVISION CHIEFS Dale R. Bree, Parks Harold K. Edwards, Resource Services Glen R. Foster, Fish Production Carl E. Gettmann, Law Enforcement Jack Hanna, Budget and Fiscal Ken Johnson, Game Earl R. Kendle, Research Winston Lindsay, Operations and Construction Lloyd Steen, Personnel Bob Thomas, Fish Management Delvtn Whiteley, Federal Aid Jim Wofford, Information and Education CONSERVATION OFFICERS Ainsworth—Max Showalter, 387-1960 Albion—Robert Kelly, 395-2538 Alliance—Richard Furley, 762-2024 Alliance—Richard Seward, 762-4317 Arapahoe—Don Schaepler, 962-7818 Auburn—James Newcome, 274-3644 Bassett—Leonard Spoering, 684-3645 Bassett—Bruce Wiebe, 684-3867 Bellevue—Mick Bresley, 291-9315 Benkelman— H. Lee Bowers, 423-2893 Bridgeport—Joe Ulrich, 262-0541 Broken Bow—Gene Jeffries, 872-5953 Columbus—Lyman Wilkinson, 564-4375 Crawford—Cecil Avey, 665-2517 Creighton—Gary R. Ralston, 358-3411 Crofton—John Schuckman, 388-4421 David City—Lester H. Johnson, 367-4037 Fairbury—Larry Bauman, 729-3734 Fremont—Andy Nielsen, 721-2482 Geneva—Kenneth L. Adkisson, 759-4241 Gering—Jim McCole, 436-2686 Grand Island—Fred Salak, 384-0582 Hastings—Norbert Kampsnider, 462-8953 Hoy Springs—Marvin E. Kampbell, 638-5262 Lexington—-Loren A. Noecker, 324-3466 Lincoln—Ted Blume, 475-8226 Lincoln—Dayton Shultis, 488-8164 Lincoln—Ross Oestmann, 489-8363 Lincoln—Leroy Orvis, 488-1663 Lincoln—Gene Tlustos, 466-2959 Milford—Dale Bruha, 761-4531 Norfolk—Marion Shafer, 371-2031 Norfolk—Robert Downing, 371-2675 North Platte—Dwight Allbery, 532-2753 North Platte—Gail Woodside, 532-0279 North Platte—Richard Lopez, 532-6225 North Platte—Jack Robinson, 532-6225 Ogallala—Parker Erickson, 284-2992 Omaha—Dick Wilson, 334-1234 Omaha—Roger A. Guenther, 333-3368 O'Neill—Roger W. Hurdle, 336-3988 Ord—Gerald Woodgate, 728-5060 Oshkosh—Donald D. Hunt, 772-3697 Plattsmouth—Larry D. Elston, 296-3562 Riverdale—Bill Earnest. 893-2571 Sidney—Raymond Frandsen, 254-4438 Stapleton—John D. Henderson, 636-2430 Syracuse—M ick Gray, 269-3351 Tekamah—Richard Elston, 374-1698 Valentine—Elvin Zimmerman, 376-3674
STATEMENT OF OWNERSHIP, MANAGEMENT AND CIRCULATION
(Act of August 12, 1970: Section 3685, Title 39, United States Code).1. Title of publication: NEBRASKAland
2. Date of filing: October 10, 1973
3. Frequency oi issue: Monthly
4. Location of known office of publication: 2200 N. 33rd Street, Lincoln, Lancaster Co., Nebraska, 68503
5. Location of the headquarters or general business offices of the publishers (not printers): Nebraska Came and Parks Commission, 2200 N. 33rd Street, Lincoln, Nebraska 68503.
6. Names and addresses of publisher and editor: Publisher: Nebraska Game and Parks Commission, 2200 N. 33rd Street, Box 30370, Lincoln, Nebraska 68503. Editor: Lowell Johnson, 1945 S. 26th, Lincoln, Nebraska 68502.
