Speak Up

Sir / I am a hunter and fisherman and do not understand why part of our license fees go to maintain our park system. We always thought the Game Commission should be just that and all fees used for this department. Why not let the people who use the parks pay their own way, mostly tourist, same as our outstate hunters and fishermen.

Now that the habitat stamp is in effect, I hope the proceeds are used for our game and fish only.

I would appreciate a reply.

Wallace T. McKinney Beatrice, Nebraska

Hunt and fish funds don't go to maintain or build parks. Those monies come from general tax revenues. (Editor)

Sir / In Speak Up, I would like to add to the letter headed "Death Dealer". I've seen acid from batteries dumped into the sink at an automotive service station. I've also seen discarded anti-freeze dumped into the floor drain. I believe that 95% of all filling stations are guilty of the aforementioned practices. Anti-freeze and sulphuric acid used in batteries are deadly poisons, perhaps even worse than salt. When will this practice be prohibited? It certainly isn't good for our dwindling fish population.

Sir / I am writing to you as I was also (and my brother) born in a sod house in Antelope County 31/2 miles west of Elgin, Nebraska. I was born in 1898 when there were prairie chickens most everywhere. Also, the wild geese flew back and forth spring and fall. We drove to the town which had just a few stores, as the elevator and lumber yard run by Bill Lehr. He also sold coal. Our county seat was Neligh, and the old sheriff's name was Bennett. He used to carry a .44 in his holster and a 30/ 30 beside him near his feet. There weren't many holdups then. One winter it was cold, that was in 1906, and a man named John Sole was going home one day and it was snowing and cold. He made a big hole in a haystack and crawled in to keep warm, and his 2 ponies were there to eat hay. The next morning the sheriff was looking for him and found him in the hay stack frozen to death. The temperature went down to 30 below zero. They found his ponies and rig some distance off. Probably looking for water on that dry hay. Many days we had drifts clear over the kitchen door. Had to tunnel out to do chores. My daddy tied a long rope from the house to the door of the barn so he could find the barn door. He opened the corral gate to let the cattle to the hay stacks. The pigs would burrow through the drifts to get to the creek to get water. We oldsters never will forget those days. I live now in Denver where they all want water and get very little snow, yet east 40 to 50 miles there's 10-foot drifts that must be plowed out. My wife passed away and left me a lonely man. Still able to go to the Rockies to "find that gold." I am a veteran of World War I and was wounded in France in 1918. I would like to have someone write to me. My one school teacher was a daughter of Sheriff Staple of Neligh. Her name was Nelly Staple and her sister, Flora Staple.

Sir / We went down to Kansas for the weekend and the Ranger came to check us out. People 65 years of age do not have to pay in a state park. And, if I lived in Kansas I wouldn't have to buy a fishing permit, either. Same way in Iowa. In South Dakota they buy permits every three years for their boats, same way in Kansas. We have to be 70 years of age in Nebraska before we don't have to have a fishing permit. We older people like to fish too. But who cares about us? Why can't Nebraska think of those who have worked and paid taxes until they retired. I have lived in Nebraska all of my life.

Sir / After receiving my February issue of NEBRASKAIand I came to one conclusion after seeing the increase in nonresident fishing fees go from $15 to $30 and 5-day permits go from $5 to $15. I am sure I will no longer be coming to Nebraska as in the past. I am now a retired police officer and after 23 years of service I am on a limited income, and will be unable to pay such fees plus park permits, etc. I have been coming to Nebraska from 1 to 3 times a year since 1947 to fish, boat and camp. I understand what the Commission's Habitat plan is for and I know it will take a lot of money to accomplish this goal, but I wonder how many nonresidents Nebraska will lose by this increase in fishing fees.

Sir / Please find enclosed my check for two-year subscription to NEBRASKAIand. I was born on the banks of the Platte River near Silver Creek in 1905. People like to recall the "good old days," but if the hunting had been as good then as it is there now, I probably wouldn't have left. Kidding aside, I think you have the nicest outdoor magazine I have ever read and I wouldn't be without it.

Sir / The 4th of July we drove to Ogallala to spend the day at Lake Mac. What a change! Houses and cabins cluttering the beautiful hills. I was disappointed when I first saw Johnson Lake. It looks more like a town than a lake with its wall to wall houses. So will Lake Mac in a few years. I saw where sewage from several business places was running into the lake. Soon it will be just another polluted mess. It's hard to find a clean uncluttered beach there anymore. Why is this allowed? Before long there will be no natural spots to enjoy. Recently we visited Red Rocks Park near Denver. Houses are being built there too. I think it is terrible. Its beauty is being destroyed.

Sir / I admire your magazine very much and I was very disappointed that you would print such a story as "Following the Hounds" in the February issue. I can see no justification for coon hunting-it provides no food but is cruel and senseless slaughter merely for the pleasure of killing. This was aptly demonstrated by the article, but I found it very objectionable and contrary to the standards of sportsmanship and conservation which you normally uphold.

1978 NEBRASKAIand Calendar

SKI TOURING NEBRASKA

Cross-country or "skinny" sticks make sense with areas offering terrain for beginners and pros. Snowfall is only uncertainty

SKI TOURING is an exhilarating sport that captures the spirits of winter buffs throughout the snowbelt states. Invigorating to body and soul, cross-country skiing invites one to take the time to see where the deer tracks in the snow lead, and to contemplate how life really was many years ago. The sport affords a place for everyone, and at chosen speed.

Although participation in this country is relatively recent, it is by far the oldest form of skiing in the world. Resourceful Scandinavians are credited

Indian Cave State Park

Ponca State Park

with creating the ski at least 4,000 years ago; a natural development for the long and harsh winters in their land. Their primitive skids have since evolved into modern skis which fit the needs of any cross-country enthusiast. Additional information on the history, equipment and techniques of Nordic skiing can be found in the "Ski Nebraska" article of the February, 1976 NEBRASKAIand. For those desiring more information before clicking the bindings shut for the first time, numerous books are available on the subject at most libraries.

Ski touring is breaking trail this winter with the Game and Parks Commission as a practical activity for Nebraskans during a time when outdoor recreation usually slows to a trickle. The Commission operates 92 areas regularly used during three seasons of the year, but the potential exists for extending use on them to the fourth, winter season.

Usage of state areas has always been substantial, and last summer, many areas showed a marked increase over previous years. Nebraskans are looking for places closer to home for their recreational vacations; not surprising with the "energy grinch" dipping his oily hands into everyone's pocket. The Commission desires to accommodate this need, and the canoe pilot projects are a prime example of this desire attained. Skiing is also a sport that Nebraska can accommodate Nebraskans with, and in a relatively inexpensive manner.

The price of an average snowmobile would buy at least 10 sets of Nordic gear. Cross-country skis, boots and poles can be purchased for the cost of an average pair of Alpine boots alone! Another cost-saving aspect of crosscountry skiing is its flexibility. Much of the practical Alpine ski equipment can be used for both types of skiing, and certain regular winter wear can be used as well. Many items used for backpacking can also be used for tourpacking. There are even bindings and skis that will fit to a hiking boot.

The potential for ski touring Nebraska is largely untapped, existing in the shadows of Nebraska's mountainous neighbors. But there are adventuresome spirits who have blazed tracks already. Make no bones about it—Nebraska isn't normally blessed with the continual snow cover of its northern (Continued on page 46)

Indian Cave

An Historic Eastern Wilderness

THE NEWEST state park encompasses 3,000 acres of largely virgin land, hugging the Missouri River with densely wooded bluffs for some three miles. The park is extremely rich in history. Skiers can glide through the remnants of St. Deroin, a riverfront settlement whose roots trace back to the 1850's.

Most of the present-day park roads follow the old Star Route, a road which connected many small settlements used as stopping points by trading and supply boats plying the Missouri. On the southern end, petroglyphs from prehistoric Indians still remain on the cave walls.

The one tent campsite available in the winter is very close to the original St. Deroin townsite. Settled by a halfbreed, temperamental Otoe chief named Joseph Deroin, the "Saint" was added to the town name after his death in hopes of attracting more settlers with the fancier title.

From this base camp, there are numerous beginner and intermediate tours.

A historically interesting side trip from the tent camp area is to the HalfBreed Cemetery. Many white trappers and traders took Indian wives in the early days, producing the half-breeds that eventually would be buried in the cemetery. However, the town's namesake was a half-breed, and Deroin is believed buried astride his horse in the St. Deroin Cemetery, on higher ground. His exact resting place remains a mystery.

The central section of the park is for more advanced skiers. On Rock Bluff Trail, there are three new and spacious Adirondac shelters. Ideal for the over- night skier, the shelters are enclosed on three sides as well as the roof. Es- tablishing base camp at this centrally located site can enable skiers to plan their excursions to any portion of the park and back in a long day.

The south trails, particularly the road, are good for beginning and intermediate skiers. The most difficult part is the first road after the winter gate. It is steep and curving, and with a southern exposure, the tendency for ice buildup is great. If it is icy, work safely down it and the rest of the trip to the cave is scenic and relatively simple.

All in all there are 20 miles of hiking trails, 10 miles of horse trails and 8.5 miles of vehicle roads at Indian Cave. Eagles also visit the area in the winter: a welcome sight anytime.

Ponca Day Skiers Delight

PONCA STATE PARK'S 836 acres are poised atop scenic bluffs over-looking the powerful waters of the Missouri River. Established in 1934, it is an increasingly popular summertime retreat. Its 15 to 17 miles of horse and foot trails are readily adaptable to Nordic skiing.

Ski-backpackers can camp in the day-use area north of the cabins. Like Chadron, all areas are accessible from the campsite, it being an excellent day-ski area as well.

