Volume 42, Issue 8, 1964

will draw top cowboys from throughout the nation.

Last year the National Association of Travel Organizations picked Ak-Sar-Ben's big rodeo and livestock show as one of the top 20 tourist events in the United States. Seasoned veterans compete for the whopping $9,000 purse in rough and tough rodeo events, ranging from steer wrestling to bronc riding.

At another kind of "really big shew", NEBRASKAIand will put her best wares on display at the State Fair in Lincoln from September 5 through 10. Activity here runs the gamut from leisurely examinations of all manner of exhibits to the fast-moving, daredevil antics of speed racers pitting skill and horsepower against each other and the clock.

Top performers, such as Lome Greene, TV's "Bonanza" star, and "his boys" will be imported for the gala daily stage shows. Fair visitors can get their fortunes told, see a sword swallower, or chance rides varying from merry-go-rounds to rockets on the midway.

Eager 4-Hers see the culmination of a year's efforts in the awarding of the blue, red, and white ribbons for first, second, and thirds in projects ranging from sewing to beekeeping.

September will find thoroughbreds off and running at three NEBRASKAland tracks. Mitchell will play host to the "sport of kings" at its half-mile track from September 5 through 12 (except Sunday and Tuesday). They'll be tearing the turf at Alliance's half-mile track September 14 through 19. A full month of horse racing is on the docket at South Sioux City. The high-steppers will be kicking up dust on that %-mile raceway from September 24 through October 24, except on Sundays.

The University of Nebraska Cornhuskers will open their home football season with a game September 19 in Lincoln against the University of South Dakota. Last year's Orange Bowl and Big Eight Conference champions have their helmets set for another winning season.

Meanwhile, car tracks across NEBRASKAland will continue an exciting season of racing with all kinds of vehicles speeding past the checkered flag. Alliance, Broken Bow, Chadron, Columbus, Grand Island, Lincoln, North Platte, South Sioux City, and Stuart all offer exciting races.

Lovers of good horse flesh can see plenty of excellent stock at horse shows from O'Neill to Friend and from Kearney to Hastings. Humboldt will hold its annual Fall Festival, September 16 through 18. Other community events cover everything from the annual Popcorn Days at North Loup, September 14 through 16, to the Nebraska Gun and Cartridge Show at North Platte, September 26 and 27.

Chadron will host its Northwest Trail Ride September 12 and 13 through the scenic Pine Ridge area of northwestern Nebraska. You can spend two peaceful, yet exciting days in "God's Country". Saddle up and join the fun. The ride will start from Camp Norwesca, near Chadron State Park. For a chance to see nature's beauty close-up check with D. D. Berlie in Chadron. Registration deadline is 6 p.m. September 11.

NEBRASKAIand will be spilling over with all manner of fun and excitement during September. Why not spend some time where the WEST begins? You'll be glad you did, and hospitable NEBRASKAlanders will make you feel right at home. THE END

NEBRASKAland Travel Tips

Admission to Nebraska State Parks is free. Charges are made only for fa- cilities at the parks. Rates are uniform at all parks and are on a daily basis.

Reservations for accommodations at any state park should be made in advance with the superintendent. Parks and their locations are: Fort Robinson, Crawford; Chadron at Chadron; Niobrara at Niobrara; Ponca at Ponca.

Three-Bedroom, housekeeping units; $10 per day Two-Bedroom, housekeeping units; $8 per day Single Bedroom, housekeeping units; $5 and $6 per day Lodge Rooms (Fort Robinson only); $3.50, $5, and $6 per day

A fee of 50 cents to $1 is charged for tent-and-trailer camping at certain state park areas. No advance reservations are accepted. Space is assigned on a first-come, first-served basis. Maximum trailer camping at state-park areas is for two weeks, except at state wayside areas, unless otherwise posted, and the trailer must be occupied. Electricity, water, and sewage hookups are available at Two Rivers Recreation Area. Electricity only is available at Fort Robinson and Chadron.

Nonresident annual permit; $5. Nonresident five-day permit; $2. Resident annual permit; $3.

Nonresident small-game permit (necessary for varments); $20. Resident small-game permit; $3.50. Resident combination hunt and fish permit; $6.

RESIDENT OR nonresident, you are permitted the same hunting opportunities in Nebraska. There is no season limit on birds, only daily bag and possession limits. You may return to hunt as many times as you wish during the open season provided you don't exceed the possession limit at any time. And in Nebraska, hunting is permitted seven days a week.

All nonresident hunters, regardless of age or sex, are required to possess a permit to hunt. And in addition to the general hunting permit, you are required to have an upland-game stamp when hunting pheasants, grouse, turkeys or quail. It can be purchased for $1.