7. Owner: Nebraska Game and Parks Commission, 2200 N. 33rd Street, Box 30370, Lincoln, Nebraska 68503
8. Known bondholders, mortgagees, and other security holders owning or holding one percent or more of total amount of bonds, mortgages or other securities: None
9. The purpose, function, and nonprofit status of this organization and the exempt status for federal income tax purposes have not changed during preceding 12 months
10. Extent and nature of circulation: A. Total no. copies printed: Average no. copies each issue during preceding 12 months, 66,826; single issue nearest to filing date, 66,340. B. Paid circulation: 1. Sales through dealers and carriers, street vendors and counter sales: Average no. copies each issue during preceding 12 months, 3,303; single issue nearest to filing date, 3,315. 2. Mail subscriptions: Average no. copies each issue during preceding 12 months, 57,400; single issue nearest to filing date, 57,683. C. Total paid circulation: Average no. copies each issue during preceding 12 months, 60,703; single issue nearest to filing date, 60,998. D. Free distribution by mail, carrier or other means: 1. Samples, complimentary, and other free copies: Average no. copies each issue during preceding 12 months, 1,402; single issue nearest filing date, 1,487. 2. Copies distributed to news agents, but not sold: Average no. copies each issue during preceding 12 months, 2,352; single issue nearest filing date, 2,335. E. Total distribution (Sum of C and D): Average no. copies each issue during preceding 12 months, 64,542; single issue nearest filing date, 64,735. F. Office use, left-over, unaccounted, spoiled after printing: Average no. copies each issue during preceding 12 months, 2,284; single issue nearest filing date, 1,605. G. Total (Sum of E & F —should equal net press run shown in A): Average no. copies each issue during preceding 12 months, 66,826; single issue nearest filing date, 66,340
I certify that the statements made by me above are correct and complete.
(Signed) Lowell Johnsonof Rick's rifle and we knew there would be more meat for the stew.
We spent the rest of the early afternoon lazily searching the high branches. Looking up into the trees, you grasp at fleeting patterns of sunlight speeded up this day by the brisk breeze. Occasionally, while gazing up at the darkness of the matted leaves, you are almost blinded when the wind suddenly parts the branches and the sun explodes in sudden brilliance into your face.
Doubling back to Mud Creek, Dick and Rick cleaned the remaining four squirrels and we decided to head for home. Along the way we stopped and sighted in our weapons —on a dead cottonwood tree — something we should have done before the hunt. Bob and I both sighted in the borrowed rifle confirming my suspicions, for it was shooting high and to the right. Dick and Rick were soon right on target and after cutting off several branches Dick said, "We should stay out, I've got my confidence back now."
Squirrels are abundant and make for good eating whatever way you choose to fix them. Early in the season it is a challenge to even get off a reasonably decent shot especially when hunting with a group, even one as small as ours. For years squirrel hunting was a popular method for father to teach son about the rudiments of hunting and shooting but in recent years it has given way to bigger game like deer, antelope, turkey and other more "popular" game. If for no other reason, squirrel hunting, at least to Dick, Rick and me, offers an opportunity to spend a nostalgic day in the country. We agreed to try our luck again.
TRAP SHOOTING NEBRASKA STYLE (Continued from page 37)
his 74 years interfere with his shooting. He carried a 1972 average in singles of .8909. Another competitor would be Frank Hoppe of Lincoln, an AA and 27-yard shooter, which indicates he is one of the best in the country. Frank is also the 1973 State doubles champion. Then there is Gerald Hanke, the 1973 handicap champion. Gerald is only 1 7 years old and many a junior shooter will be glad to see him enter the next class and give other shooters a chance to win.
At the 1973 Nebraska State Shoot, held in Doniphan last June, a new state record was set with one squad having a 498x500. This fine exhibition was by Melvin Motis of Exeter, Dwayne Disney, jim Beck and Joe Miller all of Omaha, and John Storm of Ashland. The previous record was 497x500 with Beck and Motis also on that squad, along with Lynn Goodsell of Council Bluffs, Iowa, Les Harnett of Omaha and Bob Bauer of Lincoln.
From a woman's viewpoint, trapshooting will probably mean one or more things. Mrs. Feather Randall of Omaha feels that money their family spends on trapshooting is well spent. Feather, her husband Robert, and one son John all shoot trap. Another son will start shooting registered targets in 1974. This sport keeps the family together on weekends, shooting, and during the week they all work together reloading shells and caring for equipment. The Randalls feel that family interest helps teach their children a good way of life. Still other women accompany their husband or brothers to a shoot so they can have a day away from home and perhaps play cards with the other women there. One will not find many wom en who would ever ask their husband or son to stop shooting.
One really doesn't have to start shooting at an early age, but one can also miss a lot of enjoyment if they don't. Ask Omahan Bernard Hayes or Lincolnite Wally Weeks. Neither of these men shot registered trap until they were in their 50s and both wish they had started earlier. Then take Rick Lacina, one of Nebraska's youngest trapshooters at 11 years of age. He started shoot ing registered targets in the summer of 1973, and will have a greater number of years to harvest the benefits of shooting. Even young ladies like Janis Bates of Lincoln find trapshooting fascinating. She is only 15 and has been shooting for about a year now. Janis followed her dad to the shoots and really got the 'bug' herself.
Trapshooting may not be the hobby for everyone, but a great number of people are finding it is right for them. When involved with the little clay targets, they find companionship, competition, and wholesome entertainment, all served up with a bang.