The Lewis and Clark Trail Tour begins just north of the pool and parallels the Missouri River atop the wooded bluffs for over a mile. The scenery is beautiful; a nature photographer's delight. When the stone shelterhouse is reached, a curving down and uphill road tour to the southernmost portion of the park is a challenging intermediate skier trip. The

other option at the shelterhouse is to continue across the road on the trail. Negotiating a steep curve downhill brings one to the main road into the park. The Woodbine Trail picks up there and winds through the dense trees either back to the pool or into the middle of the park where additional trails may be taken.

For the advanced skier, the northern section of the park is the place to be. A new trail broken this summer begins off the service road at the west end of the camping area. The trail is narrow and follows the contour along steep hillsides much of the way. It opens up on a hill overlooking the Missouri and nearly all of the park grounds. It's probably the best view in the park, and it takes a skilled skier to get there.

The unplowed roads at Ponca will make excellent ski tours for intermediate and advanced skiers. The roads around the cabins and into the closed camping area are constantly rising, dropping and curving.

Bald and golden eagles are known to winter roost at Ponca. Other wildlife to look for includes deer, turkey, pheasants and quail.

Chadron A Family Retreat

THIS AREA was Nebraska's first state park, established in 1921. Its 840 acres are remarkably well suited for cross-country tours. Overnighters are restricted to the camping area behind park headquarters, but all areas of the park are within a day's tour of the site. Lodging is available in the town of

Fort Robinson State Park

Chadron, 10 miles north of the park.

Chadron Park is excellent for a dayuse ski touring area. The whole family, skiers or not, could enjoy the stay. A good sledding hill is located near the pool, and the park lagoon provides ice skating and fishing.

Road tours around the camping and cabin areas are perfect beginner tracks. Trail tours for intermediate skiers wind through the cedars, never retracing a track. Be sure to start on the southernmost trail at the trail head near the multi-use facility. Switchbacks along the way can be handled going up, but are rather hazardous going downhill.

For the advanced skier, the northwest day-use area is the challenge. Fire swept through Dead Horse Canyon in the park in July of 1973, destroying 3,100 acres. The steep hills and deep canyons, the burnt trees and the unharmed forest, all combine to make the area one of striking contrasts. Exploratory tours in this area are for ad- vanced skiers only.

A Western Adventure Fort Robinson and Soldiers Creek Management Unit

NEBRASKA'S largest state park affords unlimited skiing for persons of all abilities. Including the adjacent, federally controlled Soldiers Creek Management Unit (commonly known as the Wood Reserve), there's approximately 40,000 acres to stride into.

The Fort played an important role as a frontier outpost in the post-Civil War days, perhaps best known as the place of Crazy Horse's demise. The 10,000-acre James Ranch, obtained by the state in 1973, filled the gap between the Fort and the Wood Reserve.

The fort has long been a popular summertime retreat for vacationers. The deciduous woodlands along Soldiers Creek blend gently into grasslands that climb to the Ponderosa Pine buttes that dominate Fort Robinson's horizons. The timeless setting teases the mind back into the wild west era of a century ago.

Three well situated base camps are advised for skiers, although one of the joys of packing gear in on skis is being able to set camp wherever the heart desires. Most accessible to highway 20 is the campsite just south of the Troop Lodge. The most central location is at Carter D. Johnson Lake. Located just east of the James Ranch turnoff, this spot would be ideal for those planning on spending more than one night in the area. A third campsite just off the road before the Wood Reserve boundary serves the exploratory tourist best.

Picnic and road tours combine for a tour catering to the novice skier and wildlife buff. The gentle terrain provides a great opportunity to get into the graceful rhythm of the sport. The route goes by the winter pasture of the park's buffalo and long-horned cattle herds. Deer, antelope, coyotes, pheasants, owls, raccoons, skunks, porcupines and bobcats are among wildlife to watch for.

The tour goes by the Red Cloud Agency site, the white man's first official outpost in the area. Continuing down the hill from the agency site is a memorable, sheltered picnic area.

Access to the bluffs is across from the first "Fee Fishing Area" sign on the road to the Wood Reserve. The fence encloses a tantalizing variety of terrain for skiers of all abilities. Advanced skiers will want to follow the fire lane up into the heart of the historic bluffs. Saddle Rock Butte, Lover's Leap, Giant's Coffin—the very names reflect their spirit.

Tours are largely exploratory in the grasslands below the bluffs for novice skiers. In the cedar-clumped high bluffs, horse trails and fire roads are handy if a trail tour is sought by the advanced skier.

The effort expended to reach the top of the road from the lake will be well worth it. Depending on where the road is met, there's a 4 to 6-mile twisting, turning, downhill run in store. From there it's an easy stretch through the hills back to the lake or to the lower campground and lodging area. A good full day's grip and glide for an advanced skier is involved in this tour.

The James family established their ranch during homesteading days, and it is a scenic, rugged spread. Later members of the family started the jeep trail ride and the group cookout which are now an integral part of the park's summertime fun.

Driving to the ranch will be possible, but obtain permission at headquarters before parking. Evergreens cover the hills north of the ranch, which are ideal for exploratory touring by confident intermediate and advanced skiers. There are some horse trails and fire roads to follow, and keep a sharp eye out for wildlife.

The Wood Reserve accommodates skiers of all abilities. A road tour for novices follows the old Hat Creek to Fort Robinson military road. The intermediate could stray off the road up into the lesser hills for some short downhill practice. The advanced skier seeking a challenging and scenic exploratory tour will love Trooper Trail. The trail head is just beyond the high fence that is about one-half mile into Reserve land, and the trail winds into the bluffs above.

With the vast and secluded land in this area, it is essential that park personnel know the plans of skiers. A little time at the beginning of the trip could mean much-needed help before it is over.

Cross-country skiing is a physically demanding and mentally rewarding experience, one that the Game and Parks Commission believes everyone physically able can learn to enjoy and cherish. Whether it's a three-day expedition or a three-hour tour, it leads toward the same goal. Mind and body seem to work in blissful harmony, and gliding along, the awesome elements of nature evoke a sense of freedom and serenity, a feeling of peace with the ways of the world that is very gratifying.

Surveys for Survival

WE HAVE LEARNED that game, to be successfully conserved, must be positively produced rather than negatively protected. . . . We have learned that game is a crop, which Nature will grow and grow abundantly, provided only that we furnish the seed and a suitable environment."

With those few words of Aldo Leopold in 1925 dawned a unique new era of wildlife management . . . an era brought on by the sudden and awesome crash of the richest game populations ever recorded in history.

Just three years later, Leopold, a forester from New Mexico, was appointed chairman of the 1928 American Game Conference to lead a com- mittee of conservation greats to a solution of America's wildlife problems.

In December of 1930, a revolutionary report, which was to change the entire scope of game management, was finished. The conclusions in that report were so far-sighted that they still provide the basis for modern game management nearly 50 years later.

The new American Game Policy, established in 1930, recognized the urgent need for scientific facts concerning game species, and set seven vital goals that must be met in order to slow or reverse the downward population trend of wild creatures. One of the most important requirements demanded in the seven-point thesis was the training of men for skillful game administration, and who would make game management a profession.

Game management has become more than a mere profession for the majority of our state's wildlife biologists. It has become a way of life and an obsession for fact-finding to insure the propagation of abundant yet tolerable levels of wildlife.

Game surveys are the biological basis for nearly every game management decision imposed in modernday conservation. In Nebraska alone, more than 30 individual surveys are conducted annually; however, special surveys may be initiated if a need so dictates.

Special survey data, for instance, was collected over a 10-year period and was then discontinued due to lack of statistical variance. The survey started as a result of concern among deer hunters that Nebraska's liberal deer season was resulting in a shortage of male deer. The fear that not enough does were becoming pregnant, due to the harvest ratio, prompted the Game and Parks Commission to develop a deer productivity study. Over the survey years, every available highway- killed doe, both white-tailed and mule deer, was inspected for fetus development. Results of that survey proved that hunter concern was unfounded. The higher buck deer harvest ratio was not in the slightest way lessening the doe pregnancy rate, as survey results verified that virtually 100 percent of all adult (21/2 years and older) white-tailed and mule deer does were carrying fawns. Surprisingly, 95 percent of all yearling whitetails and 83 percent of all yearling mule deer does were also pregnant, and the survey further revealed that 62 percent of all fawn whitetails studied had fetuses. Even more encouraging was the finding that the average number of fetuses per doe whitetail was 1.83 . . . more than making up for any slight void of pregnancies.

Annual game survey projects enhance the fact-finding efforts of modern game management and provide yearly inventory and maintenance data on our huntable species.

Hunting is a tool of game management and an acceptable practice under the definition of conservation, which is the wise use of our wildlife resources. But, hunting must be regulated, seasons must be set, limits imposed, and the land managed. Surveys provide the basis for such regulation and related management practices.

That wildlife replenishes itself and makes a surplus is a fact. What that surplus will amount to would be an unknown factor without survey data. Studies that determine the number of young produced by a certain wildlife species are known as production surveys. Production surveys are conducted annually on all of Nebraska's game species, using a variety of techniques and allowing actual observance of young with parent.

A typical example of a production survey includes those conducted throughout the wild turkey range in the northern Panhandle and along the Niobrara River. Data is collected during peak feeding activity in the early morning and late evening. Hens and young are recorded, which gives a final figure on percentage of hens successful in raising a brood, average number of young per brood, and perhaps an indication whether a normal hatch has occurred. An annual average is thus established governing management decisions on the particular species surveyed. If the surplus of young turkeys produced for a given year is minimal, that decline will be reflected in the biologist's recommendations for the following season.

Equally important is the number of breeders that have survived the winter and the previous fall hunting season. Annual breeder surveys are conducted to obtain this information prior to production. The most sophisticated breeding population studies are the morning dove surveys, which are set up by the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service and carried out by state and fed- eral personnel. Twenty-mile survey routes are picked at random, which eliminates bias in choosing only high population areas. Routes are just as likely to be run through sparce sagebrush pastures as through treecrowded valleys and streamcourses where breeding populations would be expected to be high.