If you do not buy a permit before coming to hunt, you will find them at most sporting goods, drug, and hard- ware stores. All county clerks also issue permits.

LAW REQUIRES game-bird hunters to use a shotgun capable of holding no 8 OUTDOOR NEBRASKAland more than three shells in the magazine and chamber combined. For pheasants, shotguns run the gamut of personal taste with the majority leaning toward the 12 gauge.

IN NEBRASKA, hunters are permitted to hunt the full day. Shooting hours are from sunrise to sunset for small game, upland game, and waterfowl. Deer, antelope, and turkey hours are V2 hour before sunrise to 72 hour after sunset. Hunters may go out at any hour during that time.

HUNTING BREAKTHROUGH

I'M A SUCKER for a good sell, but sometimes I'm glad. I'll admit that the "selling Nebraska" mailings which had been coming my way for a couple of years suddenly cracked me. This breakthrough occurred just a couple of weeks before the 1963 season. I already had long standing plans to open the pheasant season in South Dakota on October 19, but I couldn't get this thing about Nebraska out of my mind. I felt an insatiable desire to experience some of Nebraska's hunting, see the land, and satisfy my curiosity concerning the reported fabulous bird populations.

Should I let my previous commitment in South Da- kota stand in my way? I made up my mind. I wouldn't. I would go to both states. It was not a real difficult 10 OUTDOOR NEBRASKAland decision. As dates worked out, I was present for the first onslaught on the South Dakota pheasants and later moved down into Nebraska the day before the opening of the pheasant season there on October 26.

I can't tell you how many pheasants they have in Nebraska but as my hunting rig broke out of the northeast corner of Colorado on U. S. 138 early in the morning, a pheasant ran across the road in front of me. Several days later on my way out of Nebraska and approaching the Kansas line south of Alma, a big cock pheasant glistening in the later afternoon sun took to the air on my right. Long ago I took a course in the mathematics of statistics, but not being schooled in the methods used by modern pollsters, I was not able to take the performance of these two roosters and come up with an exact figure on the total number of birds within the boundaries. There is always the possibility that these two were trained by the Chamber of Commerce and placed on special duty.

However, in between these two very spectacular displays I had some wonderful hunting and got my daily limits. Of course all of this is bound to leave one with the impression that the state does have some pheasants, well within the borders, and that the game people know what they are talking about.

I made some fast and long walks to kick the pheasants out, but that is hunting and I wouldn't want it any other way. Perhaps not all of the best, but at least SEPTEMBNER 1964 11  

Here at O'Niell you're in a hub of pheasant or sharptail and prairie chicken hunting, depending on your choice of direction from town. Not far from O'Niell I saw large acreage of pasture and hay land. It's the type of country where harvestable hay lies between cultivated land and the Sand Hills.

The pheasants cling closest to civilization and are found in the fields of corn, small grain, or soil-bank land. Prairie chickens seem to prefer the prairie bordering on cultivated land. They like to be within easy striking distance of crops when the occasion demands.

Sharp-tailed grouse were in the same areas as the prairie chickens, and like the prairie chickens, they will post two or three of their kind on top of haystacks to act as sentinels. Then the flock can concentrate on stuffing their craws. While the sharptails seem to practically shun civilization and thrive in the grass of the Sand Hills, they do overlap the prairie chickens in this hay-harvest blending of grouse and pheasant habitat.

Since the prairie chicken is one of my favorite game birds and is excellent eating, I thought O'Neill would be a great spot from which to operate. And that it was. A number of years had gone by since I had seen 50 or more prairie chickens take off at a time. I saw them in Nebraska.

From O'Neill it was a short drive into the Sand Hills country south of Bartlett. This vast expanse of ridges and pimples of grass-covered sand might not impress some people as being a likely habitat for anything gamey. But this is where sharptails find real down-to-sand living.

There's a lot of walking to hunting these sand scratchers, but to me this is one of the best of bird-shooting sports. I got all my birds as I topped out on a small ridge or knoll. They would be just over the top. After recovery from the shocking experience of their sudden disturbance of the otherwise absolute tranquility of the never-ending sameness of the hills, I would add a bird to the bag, sometimes.

I'll lay it right on the line. I like the Sand Hills. All I need is the knowledge that there is water in my canteen to find something restful in them—even as I'm puffing my way up a long sharp slope and my legs are growing limp.

From Bartlett it was a little over 100 miles to Hartington. The very northeast corner of the state is within easy striking distance of town. While O'Neill was ideal for prairie chicken and Bartlett for sharptails, Hartington seemed to be prime territory for pheasants. I saw a heavy concentration of ringnecks in the cornfields, shelter belts, and the tall waving fields of brome grass.