Such additional data as wind velocity, cloud cover and temperature are entered at the beginning and end of each route. The observer must begin at the first segment of the 20-stop route precisely 30 minutes before sunrise. The survey relies on both visual and auditory documentation. "Coo" calls and (Continued on page 46)

A COMMISSIONER LOOKS AT CONSERVATION

William G. Lindeken of Chadron was appointed to fill out a vacancy, and is now near final year of his own 5-year term

I BELIEVE THAT our state parks have a lot of potential, and the continuing upgrading of our recreational areas has been one of my concerns since going on the Game and Parks Commission about seven years ago. We have come quite a ways, but I hope we can go much further. Visitation at our two state parks in the Panhandle has jumped tremendously in the last few years, and the energy crisis will make our park areas even more important in years to come as people will just not be able to travel as far as previously.

Fort Robinson and Chadron State Park are good examples. We are trying to develop good family recreation areas with almost every kind of recreation—something for everybody.

We have been following the Wilcox plan for the development of Fort Robinson. Right now we have picnicking and camping, horseback trails, and jeep rides into butte country. People can play tennis and visit the historic museums and areas of historical interest. One of the most important additions will be the construction of a swimming pool at Fort Robinson. The pool at Chadron State Park is extremely popular with park visitors, and a pool is needed at Fort Robinson to provide something for the younger family members.

We also hope to add a visitor center at the Fort. Of course, the roads need work and we are in need of a modern campground. It all takes time, effort, and more importantly, money.

The Fort Robinson complex is over 11,000 acres, with the adjacent James Ranch holding another 10,000. The James Ranch and Peterson tract provide more of a wildlife area, with backpacking and horseback riding. They are a valuable part of the overall recreational opportunity that the public can find at Fort Robinson.

Chadron is the oldest state park in the state. This land was deeded in the early 1930's, but the park began even before that. Activities at Chadron include picnicking, camping, swimming, non-power boating, fishing and horseback riding. Again, something for just about everyone. Group camps and cabins are also available. Visitation at Chadron State Park was around a quarter of a million people last year.

I think a great number of people will use our state parks as a base camp for short trips into the nearby Black Hills in South Dakota, as well as hunting and fishing in the Pine Ridge and elsewhere. They may go to the Black Hills, for example, then come back and stay at one of our state parks. We expect to build a few more cabins at Chadron State Park, as well as provide an up-to-date campground facility. More and more people are using both Fort Robinson and Chadron state parks, and some of the costs for the improvements should come from their pockets.

We have some pretty good fishing at both Fort Robinson and Chadron, with the area offering both stream trout fishing and several small reservoirs, including Box Butte and Walgren.

Walgren gets a lot of use, and is well known as a bullhead lake. We installed a pump there two years ago, and it has been pumping fresh water into the lake in an effort to get both the water quality and level up. Walgren once had a flowing inlet, but that seems to be gone with the drought and lowered water table.

It seems like everything is interrelated. I know that around home our dams are dry, and our water table has dropped. Our habitat and land use have changed over the past 20 years, affecting the wildlife.

I try to travel through my district often, and thus have the opportunity to visit with people. Perhaps the biggest concern I hear from Panhandle residents is the drop in the pheasant population, and our spring blizzards the past few years haven't helped that. Again, things work hand in hand: our habitat has changed, and both the weather and predators can find more birds when they have no place to hide.

The new habitat bill will work out real well. We know it will not take care of all our problems, but we are trying to do something to help hunters and fishermen help themselves.

I am concerned about the deer situation, also. We've had quite a drop in our deer population in the Pine Ridge due to disease and other natural causes, and have lowered permit numbers, but I'm not sure that the cutback was enough. Ordinarily, we winter between 75 and 100 deer on our ranch, but this year I have seen three. We have to reduce harvest to provide growth for the herd, and I hope that the limited permits is a step in the right direction.

Big game is an important part of the Panhandle, with antelope, deer and turkey hunters traveling here from all over the state.

Our antelope and turkey populations appear in good shape. The antelope is probably the most difficult species to set seasons for. We find that our antelope move around,

making it difficult to prevent winter depredation in some areas.

I believe that our turkey flock is also in good shape. It is quite something to see about 100 turkeys crossing a field, picking up bugs and scratching for seeds. A funny thing is that you are likely to see turkey almost anywhere in the spring. They move around considerably. We have had them visit our patio, and even walk around the house. Turkey hunting is a great sport, especially in the spring.

I run about 200 cows, and farm about 1,400 acres, primarily wheat. Everything seems to come at once, and I can't find time to do as much fishing or hunting as I would like. I sometimes get out for an hour or two at a time. Several years ago I killed a spring gobbler while I was out fixing fence, but it seems like every season that the weather cooperates, there is always something else that has to be done.

Oliver Reservoir down (Continued on page 45)*

SPECIAL! 16-PAGE DEER HUNTING SECTION

AT THE TURN of the century, it was estimated that only 50 deer existed in Nebraska. With complete protection, the state's deer herd climbed to some 2,000 or 3,000 animals by 1940. The first limited hunting season was held in 1945 and annual seasons have been "the" hunt for many of the state's sportsmen every year since 1949. Today, hunters enjoy some of the nation's top deer hunting. Last year over 35,000 sportsmen took to the field with rifle and bow. Over 14,000 rifle hunters and 1,183 archers returned with their winter's venison. Despite declining habitat and a bout with disease, Nebraska's deer hunting outlook remains promising.

BLACK-POWDER WHITETAILS

PROBABLY NO GROUP of Nebraska deer hunters had better odds of taking trophy whitetails. It was Saturday, December 18,1976 and the opening of the state's first deer season restricted to hunters using muzzle-loading rifles of .40 caliber or larger. The hunt was on the DeSoto Refuge just across the Missouri River from Blair in some 1,700 acres of dense, river-bottom woodland interspersed with cropland. It was the first deer hunt held on the refuge since 1969, and expectations of taking a trophy were on the minds of most of the hunters who waited in the pre-dawn darkness to be checked in at the headquarters.

By 7 o'clock in the morning, hunters were dispersed over the refuge and were moving into the floodplain forest to their stands. Many knew the refuge well and headed directly to their selected spots; others were looking for signs of deer as dawn spread over the eastern sky. Wherever they chose to take their stand, the hunters' odds of seeing deer were high. The previous night, I had driven through the refuge. I finally stopped counting does when I reached 46, and in just over one hour, I had seen 17 different bucks, four or five of which would have easily qualified for state citations. It was obvious why biologists had recommended the season in order to crop the deer herd.

Now, only minutes into the season, isolated shots drifted down the river valley. For a veteran hunter accustomed to hearing volleys of two to four shots, it would have seemed like a relatively serene opener.

By 9 a.m., Don Sundell, an 18-year-old hunter from Blair, was out of the timber with his buck. His hunting savvy exceeded his relatively few years.

"I figured that the other hunters would be moving the deer around," he said, "so I took a stand at the narrowest part of a big band of timber. Any deer moving through those trees had to pass within range. Before light there were deer moving within 50 to 80 yards of me. A little before eight o'clock I saw a buck and three does walking toward me, looking back like hunters were moving them. At 80 yards I dropped the buck with a shoulder shot. He never got up. About 15 minutes later a group of hunters came from the same direction."

Sundell was probably one of few hunters who had previously taken deer with a muzzle-loader. In 1975 he had killed a small buck during the regular firearm season, and

over the years he has taken three deer, all does, with bow and arrow. Both forms of hunting require close shots—a skill few center-fire hunters develop.

By noon, five or six bucks were checked in at the headquarters and about as many does. All hunters reported seeing good numbers of deer. For many, the real test was in convincing their temperamental weapons to fire when they pulled the trigger. Misfires seemed to be a common malady of the muzzle-loaders. For other hunters, the test was in passing up small bucks or does in favor of one of the big bucks that everyone knew were on the refuge. Dennis Carton of Fairbury was one hunter who did.

"I sat on the edge of the timber where I had a good view of an open area for the first couple of hours/' he told me. "I probably saw a dozen does and one buck. I took a shot at the buck but missed. By then I figured the deer had moved back into heavy timber, so I picked a place that offered clear shots in several directions and got comfortable. A doe and yearling fawn came within 15 yards of me, walked out another 10 yards and actually bedded down, looking back along their trail occasionally. I was hoping a buck would foliow, but I knew they could just be watching out for a hunter who might have moved them."

"Six does then came by on the other side of me, and the doe and yearling got up and followed. It seemed like the deer were moving on both sides of me. I thought I might be too far from either trail for a clear shot, so

I moved half the distance to the one that had the heaviest use. Only minutes later I caught a glimpse of horns moving toward me through the heavy timber. By the time I cocked the ears back on my Hawken .50 caliber, he stepped out from behind a tree. I shot. It was about 50 yards, and he veered off his route and ran out of sight, not showing any sign of being hit. I reloaded and started to trail him. In less than 30 yards I found him with my slug in the shoulder/'

The toughest part of Garton's hunt was dragging the heavy-bodied whitetail the 250 yards through tangled timber, and another 350 yards across a disked field.

The sun had hardly burned its way through the river bottom mist Sunday morning before a fast-moving front engulfed the refuge. Saturday had been unseasonable, with temperatures in the 50's and a clear, windless sky. Thirty-five of the 88 hunters who had showed up on opening day had already filled their permits. Forty-five muzzle-loaders checked in to hunt on Sunday. By the end of that wind-whipped day, only 14 hunters had taken deer. The weather remainded cold and overcast on Monday and Tuesday, but 22 hunters returned. Only two whitetails were checked in each day. On the final day of the season, 19 hunters killed three deer.