Thanks to some of the friendly people I met in Nebraska, I had the good fortune to hunt this area with dogs. In our party was a Labrador retriever and a pointer bitch which was also a top performer. You can hunt this country without dogs, but in the tall brome grass in the soil-bank field you don't dare try for a double. If you take your eye off of the spot the first bird fell you can lose the other. Even when hunting with dogs, you'd better hit those tough-skinned ring-Colorful ringnecks end fabulous huni wiih a gaudy splash necks hard. They've got an amazing capacity for carrying shot.

I if JKfTIM^ f>f>r* A l/TI in/M f^U If * have the good fortune to plan another trip to flUIV I IV4\J DKEJAIx I nK\JvJ\yrl Nebraska I will leave in time to do some early goose r -*' a hunting near the Missouri with Ralph Kohler, goose on mue guide at Tekamah. A peek at Ralph's notebook of goose some of the best hunting in Nebraska is in the northeast activity indicates that early October is most fruitful, quarter of the state. I re-entered Nebraska via U. S. 281 I would then head for the Sand Hills and hunt sharp- on October 25, and stopped at the town of O'Neill. They tails for a few days. Next I would sneak up on the have a nice motel there and an attractive restaurant. prairie chickens. Then I would be ready to fill out Here at O'Neill you're in a hub of pheasant or sharp- with pheasants in one of Nebraska's prime pheasant tail and prairie chicken hunting, depending on your areas. I don't know how I could shape up a better bird choice of direction from town. Not far from O'Neill I hunter's program. Oh yes; I could also work in some saw large acreages of pasture and hay land. It's Nebraska bobwhite quail. THE END

RING AROUND THE RINGNECKS

TWO SEASONS ago I spent a rough afternoon without getting a decent shot at the sneaky pheasants near McCook. As evening came on, I sat down at the edge of a stubble field nursing my weary legs.

Suddenly two cocks exploded from cover only 15 yards from me. I scrambled up wearily, shooting as I rose. My first shot missed but the second took a full load of shot. As I ran towards the spot where my bird had fallen, three more ringnecks sprang up. With my last shell—I forgot to reload—I nabbed another bird. I began reloading, but before I had pumped in my third shell, four more birds hit the panic button. I dropped another bird.

Anyone who has hunted the unpredictable ringneck has had similar experiences. And my adventure was a SEPTEMBER 1964 13  

Of all the birds I've ever hunted, a cock pheasant is the orneriest, toughest, and smartest critter going. Though he lumbers aloft slowly, providing an easy target, he's one tough hombre to kill stone-dead. Cripples will give you fits before you recover them.

There are several hunt-proved systems that will bring you birds. Drives down corn or milo fields by groups of 6 to 20 hunters always pay big dividends. Smaller groups should head for cover pockets like along tree lanes. One man works each side of the windbreak while another in the middle kicks up the hiding birds. Zig-zag casts in wheat or weed stubble to hit all likely hiding spots also work well. The latest gimmick is the use of a hawk call. The birds freeze when they hear the call and dive for cover. Then it's easy to stalk them and boot them out of their cover for some exciting shooting.

Having knowledge of the ringnecks habits and habitat the bird frequents can be your "open sesame" to some top-drawer pheasant adventures in Nebraska. For example, I've found that if I hit the dining room 14 OUTDOOR NEBRASKAland

Despite the fact that Nebraska has had the nation's longest pheasant season for three years running, there has been an underharvest of birds here. There just isn't enough hunting pressure. After the first two weekends of the season, the fields are usually empty of hunters and there are plenty of cocky birds around for those who go afield.

For years Nebraska's fame as a top pheasant producing state was unknown to nonresidents. When word finally got out along the hunter grapevine, a trickle of sportsmen began to reap the harvest. In 1957 only 3,565 out-of-staters took advantage of the excellent mixed-bag shooting opportunities. Last year, over 22,000 nonresident hunters sampled the pheasants and the variety of other targets and went home singing high praise for NEBRASKAland hunting.

An event which is attracting national attention and bringing crack scattergun shooters into Nebraska is the annual one-box pheasant hunt held at Broken Bow. Five-man teams go afield with one box of shells after the elusive ringnecks. Teams from Kansas, Wyoming, Texas, Missouri, Nebraska and Mexico competed last year with Texas winning. Wyoming won the inaugural shoot with 19V2 birds. The half came from a quail they bagged in case of a tie. But Texas claimed a moral victory when the Texans bagged 10 birds in less than one hour.

Hunters coming into Nebraska get the red-carpet treatment. Many farmers and ranchers are going all out to make the visitors stay a pleasant and long remembered one. Those planning to bring dogs don't have to wade through miles of red tape. All that is required of the sportsman is that he keep his dogs under control. This should be easy, for an uncontrolled dog has no business in the field.

Choice of which shotgun and loads are the best medicine for pheasants always starts chin music. For my money, I'll take a 26-inch double-barrel, bored modified and full, and stack it against all others. On a pump or autoloader, a 24-inch barrel is a splendid length with a choke device. That old wives tale of longer barrels shooting harder is finally dying out. Long barrels may be good for waterfowling, but not when you have to swing fast at a flushing ringneck.

If you are a fast shooter and can nab the bird on the rise, No. 7V2 and even No. 8 shot can bag these big birds, since the dense pattern of small shot will clobber the head and neck of the bird as he rises. However, if you are a habitually slow shooter, and shoot only when the bird has levelled off, use either Nos. 4 or 6 shot. Both are excellent killers at around 40 yards.

If for some reason you can't get in your licks on Nebraska pheasants on opening day, don't fret. If you come later you'll find the fields almost void of hunters and have better chances to score. A visit during Thanksgiving or Christmas holidays (both are long weekends this year) can be a rewarding outdoor adventure.

With hunting areas vanishing almost everywhere in the country, Nebraska could be your answer to your search for good pheasant hunting. It could also become for you, as one Texan told us, "The country's pheasant hunting mecca." THE END

Show Me QUAIL

THE THREE of us—Bud Pritchard, myself, and my dog—had been hunting the thick shelter belts of southeastern Nebraska at least 45 minutes without flushing a covey. I'd been anxious to turn my young pointer loose on Nebraska's heavy quail populations, but so far was disappointed with his performance.

Bud is the quiet type, but he gets a big kick out of poking a few jabs, especially when his hunting partner has them coming.

"Not meaning to question the intelligence of your loyal bird dog, old buddy, but I don't think the stupid so-and-so can tell a quail from a ground hog."

My partner spoke from the far side of the fence, as my young pointer quivered on point. Then the dog 16 OUTDOOR NEBRASKAland turned his head and looked back at me momentarily in a flagrant breach of pointing etiquette.

"See," the artist-turned-cynic continued. "Now he's going to chase that old bobwhite ground hog right into his hole."

I resisted the impulse to shoot my companion and the dog and walked over to where the dog, once on point, was tip-toeing forward, his eyes fixed in the direction of a ground hog den. I took five steps ahead of the dog and then stopped suddenly, hoping to flush any birds that had caused the animal to freeze. Nothing happened.

"Maybe Nebraska quail smell differently than Missouri's," I said in a weak attempt at excuse-making.

"I know doggone well Nebraska quail don't smell like ground hogs" Bud snorted, as he started over the fence.

Just then a fair-sized covey of quail roared out of the dust about 15 yards ahead and flew directly over us. I fired once, and the shot flushed another batch of birds from just to the right. Bud and I emptied our guns wildly, as birds continued to fly out of the dusty grass. One bird fell, trampled in the rush, no doubt.

Subdued by the embarrassment of it all, we milled around the site for about 10 minutes, examining the dust bowls and rich lespedeza that had attracted a covey of about 50 quail. The dog loped back and forth with mock importance, pretending to search for the quail it knew we hadn't hit.

It was noon before we stopped looking for singles. Bud had four birds and I had three as we motored into Beatrice for lunch. It had been on the invitation of an old friend that I came to Nebraska to hunt quail. Bud Pritchard, staff artist of the Game Commission, had bragged at length about the quail hunting in NE- BRASKAland. I attributed his enthusiasm to being a proud native, but I was frankly dubious. A Missourian going to Nebraska for quail, I reasoned, was like a Hawaiian going to London for sunshine.

But, more from a desire to see Bud, I made that weekend trip. The lunch break at Beatrice was a quick one. Soon we were back in the fields, hoping to catch the birds still feeding and dusting themselves in the midday sun.

"You thought I was kidding you about these quail, didn't you?" Bud said, as we picked our way across the broken stalks in a tremendous cornfield.

"We sure haven't hurt the state's population much yet," I said. "Seven birds out of a covey that size isn't even scratching the surface."

Just then the dog began acting birdy. It pointed momentarily at a clump of bushes and then broke point to stalk down the furrow.

"What is it now, field mice?" Bud asked, but his sarcasm carried a tint of new respect.

Then the dog stopped and looked at me with an expression of sheer confusion. A movement from about 20 yards up the furrow caught my eye. Head down and feet flying, a hen pheasant was galloping away. I scratched the dog's ears and tried to change the subject.