In all, 91 licensed hunters took 56 deer for a 62 percent success. Many hunters had passed up does and small bucks or the percentage would undoubtedly have been higher. Of the 33 bucks checked in, 22 were 2 1/2 years or older, and several tipped the scales over 200 pounds field-dressed. Contrary to what might have been expected, the crippling loss with the short-ranged, lowpowered muzzle-loaders was significantly less than during a previous high-powered rifle season.

A second special muzzle-loader season is slated for this December to further bring the deer herd in balance with the area's habitat. Because of the small area and the controlled hunting conditions, it was an unusual opportunity for state and federal biologists to study the use of hunting as a wildlife management tool. In addition to providing a chance for hunters to turn back the clock and stalk the woods as their predecessors had some 200 years ago, the special season proved an efficient and desirable means of maintaining a wild game population at a level in balance with its environment, and below a level where crowding weakens and renders it vulnerable to disease die-offs.

A RETURN TO DESOTO BEND

After 13 years I return to federal area in quest of deer—via percussion

IT WAS EERIE. During many years of hunting, I have never ceased to marvel at the wonders of dawn crawling over an unspoiled country. To me it has always been a most special time of the day, as the diurnal creatures awaken and those that are active during the dark hours move back into cover, retreating from the light and the dangers that it can bring.

It was December 18,1976. Unlike the cold, snowy and dreary days customary for that time of the year, the morning had temperatures in the 20's and the forecast was for a cloudless, windless day in the mid 60's. Only a trace of snow remained in sheltered areas.

As the first light began filtering through the dense canopy overhead, vaguely familiar landmarks materialized. It was as if I had been here at an earlier time. Indeed I had; 13 years earlier, when I had hunted the identical spot with my brother, father-in-law and a neighbor; a hunt I described in an article called "Gentlemen's Agreement" for the October, 1964 issue of NEBRASKAIand.

But this hunt was to be entirely different. Instead of the trim, scope-sighted rifle which usually accompanies me on big-game hunts, I had an iron-sighted muzzle-loader, a Hawken in .50 caliber. The rifle was the end product of a replica kit I had assembled during many evenings over the previous months. Loaded with a 370-grain conical lead slug propelled by Pyrodex powder, the traveling time up to about 100 yards was similar to that of a .22 long rifle cartridge. Hardly a long-range weapon.

The hunt was a special five-day deer season being held on the 3,200-acre DeSoto National Wildlife Refuge, located about 25 miles north of Omaha. A total of 100 either-sex permits had been issued, the object being to crop back the deer herd. This was to be a quality hunt, with all hunters restricted to muzzle-loaders. The last hunt on the DeSoto Bend area was in 1969, so chances of taking a big, trophy buck were good. My companions and I were in accord that none of us were in a hurry to fill our coveted permits with anything other than a trophy.

With me were my son Bill, 19, a student at the University of Nebraska at Omaha, and his frequent hunting companion, Jack Santee, 18, also of Omaha, jack works in Omaha as a warehouseman. I'm 43 and live in Omaha where I work as a mortgage lending officer. I was born and grew up in Missouri Valley, Iowa, located just five miles east of where we would be hunting at DeSoto Bend. I have been an enthusiastic hunter since I was a boy, and have taken deer, elk, antelope, bear and small game in several western states and British Columbia. I consider myself fortunate to have four listings—three pronghorns and a whitetail—in Nebraska's record book.

We had left Omaha that morning in two vehicles; a bit of good fortune as things turned out. Halfway to the Bend my station wagon suffered a ruptured radiator hose. We abandoned that ship and proceeded in Jack's pickup. I hoped that the car trouble was not an omen.

Our delay was only short, and we joined the other hunters for a well-prepared and thorough orientation and permit check by refuge personnel. Then, from one of the designated parking areas we set out on foot, guided by flashlights for an area I recalled from my hunt there over a dozen years before.

Members of our party had agreed to still-hunt until mid morning, figuring other hunters would keep the deer moving. The sweeping beams of our flashlights revealed numerous deer tracks etched in the remaining skifs of snow. We tried to select our stations about 200 yards apart overlooking likely crossing areas.

My fascination with the eerie, pre-dawn woods was cut short by the unmistakable sounds of deer moving through underbrush. Only minutes before I had waited impatiently as the second hand on my watch crawled around the dial until at long last, the legal shooting time of 7:17 a.m. had arrived. I slowly pivoted around to face the noise and waited. A sleek coyote trotted to the edge of the clearing before me. Coyotes turned out to be overly abundant on the refuge, but deer were the only legal game. The coyote must have sensed something amiss, as he changed direction and trotted off into the rather dense undergrowth.

The first distant reports of the black-powder weaponry did not shatter the calm until about 10 minutes after the season's opening. Even (Continued on page 45)

BACK-COUNTRY BUCK

First-time hunt in Nebraska and first time in Sandhills, a conservationist finds success, wild beauty

THERE WAS A TIME when only a brazen fool would attempt to stroll around in Nebraska's Sandhills without a line tied to something familiar that could be followed back out. Fortunately, that time has passed, and it is now relatively safe for most folks to wander the hills. Even if lost now, a day or two of walking should turn up a highway or ranch house.

Much the same aura still hangs over the hills now, though. Depending upon the season and the weather, the hills can be mysterious, lonely, desolate, gruelling or exhilarating. One's attitude will usually depend upon the nature of the visit and the nature of the person.

During the 1976 firearm deer season, as in several previous seasons, I was wandering around the Nebraska Sandhills. I was hunting with Neal Jennings, a Nebraska State Forester with the University of Nebraska. One doesn't hurry when deer hunting, and a leisurely pace makes it much more pleasant to traverse the hills. You don't have to feel guilty about stopping often to rest; you justify the stops as being on the lookout for deer, but it is also to admire the rolling hills ahead. When deer are spotted, they are usually, a half-mile off or so, but occasionally some are jumped just yards away. Those are special events, as being close to deer and watching their reactions and movements is exciting and fun.

Having hunted several areas of the Sandhills over the years, my opinions about the hills have changed. While people's "first impressions" are important, they are almost certain to be wrong about the hills. They are not barren, or desolate, or devoid of life. Actually, the wildlife is varied and much more numerous than one would suspect.

Grouse are associated with the hills, but there are pockets of good pheasant hunting, as well. Even deer are becoming mixed, as whitetails are found in greater numbers in nearly all areas, supplanting the mulie to some extent even in territory that would seem hostile to them. Hunters have grown to associate trees with whitetails, and it seems incongruous to find them running even in totally treeless expanses of sand dunes.

There are meadows and woods in some areas, too. Wherever water appears at the surface, vegetation is sure to be there, and wildlife will also find it.

And, if there are deer hanging around the cover, hunters will find it, too. There are few kinds of hunting more gruelling than walking deer out of tall marsh growth, though. It may be a mixture of reeds and weeds, but if the ground and water are not frozen, it is tough going. The deer won't come out unless stepped on, and a hunter can't step on them without walking it.

Before Neal and I got desperate enough to stomp through the tall, dense brush around the lake, we elected to have a go at the hills first. We had made three or four undulating strolls, at no time being in any danger of becoming lost, when we ran into a couple of people in the valley who were also between hunts. They, however, had been pushing out the dense lake cover, and were barely able to carry on a conversation in their somewhat breathless condition. After we had drawn close to them, we discovered that one of the hardy hunters was Connie Bowen, well known to us because of her position as executive director of the Nebraska chapter of the National Wildlife Federation. (Continued on page 48)

LOOK TO THE HILLS

EVERY BIG GAME hunter has dreamed of that big buck. A trophy that is larger than any he has seen before. And in those dreams he always knows just what to do—the right moment to move and the exact location for the perfect shot. It's happened so many times in your dreams, there's no way it could happen differently. Well, if you believe that, you really are a dreamer!

In 1975, my brother Wayne and I decided to change our usual tactics and take a full week to trophy hunt. When we were students at the University, we had never been able to spare more than a couple of days, and then it was over a weekend. In the back of our minds we knew that a full week in the Sandhills would not only give us more time to enjoy the hunt and the country, but just might give us a chance for the trophy bucks that had eluded us in years past. But, neither of us realized just how memorable a deer season it would be.

The first Saturday of the season was calm and overcast. We were on familiar terrain, hunting the same canyon country east of Valentine that we have hunted for the past several years. As dawn spread over the eastern sky, only the barking of a pack of coyotes broke the silence.

By the time we reached our stands, it was light enough to see across the canyon. Nothing was moving. The chatter of magpies picked up where the coyotes left off. In past years we had seen several does or even a buck moving along the canyon floor by that time. But today there was nothing—not even a squirrel in the trees or a brief glimpse of a deer moving stealthily through the oak and cedar trees.

The temptation to get down and move around increased each minute, but we stuck it out on the stands until almost 9 a.m. It was not a typical opening morning for us. Neither of us had seen a deer. We were discouraged but knew we had plenty of time to hunt this year. Back at camp we laid new strategy for the remainder of the day.

During a candy bar and drink of water, we decided to still hunt the north rim of the canyon. If the deer wouldn't come to us, we would go to them. Our previous hunts had taught us that deer are usually where you least expect them. The books tell you to look for whitetails in the brush and wooded areas no more than a mile from where they were born. But we've found them

in an area where the tallest thing within five miles was a soapweed. Just because they weren't where we expected them to be didn't mean they weren't nearby.

Wayne worked his way quietly along the edge of the canyon while I walked the hills parallel to him. About a mile down the canyon, Wayne had just come to a flat area about 20 yards from the edge of the rim when 100 yards ahead a huge muley buck and doe walked out into the open. Wayne froze. The deer loped to the top of a small knoll and then the buck, with his rack silouhetted against the gray sky, looked back, just as we had both imagined in our dreams. He seemed completely unaware that we were near, and instead seemed interested in the doe that accompanied him. As slowly as his adrenalin-charged body allowed, Wayne eased his rifle to his shoulder and squeezed off one round from his .308. The buck crumbled. That muley was the largest buck Wayne had ever taken and would be a trophy in anyone's book.