After the excitement of the morning, the afternoon was pretty slow. We worked the leeward side of the fence rows, hoping the dog could downwind any covies lurking inside. But the warmth of the October sun and the dryness of the grass played hob with scenting.

"When cold weather starts and we get a little snow, all of our hunting will be better," Bud was saying as we started a long, final swing toward the car.

"People like you coming into Nebraska are always a bit surprised at how many quail we have here. I guess they all think this is too far north for bobwhite to survive in good numbers. Even more surprising, though, is the fact that not many Nebraskans hunt quail. Somehow, when there are pheasants around, quail get lost in the rush."

We were within gunshot range of the car when the dog, which had been running behind us and to the side, came down on an honest-to-goodness point. The spot was at the edge of a small windbreak. As we approached, Bud noted that the trees formed an effective barrier which angled away on our right.

"Now if those are real Missouri-type birds, they'll head right into those trees and we'll never get a shot," I said, fingering my safety as we walked up behind the dog.

Just then the covey broke in a whoosh of wings. In a close bunch the birds swept down the fence line and then to the left, away from the trees.

"I told you so," I laughed as I drew down at the first in that bunch of silly, Nebraska-type quail. I was about to squeeze the trigger when over the sight there appeared a brightly-colored object that brought me up short. The birds were headed directly toward the car. They escaped without our firing a shot.

"Let's head down to your place to hunt some of those tricky Missouri-type birds," Bud snorted as we made ready for the trip back to Lincoln. It looks like these Nebraska bobwhites are too much for us. THE END

CALL OF THE CATTAILS

DUCK HUNTING in NEBRASKAland is where you find it. And you find it most everywhere. For this state not only raises native birds, but the blending of the great Mississippi and Central flyways places the man with the gun in the envied position of eating his cake and having it, too.

Here in NEBRASKAland we have ducks from the Sand Hills, the rain-water basin reaches, and the nearby Dakotas. There are the bluebills and pintails and mallards and many more winging out of the Canadian prairies. The mallard—this is the duck of NEBRASKAland. Just riffle through a few pages of an outdoor editor's diary and you'll get the message loud and clear.

Like a golden thread, as we open the waterfowl season in the Sand Hills, move down to the Republican River, then to the Missouri River, and finally to the borders of the Platte, the mallard is ever in focus.

Times were when Nebraskans opened the campaign in mid-September. Now, of course, it's an October inaugural. So, let's go back a bit and join Herman Holm and his merry conspirators for a first dip into the sport at Rat and Beaver Lakes, on the fringe of the National Waterfowl Refuge in the heart of the Sand Hills.

Here at the Rat Lake Clubhouse where Herman reigned supreme for so many years, the evening before opening day is briskly masculine. Tall tales of other seasons spike the bright anticipation of "another good day" as of old.

There are mallards on the lakes as well as teal, spoonbills, pintails, and a smattering of bluebills. And 18 OUTDOOR NEBRASKAland so long before the dawn, the stomach stoked with hot cakes, lean rashers of bacon, golden eggs winking from the skillet, and scalding black coffee you make the long hike to the "neck," that pivotal point between Rat and Beaver.

As you join the firing line among the cattails and waist-high grasses, the whistle of wings is a continuous blur as ducks pass overhead. In the half light the ghostly figures are mere blobs in the sky, but presently a low-flying flock of bluewings almost knocks your cap off.

Now in the pale dawning you can make out widgeon, pintail, and mallard. The "president" is to signal the shooting time. His is the first shot. That's the tradition. You can see him now, hunched onto a shell case, man and boy, a devoted waterfowler.

It seems like hours before Herman is certain the time has come. To his left, a fat greenhead veers from the trees, a fatal move. One shot and the greenhead crumples and lands stone dead on top of a muskrat house.

"Ho," chortles the president. "Won't have any trouble getting that fellow. Won't even get wet."

And so the new season is open and the limits come quickly. Now it's a fresh vista, a return to the meandering North Platte River. Two weeks have elapsed since the Sand Hills inaugural. We're above Lisco on the fringe of the Garden County Refuge at Harold Olson's Ducklore Lodge. This was once the property of Arthur C. Storz of Omaha. Through the years he provided great duck and goose hunting for many visitors.

Ducklore has changed some. The duck pattern is not the same as it was 10 or 20 years ago in the days of big limits. But from a towhead blind with Bob Hall of Omaha you see the art of proper decoy setting and seductive duck calling produce birds in limit quantities.

Before the jaunt to Republican City and a shoot with the Taylor brothers, Bill and Jack, we've got a big shotgunning date with Ralph Kohler at Tekamah. Now, with shallow waters surrounding the sunken blinds, with decoys of his own manufacture gracing the hide in abundance, no self-respecting goose or duck will pass him by. And few do. Primarily, a trip to Kohlers is for geese. He's a goose man first, last, and always. Oh, you'll kill your limits of ducks with Ralph. But the goose is king here. You soon learn why, as a half hundred snows and blues lumber down the "chute," the neck of land between the river and the far bluffs.

And so with goose cravings satisfied, swing with us to the southwest to the Republican River below Harlan County Dam. Here we'll join the brothers Taylor for mallard sport that sends the first-timer gibbering. You have to see it to believe it. The Taylor layout is dug into a sharp bank. The Republican River at this point is a mere trickle.

"It's overshoe water," brother Bill tells you with a grin wider than the river. "You can wade it in rubbers, actually."

So, the first-timer viewing this puny little dipper of water is sure someone is pulling his leg.

"Ducks out of here?" you ask yourself. "What kind of a ninny do the boys think I am?"

Well, if you hit the Taylors' retreat on a blustery day, when the winds have chased the mallards off the big lake with its ocean-type waves, you get the answer in a hurry. You're no "ninny," just a lucky guy. For along this sheltered duck paradise come the mallards, singles, doubles, and flocks of them. You shoot your limit and then sit back and marvel as the ducks keep piling into the decoys. Crazy?

Now the season is waning. Wintry blasts have struck and ice chokes the Platte. So, join Ross Lorrello and I for the windup at the Valley Feed Lot pasture just 28 minutes from my back door on Omaha's Fontenelle Boulevard. Just 28 minutes, mind you, and host George Johnson is there to greet us with the most beautiful words that can fall upon any duck hunter's ear.

"Go on out," George advises. "We limited out in 10 minutes. Not a soul in the blind."

So Ross and I trudge the half mile from car to blind, crossing a tiny spring-fed creek that carries perhaps a dozen decoys bobbing and tossing in the wind.

"Doesn't look too promising to me," I advise my partner as we deposit shells on the seat.

"Just wait," Ross replies with a merry cackle, fixing me with an eye that seems to say, "You'll be sorry for that remark."

I was still loading when Ross called over his left shoulder that a couple were coming in low from the west. I peeked, and there were papa and son, gaudy drakes in their bright winter plumage, speeding in from the ice-choked refuge behind us.

"Give them a toot," I entreated Ross.

I did. Papa and son made one speculative swing over the decoys, well out of gun range, wheeled into the wind, and apparently were going to leave the country. They didn't. A quarter of a mile below they made a tight turn, dropped almost to the tops of the billowing hay, and then fought that wind straight for the decoys. At shoot-them-time they weren't 10 feet off the water. We couldn't miss.

"How about that," Ross gloated when I came back with our greenheads. "Really something, isn't it?"

Yes, sir, it was really something. And only 28 minutes from my back door. THE END

SUNRISE WHITETAIL

IT WAS an hour before sunrise when Burman Guyer left me atop a 20-foot-high stack of hay. Wayne Jenkins was my host on this hunt, his spread on the Loup River 20 miles west of Broken Bow a good spot to bring home venison.

Only a few moments earlier Burman, a Game Commission conservation officer and an old friend from a previous hunt, had handed up the Remington .280 and quietly wished me luck. Despite my insulated hunting coat and long underwear, I felt the bite of cold in the inky darkness. A little digging into the fragrant hay pile hollowed out a "nest". It provided some of the warmth needed to wait for the opening of the Nebraska deer season at 6:40 a.m. that morning.

I'm sure the sound had been audible before, but not until I was resting quietly under an alfalfa quilt did they register. From the hills far to the north a chorus of coyotes were yipping and yelping like a choir of lost souls. Closer at hand, in the Loup River bottoms which curved around me in a great half arc, more horned owls were hooting at one time than I'd ever heard before.

Later I talked to ranchers along this river and they did not seem surprised at the concentration of horned owls. This high density obviously reflected a bumper crop of small mammals and birds on which these big birds feed. Amidst the noise of the deep-toned hooting, a single screech owl quavered. I marveled that the small bird could survive with such tigerish competitors.

The coyotes and owls were still whooping it up when the luminous dial of my watch showed 6:10. It was at this precise moment that I heard a new sound. From far downstream came the gobble of wild turkeys. A few moments later, several magpies called querulously from the river bottom. While all the afore-mentioned creatures were still vocalizing at 6:30, cock pheasants began to crow on all sides. There were at least a score nearby.