Wayne's permit was filled, but he insisted on going out with me the next three days, retiring his rifle to a comfortable corner in camp. We kept seeing deer, including some nice bucks, but I had set my mind on a trophy and was determined to wait. Someone had told me once that the only place to take a real trophy mule deer buck was in Wyoming. Well, I knew Nebraska had more than a few left. I knew they were here. It was just a matter of finding them.

On Tuesday afternoon, Joe Kreycik, an old hunting partner and friend, mentioned that he had seen several large bucks farther out in the hills, away from the river. Usually we hunt the timbered cuts that finger off the Niobrara. The open sandhills seemed like too much to take on walking, but we decided to give it a try.

By the time we reached the area it was late afternoon. I started working to the east, perhaps subconsciously to place the sun at my advantage. The wind was blowing hard. It was cold and looked as if a snowstorm were on the way. It just wasn't the kind of day I had pictured in my dreams to kill a trophy deer. I knew no self-respecting buck would be out of cover on such a day; it just wasn't supposed to be that way. But, just as I crested a hill, there he was.

The buck and five does stood on an isolated knoll about 500 yards ahead of us. He was easy to spot in the group, appearing twice as large as the does. His rack was high, well beyond his ear tips, and the black brow patch was prominent. The scene was almost eerie.

It was odd that he had chosen to stand on a knob so isolated, with no visible cover in any direction. It seemed as if he had no route of escape unless the earth could somehow swallow him up. But the day was getting short and I had to get closer in the 20 minutes of daylight that remained.

The buck seemed to sense that Wayne and I were there. He stood like a sentry, watching for danger as his does browsed. As if by command, the does began walking slowly but purposefully around the hill. With his head erect, the buck followed, pausing several times to look over his shoulder in our direction.

After he passed behind the hill I ran as fast as I could, keeping the ridge between us. I knew that when I eased over the top he would be standing just on the other side. At his slow pace he could not be farther than 200 yards away; an easy shot, even for a hunter breathing hard. But he wasn't there. I could see for almost a mile in any direction, but he just wasn't there. Indeed, it was as if the earth had swallowed them up.

It was nearly the end of shooting time. As difficult as it was to leave, we decided our best chance was to backtrack and return in the morning. Somehow, I had a feeling I would see that buck again.

Morning dawned cloudy and windy after a nearly sleepless night. This morning would be different than the ones before it—today I was not hunting for just any deer, but "the" buck. Now, each time I circled a hill it was with great expectation rather than merely cautious observation. It was as if this were the first day of the season and all those other days had never existed. Somehow I drew on new strength and a reserve of hope.

Joe suggested that we start the hunt about two miles east of the knob where we had seen the buck the night before. He said that in his experience, a muley would cut country for about two miles after being disturbed. There was still a hard wind when we started. We only saw the sun for short periods when it burned through the overcast skies. The same (Continued on page 47)

A DEER EXPERIMENT ENDS

NEBRASKANS ARE fortunate in having two species of native deer to hunt—the white-tailed and the mule deer. Currently, on a general area basis, whitetails are the predominant species roughly east of the Cherry- Keya Paha county line on the north, to the Furnas-Harlan line on the south. However, even in far northwest Sioux County, whitetails are the major species on parts of some stream courses.

Deer were nearly eliminated in Nebraska by the turn of the 20th Century, and hunting them was prohibited from 1907 through 1944. Following a population buildup, seasons were then held on an annual basis since 1949, and the open area was gradually extended from west to east until the entire state was open by 1961.

Proportionate species harvest can best be judged by considering only bucks, since regulations for the taking of antlerless deer have varied considerably over the years. In 1961, the buck harvest consisted of 27 percent whitetails. By 1971, whitetail harvest ex- ceeded that of mule deer, and by 1976 whitetails comprised 55 percent of the total deer kill. Actually, over 12,000 square miles of Nebraska (16 percent of the state area) shifted from predominantly mule deer to predominantly whitetails between 1961 and 1968. On a county-wide basis, there has been very little shift in the predominate species since that time. During the quite remarkable shift in populations, hunters and game managers became concerned about the ultimate fate of the state's mule deer.

The primary reasons for the changes in species composition are differential productivity and vulnerability to hunting. The majority of whitetails breed as fawns, whereas mule deer seldom do. Yearling whitetails are also considerably more productive than mule deer of the same age, while in older deer there is only a minor difference between species in the number of fawns produced. For all age groups combined, however, whitetail does produce an average of about 40 percent more young than an equal number of mule deer.

Nearly everyone who has hunted both species can attest to the differences in behavior and habitat which make mule deer easier to bag. When moved by hunters, whitetails usually provide only a fleeting glimpse, whereas mule deer often stop for a second look at their back trail. In studies conducted in the Sandhills, the number of mule deer bagged the first year after being tagged was three times greater than for whitetails. This seems to indicate that they are less wary. Probably the difference in vulnerability to hunting is not as great in areas with better cover, but there is still a difference.

In 1971, in an attempt to increase harvest of whitetails and slow the decline of mule deer, an experimental species hunt was initiated in the Keya Paha Unit. This continued through 1976. During the first three years, from 30 to 50 percent of deer hunters in that unit could take any whitetail, or a mule deer buck, while the rest of the hunters were restricted to antlered deer only. From 1974 through 1976, all hunters could take any whitetail, or mule deer bucks. With the killing of mule deer does thus prohibited by regulation, an increase in mule deer should have occurred, and whitetails should have decreased or stabilized in number. And, if the species regulations were effective, the proportion of mule bucks in the harvest of antlered deer should have increased. This just did not happen.

In 1970, prior to the first species regulation, mule deer comprised 37 percent of the buck harvest. They decreased to 29 percent in 1972; and during the past four years they have been nearly stable at 32 or 33 percent. Obviously, herd composition has not changed in the direction intended, and the selective season was not successful.

It could be argued that without the restriction, mule deer may have been reduced even further. But, data from adjoining units indicates otherwise. In the Calamus Unit, for example (or combined Calamus East-Calamus West from 1974-76), mule deer comprised 35 percent of the buck harvest in 1970, and 37 percent in 1976. Comparable figures in the Sandhills Unit were 62 and 63 percent for 1970 and 1976 respectively. It appears that we are approaching a near balance in species composition, and in these areas, at least, changes in the near future should be relatively minor.

There can be little doubt that the species-regulation hunting in the Keya Paha Unit was not effective. Why not? One explanation is an illegal kill of mule does—resulting because a sufficient number of hunters did not take the necessary time to identify, or were unable to identify, the species they shot at. For those who brought illegal mule does to check stations, this was obvious. During the first season in 1971, based on hunter reporting of dead deer that they found abandoned or lost, the number of mule does killed was as great as would have occurred without the species regulation. In several later years, the number of deer reported dropped off dramatically—so much that credibility was lost and reports served no value. It is doubtful that crippling loss could have declined so drastically—only the reports declined.

Because of the inablity to show nay benefit form species hunt, this feature was elimated from the Keya Paha Unit for 1977. There is no reason to expect that it willl be used elsewhere in Nebraska.

It now appearsthat the mule deer is not destined to be eliminated from vast sections of Nebraska. Quite probably whitetails will increase in some areas, particularly in the Pine Ridge, but mule deer will certainly remain an important species for both observer and hunter in the western half of Nebraska.

A JERKY FOR ALL SEASONS

AMONG ALL THE OTHER clutter, a glass jar stands on my desk in the offices of NEBRASKAIand Magazine. Sometimes the jar is full to the brim of little strips of dark, almost black material. But, not for long. Let me be absent for a while-like maybe fifteen minutes—and on my return the material in the jar has diminished appreciably. The terrible untrackable Jerky Raider has struck again!

Now, jerky is nothing more than raw, red, lean meat with its moisture content removed by one method or another. The fact that the meat is still raw is disguised by its appearance, which resembles a strip cut from an old, workstained boot which has been watersoaked and dried out repeatedly. Masticating a piece of it only reinforces this resemblance. It takes good teeth to chew jerky. Yet, the taste of jerky has created countless addicts, and the Jerky Raider is one of the worst. In order to rescue him from a life of crime in the satisfying of his craving, and at the same time alleviate my reactive symptoms when I reach for the jar and find it empty, I'm willing to pass along my methods of creating this delectable tidbit

Deer, elk, bison, antelope or the domestic cow all contribute the basic flesh from which jerky can be created, and it matters little what part of the animal is used, as long as it is raw and red. If you butcher one of the animals with the sole purpose of making jerky from it, the bundles of muscles should be pulled apart one by one, using the knife only to help separate the more stubborn tissues. These bundles are then skinned of any tough tissues, and all fat should be removed.

Most likely, wild meat may not be available, and of course it's best to experiment with smaller quantities anyway. I make small batches of jerky from domestic beef obtained frorh the supermarket. My favorite cut is the brisket, since it is long grained and makes up into an excellent "chewable". But supermarket butchers have the habit of displaying only the lean side of this cut, and the blind side is always a thick layer of fat—sometimes as much as a third of the weight of the total package. All that fat must be trimmed off and discarded. While a speck of fat here and there contributes to the flavor of jerky, the oils soon become rancid unless the jerky is constantly refrigerated. So, if you also decide

to use a brisket, have the butcher give it a close trim before you carry it home. Though more expensive than brisket, a large, lean rump roast or thick round can be substituted.

Throw the dissected game animal or beef chunk into the freezer compartment until it begins to "firm up". With a very sharp knife, slice the meat into strips a quarter of an inch thick, always cutting with the grain of the meat, and not across it as you would if you were converting it into a steak or a roast This cutting up is the most tedious part of the entire process of converting plain meat into jerky.