The cackle of pheasants seemed to serve as an alarm clock to awaken other sleepy heads, for within the next few moments western meadow larks, Brewer's blackbirds, Harris' sparrows, and half a dozen other assorted species began to call and sing from the nearby fields and woodlands. To add to the symphony, a half dozen fox squirrels started to chatter and bark in the cottonwoods. Neither Bach, Beethoven, nor Schubert ever wrote anything half as pleasing to my auditory senses as that early morning Loup River wildlife concert.

By sunup I could see things 100 yards away with clarity. A female marsh hawk began drifting lazily back and forth across the hayfields, and twice passed within 20 feet of my hiding place. As it neared the lower end of the field it braked to a stop in mid-air and dropped into the alfalfa. But seconds later it arose into the air and began gliding to and fro. I am sure a mouse had missed death by only a fraction of a second.

Directly to the north of my stand, and only 10 feet from the base, was a fan-shaped heap of fresh earth composed of bean-sized pellets. This, I suspected, was 20 OUTDOOR NEBRASKAland the work of a plains pocket gopher. My suspicions were confirmed when I saw the apex of the pile heave vio- lently. An instant later a brown, furry head with bulging cheeks and big, exposed yellow front teeth pushed to the surface. Long, curved claws affixed to short front legs were plainly visible, as I peered down with my binoculars.

At about 7 that morning a fine white-tailed buck deer stepped out of the brush far down at the lower end of the field. As I studied him with binoculars he kept looking back over his shoulder alertly. Possibly another hunter was working in the Loup River bottoms. In any event, the deer made the fatal mistake of trotting across the field toward my stand. As he moved by at right angles at about 250 yards, the crosshairs of the scope settled on his vitals just back of the front leg. The first shot was true, and fifteen minutes later I stood by the eviscerated carcass. The deer hunt was over.

Whitetails and mule deer abound throughout Nebraska, but so does an array of other wild species. When you hunt this Plains state, there's more to thrill the auditory and visual senses than simply the crack of a rifle or the collapse of a living target.

I know that someday I, will forget the kill part of that hunt. But I am not likely to ever forget the wildlife sights and sounds of that morning I spent on the alfalfa stack on Wayne Jenkins' ranch on the Loup River of Nebraska. THE END

THE MIGHTY SPADE

THEY CAME no bigger than Bartlett Richards. Blessed with a bundle of trail savvy and the bank roll to back him up, he put his rope around a whopping chunk of Sand Hills real estate and tied on to an empire.

Richards played for high stakes in the NEBRASKAland of the 1890's. He gambled on the unknown vastness of Sheridan, Garden, and Cherry counties and was dealt a winner-takes-all hand. Here was a wilderness whose lush range had fed only a few strays since the days of the buffalo. But when "Bart" got done, deer and antelope were about the only critters that didn't carry his famed Ace of Spades brand.

Miles of barbed wire staked out the Richards1 range. Old-timers reckoned that at any one time you could count between 40 and 50,000 beeves priming up on the thick Sand Hills grasses. They roamed over 2,260 square miles of what folks were quick to discover was "God's greatest pastureland". Richards bank roll, like his beeves, fattened quickly on the Spade spread.

With his early rise to fame and fortune, Bart was bound to step on somebody's toes. But when a man has visions of empires in his head, he'll take on anyone, including the President of the United States, to realize his goal. Richards locked horns with Theodore Roosevelt, and when the dust had cleared, Bart could give you plenty of reasons why Roosevelt was known as the man who spoke softly, but carried a big stick.

The man who would one day take on the President hardly looked the part when he stepped off the train 22 OUTDOOR NEBRASKAland at Cheyenne in 1877. Eighteen years young, he seemed an easy mark for most any kind of hair-brained deal. But unlike many of the dudes who headed West, Bart saw gold beneath the scrawny hide of a steer. Weaned on the ledger books of a solid New Hampshire business family, he had the know-how to get the job done.

It took only six years for Richards to get control of a dozen brands. His beeves roamed from the head-waters of the Little Powder, Belle Fourche, and Donkey Creek in Wyoming to the upper reaches of the Niobrara and White rivers. He started a bank in Chadron while he was still in his 20's, letting it be known everywhere that Bartlett Richards was a man to be reckoned with.

Even in those early years, Bart and the government didn't see eye to eye. He and the rest of the big outfits had strung barbed wire over plenty of government land. As far as the stockmen were concerned, the vast prairies were good for only one thing—raising beef. To their notion, they were doing the government a favor by making the arid lands produce taxable herds, and thus add new revenue to the national coffers.

Seeing as how it was their land in the first place, the government boys didn't take too kindly to such bold ideas. They were committed to a land policy that guaranteed 160 acres of free land to any bonafide home seeker.