Seasoning the jerky has been an ongoing argument as varied as the jerky makers themselves. Some say salt it Others say salt is an abomination. In the old days, using no salt made sense since salt attracts atmospheric moisture and mold could form. Personally, I prefer to flavor my jerky nowadays with a thick dusting of Lawry's Seasoned Salt on both sides of the strips, then fortifying them with a light dusting of Lawry's Seasoned Pepper on one side only. Instead of these prepared mixes, you can make up one of your own from scratch. Here is one that I have used:

Mix the ingredients well and let sit for several days to blend. Use a kitchen shaker to apply it to the meat

Two other seasoning treatments work well, too. Dissolve three heaping tablespoons of Morton's Tender Quick in a quart of water. Soak the meat strips in this mixture for an hour. Drain, pat the excess moisture off them, and dust them with a normal amount of black pepper. Using Tender Quick, the meat will retain a reddish color when dried, rather than the darker color of more conventional seasoning processes. The second alternative is:

Dissolve 4 tablespoons of Morton's Sugar Cure, Smoke Flavor, in a quart of water, and use as above. Follow the dusting of pepper with garlic or onion powder.

You can create other seasonings of your own, tailoring them to what appeals to your taster, or chewer.

The meat is now ready for the "jerking" or drying process. As they did in the old days, you could merely hang the strips outdoors on warm, dry, windy days. If you have access to a vegetable or fruit dehydrator with a forced draft, it can be used to dry out the meat. Most likely, though, as I do, you will use the oven of your kitchen range, at least for the first few batches. Coat the oven racks with a little cooking oil, then lay the strips on them, pushing the meat well together but not overlapping. When the racks are loaded is the best time to apply the dry seasonings.

Lay aluminum foil in the bottom of the oven to catch the drips that form as the meat warms. Set the oven temperature at 120 to 130 degrees, no more. As ovens are ventilated anyway, the door need not be left slightly ajar, although this is sometimes recommended to help draw off the moist air. In my oven, it takes about 18 hours to dry the meat. Midway, turn the slices.

At this point, it is not at all out of order to sample one. In fact, if the Jerky Raider could get at it about then, without doubt the end quantity would be considerably reduced. As it is, you might think the cat got into your oven, as you'll be shocked at the amount of shrinkage that takes place. However, meat has a high percentage of moisture, and when that moisture is removed, you will end up with one pound of jerky from each five pounds of fresh meat

When the jerky is almost finished, the strips will be dark, nearly black. If a strip, when broken, displays very little interior moisture, the drying is complete. Cut the chunks into small or desired size pieces with kitchen shears, and pack into jars or plastic bags.

As a snack with your favorite beverage, jerky is unexcelled. Half a dozen strips carried in your shirt pocket while hunting, fishing or hiking, is a nutritious lunch. Broken into small pieces, it will garnish a salad or add zing to dry soup mixes.

Few people need to acquire a taste for jerky, as they're hooked after the first well-chewed bite. I'm thinking of calling a dental inspection in the NEBRASKAIand offices-the Jerky Raider will have the soundest set of teeth in the place.

DETOUR FOR DUCKS

geese had been taken by many times that number of hunters in the past few days. With odds like that, it wasn't hard to pass up Plattsmouth when the opportunity for a little river duck hunting came along.

It was Marty, a federal aid coordinator in the Game and Parks Commission's Planning and Programming Division, who gave us the chance at the ducks. He had worked out an exchange between his usual duck hunting spot, which had considerable timber, with some other hunters nearby who wanted to give up their waterfowling long enough to bag a couple of deer.

Besides Marty and myself, there was Bill McClurg another NEBRASKAland staffer, and Walt Zentz, a fugitive from the auto parts counter at the Lincoln Sears store.

We had put a couple of hours worth of road between ourselves and the Capital City when Marty directed us off the road, through a corral and over a rough field road to near the river's edge. We had to negotiate a shaky plank across a warm-water slough, no small feat when laden with scatterguns, ammunition, waders, coffee jugs and the mountains of junk food so necessary to waterfowling. After the rickety little bridge, there were about 50 yards of cattails before we came to the blind on a small channel of the river.

We had left Lincoln at some ridiculous hour like 4 a.m., and the world was still black as an iron kettle when we stepped from Walt's four-wheel-drive rig. The air was absolutely still, and so cold that it seemed to ring with every sound we made. We couldn't help being concerned that the crunch of frosty weeds underfoot and the rattle of gear would be heard at the farmhouse a half-mile away, where more rational folk still slept.

We fumbled in the darkness, stowing gear in the blind or dragging decoys out of the canvas-covered jon boat and rigging them with anchors and strings. With all those chores finished and 20 minutes yet until shooting time, Marty suggested that the rest of us get "buttoned up" in the blind while he put out some decoys. That way, we'd be sure to be ready for the earliest duck flights, and yet able to put out more dekes or modify the spread later when we could see what we were doing.

When he joined us in the blind a few minutes later, Marty was a bit concerned. "I knew it got cold here overnight, but I didn't count on this. The river's frozen hard as a highway. Sometimes there's an inch or so of ice, and I can break right through, but not this time. All I could do was set a few decoys on a sandbar about 20 yards in front of us, and put a few on the ice. Let's try this awhile, then see what we can do when we get some daylight to work with."

Dawn came, and with it, ducks. But they flew high and fast upriver, obviously not interested in decoys, at least not those that offered only ice and sand rather than open water and food. While the ducks were flying, all we could do was watch them go by, hoping some would come to our setup yet knowing that none would.

When the dawn flight was over, we stood up to figure our next move. As we stood there, head and shoulders out of the blind and talking, a lone wigeon drake suddenly materialized out of nowhere and plopped among the decoys on the sandbar immediately in front of us.

We hunkered back down and watched him through gaps in the blinds's walls. He had apparently figured something was amiss when he discovered the ducks he was visiting were only plastic. He began his retreat promptly, but in a rather unorthodox manner for a duck. He took off on foot, waddling down the sandbar. And, his strategy just about paid off.

Walt stood up to flush him,, with Bill backing him up. But the bird just kept walking. When he finally took wing, he was at the edge of scattergun range, and Walt had to make a good shot to bring him down.

We now faced the problem of the ice. Those early flights confirmed what we knew from the beginning: ducks want open water or they won't come to decoys.

Bill went out onto the frozen channel and jumped up and down. Nothing. Marty, a bit heftier than Bill, also tried. Still nothing. I had to sit things out in the blind, since my waders had taken a dreadful beating on the last fishing trip of the season. But, Walt, standing at well over six feet and packing 200 plus pounds, added the necessary persuasion to the ice-breaking effort.

Soon, he and Bill manufactured a crack that oozed a little water onto the ice. Then, suddenly Walt dropped right through and was standing in icy water up to his knees. By working the edges of Walt's breakthrough, the three of them were able to open enough water for 8 or 10 decoys. Meanwhile, I shouted encouragement and pointed and otherwise kept busy.

By then, it was after 9 a.m. and not many

ducks were flying. We watched the empty sky intently for quite some time, then one by one were distracted by other tasks. Only Marty kept anything near a dedicated lookout.

Walt began plucking the lone duck we had garnered so far, while I watched and sampled the steaming contents of a coffee jug. Bill fiddled with the camera he had brought along in case a good picture opportunity arose.

"Get down! Ducks", ordered a hoarse, urgent whisper. Bill and I scrambled for our scatterguns amid a shower of coffee and film rolls, kicking up a cloud of duck feathers on the way. Marty hunkered lower, grabbed his call, and squinted skyward for the birds. And Walt, well, he just fidgeted and giggled. He had just pulled another one of his patented false alarms; a prank he feels obligated to perform at least once on every duck hunt. This one had worked out very well for him, produc ing some rather colorful remarks from a couple of hunters covered with coffee and duck feathers.

The next time the warning was sounded, however, it was the real thing. About 30 mallards were winging in from upstream, and there was no way that they could miss seeing our setup. When Marty spoke to them with the call, they veered our way and gave a couple of wide swings. A half-dozen tailenders looked like they wanted to break off and come on down, but the lure of their aerial companions winging on downstream finally prevailed.

"Can't really blame them for not coming in," I mumbled. "That many ducks would have to stand on each others' backs to fit into that little puddle of water we have."

'That's for sure," Marty agreed. "And everything we've seen, the dawn flights and now this flock, have been in big bunches. There aren't any small groups, probably because we're in the middle of a big migration. These are all northern mallards."

Whatever the reason for the big bunches, it was obvious that we were not going to do much business without more water. Marty and I were the first ones out of the blind, headed for the warm-water slough we had crossed on our way in. Perhaps we could make use of the open water there, we plotted.

That's when the big bunch of mallards caught Marty and me by surprise. As they circled, they dipped low over our small patch of river water a couple of times, looking really interested. But, they passed right over the slough, which offered much more open area, and didn't even give it a look. Although we didn't get a bird out of that bunch, we learned something. The slough was out. It would have to be the river or nothing.

Bill, Walt and Marty splashed back into the river to work on the ice, while I again tended the store and kept an eye peeled for ducks. The ice had softened somewhat as the day warmed, and it was weakened

considerably along a narrow band near the sandbar where the current flowed more swiftly.

By breaking off hunks of one or two square feet from the edges and pushing them under the ice for the current to take away, the three workers had soon enlarged the opening ahead and to the left of the blind. They also opened a run over the faster water, which enlarged considerably more as the day wore on.

With the ice-breaking job nearly finished, Bill came ashore for some camera gear and headed back out into the river. He sloshed and poked around out there a while before holing up in the remains of an abandoned blind about 150yards away.

The rest of us were already tucked away in our blind when Bill went under cover. And just as he did, about 20 greenheads appeared upstream. Marty got their attention with his call, and they came over for a look. They seemed interested, but apparently didn't completely buy our setup. We finally took them on a swing that brought them briefly into range, and Walt and I each dropped a drake. Marty held his fire because of his pump gun's improved-cylinder choke; his preference on ducks over decoys.

While Bill waded back toward our blind, Marty went out into the decoys to do a bit of rearranging, and to free the dekes of chunks of ice and slush that the current was hanging on them. Now that the sun and the current were breaking the ice around our decoys, we would have to repeat that chore often.

When Bill got back to the blind, Walt scolded at him a bit. "Why did you mess around so long before you got under cover? It looked like you took several pictures of the same thing. A few seconds longer and you might have spooked that whole bunch."

"I was 'bracketing' my shots," Bill replied. "It means that I take a picture at what the light meter says is the correct exposure. Then, I take one with a little more light and another with a little less to cover all reasonable possibilities."

As he was speaking, Marty noticed another bunch of about 30 ducks coming our way. They must have liked what they saw, because they made just one swing before setting their wings for a landing.

Marty, Walt and I each scratched a big greenhead from that bunch, but Bill's pump gun had about the same effect as if he had thrown rocks. Grinning a bit and peering over his glasses as he reloaded, Walt said, "you bracket when you shoot ducks, too, huh Bill"? Bill muttered something about showing him a thing or two on the next bunch, and he made good his promise. A half hour later, another 30 to 35 mallards were wheeling over the blind when Marty gave the word to "take 'em", and Bill dumped two of the four birds that we bagged.

With the sun edging toward the western

horizon, we heaped our gear together and made ready to abandon the blind. But, we were reluctant to leave while there was still shooting time, and we were all agreeable when Marty suggested that we stay until sunset.

And, his suggestion paid off. With just minutes left, a pair of mallard drakes came working down the river. When they saw the decoys and heard the call, they banked sharply and headed our way. Walt took one, and I nailed the other to end the day.

In the orange light of the retreating sun, we renegotiated the flimsy plank over the slough and packed our rig for the return trip. It had been a long day, after a long pre-dawn drive, cold hours in the blind, and hard work for some of us breaking the ice. And now, we faced the long drive home. But, it all seemed like a small price to pay for a day on the river when the ducks were flying.

COMMISSIONER LOOKS AT CONSERVATION

at Kimbali is a good example of the demand for recreational facilities. It is almost unbelievable that a community could raise over $100,000-that indicates the need for a lake in that area of the Panhandle.

I believe Oliver Reservoir has great potential. It is the only lake they have in the southern Panhandle, and the people down there are all behind it.

The Panhandle is a unique area. The trout streams in the Platte Valley and Pine Ridge are among the best in the country. McConaughy and other reservoirs fill quite a demand, and down through the years these areas will become even more valuable.

The trout streams in the Platte Valley offer a tremendous experience for the trout angler. We walked Otter Creek recently-the big spawners could almost knock you down. Otter Creek is quite a hatchery, a natural hatchery without the great costs involved with an actual hatchery facility. I hope we can do similar work on some other streams. It is hard to believe the difference that a few years can make. Again, it does take time, money, and effort.

Our Hunter Safety program has more and more young people involved with the things we are trying to do, and I think this is really important. It is good to have more people involved in our activities.

My term expires next year. I'm proud of the things that we have accomplished, and I would like to see even more progress by the Game and Parks Commission in the years ahead. There are more and more people that will be using our facilities and areas in the future. We must guard against overuse and abuse, but we owe the people of the state the best recreational parks and hunting opportunity that we can provide.

A RETURN TO DESOTO BEND

then the smattering of reports was in sharp contrast to my recollection of the opening hours when modern, center-fire rifles were permitted. There is no second or third shot with a muzzle-loader. Then, too, the difference in range of the two rifles was a factor. Most black-powder shooters realize the limitations of their arms and do not attempt anything beyond 100 yards. So, there didn't seem to be much activity.

With the coyote out of sight, I drifted back into memories of my former hunt. Snow geese and ducks were stiil using the refuge waters, their incessant noise-making as they left to forage in nearby cornfields was, as always, an experience I did not tire of.

I sensed, rather than heard, a large doe move into the clearing. I glanced to one side and we stared at each other for several minutes before, with a stamp of her fore-foot and flip of her tail, she retreated in the same direction she had come. For the first hour or so, all the shots seemed to be very distant. At mid-morning I heard a report which sounded that a child's cap gun. The barely audible sound came from the direction of my son Bill's stand.

I had a good idea what had happened. Bill appeared in a few minutes and confirmed my suspicions. From the dejected look on his face I surmised he might gladly accept the loose change in my pocket for his new muzzle-loader.

He had seen numerous does since dawn and finally a heavy-beamed 10-point buck sauntered to within 30 feet of his stand. He waited until the buck lowered his head behind some brush and then calmly squeezed the trigger. Instead of the expected roar and belch of smoke, he heard only an anemic "pop" from his rifle. For reasons unknown, the primer had fired but the powder had not ignited, creating the misfire. Needless to say, the buck hastily departed. At the time, the incident was not even remotely humorous. Like all such

incidents, humor evolves from the recollection and the telling. Of such events are hunting stories born.

After relating his frustrating experience to me, Bill replaced the primer and aimed at the ground at his feet. With a roar, the slug churned up dirt and snow. And to this day, the rifle has never misfired since that one critical instance.

Bill and I decided to check on Jack. He reported seeing many does within range, but nary a buck. All of us then returned to our stands for the balance of the morning. As agreed, we checked out at the refuge headquarters at noon. We all had seen the ever-present does, but the more secretive bucks still eluded us. As quickly as possible, we retrieved my disabled station wagon and deposited it in Missouri Valley for repairs. Within two hours we were back on our stands in the dense, floodplain woodlands.

Restlessness is a chronic problem for most still-hunters and I am no exception. I decided to move to a new area, closer to the oxbow lake, a land-locked remnant of a former Missouri River channel. I selected a stand close to the bank with less undergrowth than my previous stand, and offering a relatively open view in several directions. It was 2 o'clock, straight up. I decided to give the area at least one hour.

Despite all my determination to sit for a full hour, I didn't last. My vigil was interrupted by a brief glimpse of a deer about 120 yards away, headed in my direction at a slow walk. From the size of the animal I was confident it was a buck. At 80 yards the conspicuous ivory-colored antlers were evident. Unless that unwary buck changed direction, I calculated he would come within easy range of my muzzleloader. Partially screened by brush, he suddenly became alert and froze, gazing back over his shoulder. It seemed as if many minutes passed before he relaxed and proceeded at a slow walk once again. I continued to wait then, even though he was already within range, determined to cut the distance as much as possible. Now he was fully screened by brush. The obvious question ran through my mind. Should I have taken a longer shot when he was clear? At last he moved from behind the obstructing undergrowth and stood in regal splendor at a distance of 96 feet.

It had occurred to me that my rifle might also misfire. It didn't. At the pull of the trigger, I momentarily lost sight of the buck because of the recoil and cloud of smoke. The mortally hit, lung-shot buck ran only 100 feet before piling up. The replica of the rifle used by our forefathers had done its work well.

The hunt was over for me, but the work was just beginning. I was disappointed to note that a brow tine and one of the smaller points were broken, no doubt from a confrontation with another buck during the rutting season just past. The rack was massive, though, with a 22-inch

spread, 5 points on each side, plus a 3-inch point growing downward on the right side. Unfortunately, the broken tines would eliminate it as a candidate for a trophy citation.

After field-dressing my buck, I set off to find my companions. They also had become restless and left their areas. Since my tag was filled, I headed for the truck to secure my rifle. Bill showed up about the same time and so we set out to drag out my buck. That arduous task was accomplished just before dark.

Both Jack and Bill had seen bucks as well as does during the afternoon. Jack had taken a shot at a respectable buck, but had missed. Bill had seen no bucks within range of his primitive weapon and wisely passed up several long shots.

Since my tag was filled, I was ineligible to return the second day, even unarmed. All the next day I paced the floor, waiting to hear that day's report from my son and his companion. That night they arrived home with an empty truck. The day had been windy so they spent most of their time walking. Each had shot at bucks and missed. Opportunities to fill their tags with less wary does were common, but each had resolutely held out. Bill had seen 11 bucks and was confident he could fill his tag later without difficulty. Jack shared his optimism. But, it was not to be. As so often happens, on the last day of the special season, they decided to settle for does, but it was too late. Now, even they eluded the disgruntled nimrods. With spirits low but not broken, Bill rationalized that there would be another time . . . and that time might be next year.

SKI TOURING NEBRASKA

and western neighbors. But cross-country skiing requires a relatively minimal amount of snow when compared to its counterpart, Alpine skiing. A good sixinch base is adequate to attain the sense of freedom and self-satisfaction that Nordic skiers relish.

Chadron, Fort Robinson, Ponca and Indian Cave state parks are in focus for this year's "skinny" skiing. This is only a start for ski touring in Nebraska, however. Additional areas will be charted in the next few months for future winters.

At a 4,000-foot elevation and with dense evergreens for cover, Chadron is assured of an adequate snow base, for the majority of the winter. To the west, Fort Robinson is slightly lower and has more open spaces, but is known for its frequent spring blizzards. Like Chadron, Fort Rob skiing will be good throughout the winter months. Ponca has both good snows and cover for skiing. Southernmost Indian Cave doesn't get as much snow as the other areas, but excellent cover assures the park of a month to six weeks of fine skiing in January and February.

If home is close to the desired area, phone the park headquarters for snow conditions before leaving. If home is closer to Lincoln than the desired area, phone the Game and Parks Commission headquarters. Ask for "Snowline", where a weekly report of all four areas will be available.

Either the park superintendent or an assistant will be at each area every day. Skiers should let them know where they will be and how long they intend to stay. An unprepared-for-blizzard or injury could create a touchy situation if the skier's whereabouts are unknown. Area Phone Numbers:

Chadron: (308) 432-2036 Fort Robinson: (308) 665-2660 Indian Cave: (402) 883-2575 Ponca: (402) 755-2284 "Snow-Line": (402) 464-0641

A great appeal of Nordic skiing is its wide variety of options. Touring desires and expectations vary from skier to skier, and the key for the novice is to experiment with a number of tours and then concentrate on the most pleasing. The following tour types are among many that should be kept in mind when reading about the areas presented.

The Picnic Tour: A half-day tour for any-ability skier, well suited for the novice. All that's needed is food, drink and a lunch site. Picnic tours can be planned at all the areas.

The Road Tour: Gliding unplowed roads can be for anyone, depending on the terrain. Road tours are available at every site, with Ponca possessing the most variety in this class.

The Trail Tour: Secluded and scenic terrain create challenges to the skier's ability and imagination. There are trail tours at all locations, however Indian Cave and Chadron are most noted.

The Downhill Tour: Extended downhill runs can be navigated as easily on Nordic as on Alpine skis. Usually reserved for the advanced skier, Fort Robinson's Smiley Canyon Road is a downhiller's delight.

The Exploratory Tour: For the skier in search of secluded wilderness adventure who knows his/her limits. Available in all areas, the largest two are Fort Robinson and Indian Cave.

SURVEYS FOR SURVIVAL

Information from recovered bands and other wildlife marking devices play an important roll in massive surveys that might encompass two or more continents. The central Nebraska waterfowl hunter who downs a banded white-fronted goose and fails to report it may be destroying a "missing link" tying northern Saskatchewan to the southernmost United States. Such public-dependent survey information relies on the voluntary cooperation between the conservation agencies and the public. Other public-related wildlife surveys are not voluntary'. Reporting to deer, antelope and wild turkey check stations is mandatory in Nebraska for all successful hunters. Such harvest surveys allow Game and Parks Commission biologists the opportunity to collect biological information from the animals brought in by successful hunters. Information collected at big game check stations will provide the age, sex and general health of the game harvested. Biologists are able to determine from the age and health data of our deer and antelope, the overall status of the population as it may be affected by disease, predation, habitat deficiencies and over-harvest.

Still considered to be one of our most important game surveys are the rural mail carrier counts. Their validity is strengthened by voluminous data, as more than 700 rural carriers travel nearly 250,000 miles 3 times a year gathering wildlife data.

Nebraska's rural mail carriers are called upon in February, April and July to count pheasants, quail, grouse, doves, jack rabbits, cottontail rabbits and squirrels over their 100-mile routes. The emphasis, however, is placed on our upland species.

In February, carrier counts provide biologists with post-season bird densities, as mailmen record numbers of birds observed per 100-miles of driving.

The April counts denote survival after winter's most severe months, which often adversely affect breeding populations.

And, a production index is formulated as a result of the July rural mail carrier

counts. Carriers observe first-hand the reproduction success of Nebraska's wildlife, as young-per-hen and total-bird counts are tabulated by carriers per 100-miles.

The rural mail carrier counts are more than just supplemental data collecting. They are highly utilized by game managers, who can provide neither the revenue nor the manpower to conduct such an extensive and all-encompassing field study.

It all boils down to the fact that implimentation of sound game management practices based on them are the key to wildlife populations for today and for years to come.

LOOK TO THE HILLS

thought passed through my mind time and time again—would I be able to hold still long enough to get off a clean shot? How long a shot would it be? Is the buck even here, or, has he returned to the river canyons?

Just after nine o-clock the drama began to come to a climax. I was circling a knoll when I spotted a doe on the far hillside. She was at the edge of a small plum thicket, just below the crest and out of the wind. I dropped to my knees and crawled up for a better look. Was she one of the does we had seen with the buck last night? As the entire thicket came into view I could see two more does. Suddenly my eyes made out the form of the buck. How could I have overlooked him? He was magnificent. His rack was high, broad, massive and well balanced. He was the only thing I could see. How had he blended so well into such short, scrubby plum bushes?

I wanted nothing more than to finish this quickly, so I could swallow the lump in my throat and breathe again. But, I forced myself to calm down, for my breathing to steady. I estimated the range at between 275 and 300 yards. It was a longer shot than I wanted, but the terrain would not permit a closer stalk. The buck had chosen his day bed well.

Without a sign of fear, the buck suddenly stood up and began walking up the hill, parallel to me. He was moving slowly but steadily, as if he knew I was there but wouldn't shoot as long as he didn't run. The does began to move when I lifted the .270 to my shoulder. I squeezed off a shot and it was over; the buck was down and his does were disappearing over the ridge.

After I reached the buck, a feeling of disbelief came over me. Disbelief that we had actually come back on the second day and found the trophy buck. It was a beautiful rack and animal, taken on a challenging stalk in testy weather. It was hardly the way I had imagined it so many times in my dreams, but truly a memorable hunt for both Wayne and me.

BACK-COUNTRY BUCK

With her was her husband of less than a year, Keith Harmon, who is also totally involved in conservation as a regional representative of the Wildlife Management Institute.

While Keith is an avid hunter of both large and small game, he was not pursuing deer because he had not drawn a permit. But, he was happily accompanying Connie, who had hunted deer for three years in Wyoming, but was on her first hunt in Nebraska.

We talked over strategy and geography, and planned to get together later for a go at pheasants. Neal and I then set out for the hills again, more convinced of their advantages. Keith and Connie were determined to stick with the marsh, for which they both have a fondness. During their morning's fruitless efforts they had seen one doe, caught a glimpse of one other deer whose gender remained unknown, and found one young buck's skeleton. It had apparently succumbed to disease some time before.

After spotting a herd of deer and checking with the landowner, Neal and I pulled perhaps the world's most sneaky stalk, most of which was unnecessary, and downed our deer. The big buck from the herd had departed long before we even started our stalk, but there were at least three younger bucks still hanging around when we got there.

It was still only mid afternoon on Saturday, so after we dressed our deer and hung them and got cleaned up, we had time to sit around and enjoy the scenery even more than before. Later, after lounging for a couple hours, we prepared a hearty dinner.

Although Connie and Keith were up early and away to the hills and valleys when prescribed by the old traditions, it didn't do any good. Pushing out shelterbelts turned up lots of deer, but none with racks. Does scattered in singles and small

Trading Post

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bands, often after standing and peering at the hunters in tantalizing curiosity until within stone's-throw.

Jumping deer almost anywhere is exciting and enjoyable. They are thrilling to watch, and one always feels as if there is something to learn just by watching them. That is probably human ego, but they are so graceful and naive, often so lazy and dumb, and sometimes amazingly perceptive. Even after seeing many dozens in one day doesn't make you tired of seeing them.

No matter what the distance when a herd is spotted, it makes the heart beat faster. They are always checked over to see if a big buck is among them. If not, the hunter feels relieved and can more fully enjoy simply watching. Their eyesight is legend, of course.

Once, a half-dozen does dashed toward a dense stand of pines that I was strolling through, apparently spooked toward us by another hunter. It was interesting to see how near the deer came before realizing they were being "ambushed" by other humans. Not all came to the trees, but the two that did appeared to richochet off a wall when they saw their mistake. They woke up about 30 yards away, and what could have been a serious mistake for them turned out to be merely a game for me.

Connie was not enjoying such fun and games, but early afternoon on Sunday, that story changed.

We drove up a lane near the lake and saw Keith walking toward his pickup from out of the hills. We had to wait only a couple minutes for him to arrive, and he told us of Connie's change in luck.

"Connie got herself one fine buck," he said as soon as he was in shouting distance. "It's a really good rack," he ex- plained later, as we drove around to the other side of the range of hills. "But, I'll let Connie tell you about it—it's her story."

And indeed she did, although we may have missed part of it during our ogling of her deer. It was much more impressive than we had expected.

Still somewhat breathless from the exercise and the excitement, Connie began.

"We were just walking along through the hills. I thought we were going so slow, but Keith kept saying we were going too fast. Maybe it was just because it was easier going than in the marsh. Anyway, Keith saw the deer first. We had been going along, slipping up over the tops of the hills and looking ahead, but we must have missed him and were on the down side. Suddenly Keith dropped to his knees and said There! Look!' I looked, but it just appeared to be a funny bush. I put the scope on it, and sure enough, I could see a deer with a nice rack. It didn't look this good, but I knew it was a nice one.

"I was still pretty shaky from the walking, and I guess I was excited. I suppose it was buck fever; I just couldn't seem to get organized. The deer was off to my left, nearly in line with Keith, which is why he squatted down, I guess, but I didn't want to shoot over him. He told me to sit down and slide down to him and put the rifle on his shoulder, so that's what I did. I put the scope on the buck and fired, and never felt the recoil or heard the noise at all.

"When I shot, the deer jumped up, and I shoved in another shell and shot again, but I'm sure I missed. Then, he dropped."

Her story prompted us to begin, again, admiring the rack and congratulating her, and then she said she felt badly about getting such a nice deer. "It doesn't matter that much to me," she said. "It would have been nice if someone who really wanted a trophy had gotten him."

We knew she wouldn't have parted with that buck for anything, though, and Keith didn't need to do much arguing to get her to agree that the antlers, at least, should be mounted. All of us kept telling her that she would never get a better rack, although with her luck, she just might.

Hunting properly in the Sandhills might require a more dedicated or ambitious hunter than in some other areas, but it gives back more, too. "I can't believe these wide-open spaces," Connie said. "It's just fantastic. And I just love that marsh, although I wouldn't want to walk it out again right away. We saw a lot of grouse, several deer, a couple of coyotes—it is just a fabulous place." And, that was just her first Sandhills hunt. She might grow to really like it!