Writing such a policy is one thing, but carrying it out is something else. The cattlemen figured that possession was nine tenths of the law, and they had "possessed" the range long before any fool government man got the notion you could raise crops in the prairie. Necktie parties, nester fries, or a bad case of lead poisoning threatened those who questioned such reasoning.

Most any other man would have checked in his chips, but not Richards. Instead, he dreamed of a new range that would support beeves throughout the year; a range with hay flats and freedom from nesters. His foreman led him up to the Nebraska panhandle, past the hard-land table spotted with settlers' soddies, and into the Sand Hills.

Looking toward the endless horizon, he saw vast empty stretches of rolling hills. Beyond was the wet valley region with the hay flats so necessary to a year-round cattle-raising operation. Others had turned away from this lonesome land, afraid to be swallowed up forever in its vastness. Two cattle outfits had worked its northern edge, but both kept line riders out to turn aside any beeves that would stray into the hills.

Some cattle did get into the hills, but were given up for lost. Finally a cowboy rode out hunting for strayed horses. Instead he saw plenty of fat mavericks. The two outfits rounded up several thousand head of the critters, and when they were brought up to the Niobrara, everyone was amazed at their size and sleekness. A few choice carloads were made up and sent down the Burlington to Chicago where they topped the market.

Both outfits had moved on when Richards came on the scene. One look and he was convinced that the Sand Hills was the place to build his empire. He set up a trading station at Gordon, but when the Burlington cut through the hills to the south he built a general store, hotel, and shipping pens at Ellsworth. The only thing that didn't belong to him was the water tower and depot, and some even thought that they carried the Spade brand. Richards took over a couple of the smaller outfits, buying the buildings and the cows. He gave no thought to getting title to the land. Even the buildings of his home spread sat on public domain.

Bart claimed most of the land from the Burlington clear up to the Niobrara and White rivers as well as a big sheep operation in Wyoming. His fence crews were quick to get wire around most of the 60 townships that made up the Richards' spread in Nebraska. Everything was moving along in grand style with Bart summering in Chadron and spending his winters in California. Richards didn't like the way homesteaders were nudging in on some of his land, but he figured he could keep the settlers from putting down permanent roots by planting a few fast guns on the Spade.

When President McKinley was dry gulched back East, the cattlemen thought they were sitting in the driver's seat again. One of their own—Theodore Roose- velt—had taken over the reins of government. Since Roosevelt had cowboyed up in North Dakota without ever bothering to get title to the land he fenced, the cattlemen figured he wouldn't (continued on page 42)

HIGH ROAD TO BEAUTY

TO THOSE with eyes for beauty and hearts for adventure, highways are more than lines on a map or cement channels for rolling wheels. They are magic carpets rich with beauty and fringed with excitement. NEBRASKAland's highways and byways flow through some of the most majestic scenery in the West. The unfolding panoramas along these ribbons of concrete and gravel please the eye and restore the spirit like well-composed paintings.

The next 12 pages bring you just a sampling of some of the outstanding views beyond the far hill or just around the next curve in Nebraska. There are plenty 24 OUTDOOR NEBRASKAland

Vistas vary from the simple to the majestic. High- ways wander through the quiet allure of roses along the wayside to the towering buttes of the Pine Ridge. Their endless strands spin through limitless plain and soaring hill to lead the traveler toward the hazy horizons of this vast state.

Roads run the gamut from rustling cornfield to whiteface-dotted range. They ramble through haunts of deer and antelope and speed past busy lakes and lazy rivers. Linking sleepy village and roaring city, they circle the state in a growing web of asphalt and stone. Finished with one oasis of beauty, they hurry on to the next with a graceful farewell and a beckoning wave.

Some of Nebraska's roads follow the trails of moun- tain man and restless emigrant. These highways wear their mantles of history with pride. Others are new and bold and are eager to wed East and West in a great band of cement and steel. A few are mere ruts that chase the far horizons of the Sand Hills until they are lost in a maze of their own making.

In eastern Nebraska, highways reflect the solid conservatism and right-to-the-point philosophy of the people they serve. Straight and true, they know where they are going and how to get there. Theirs is a beauty of surroundings and geometric simplicity. Trees and crops, farmsteads and cities, lakes and rivers, morning sun and evening dusk lend their magic and every mile is full of small surprises to the watchful traveler.

Soon, Interstate 80 will slash the length of NEBRASKAland. Already it is developing a special beauty uniquely its own. Interchanges, lofty overpasses, and looping curves reflect the strength and determination of men who still reach for the sunset. The Interstate is a beautiful highway, but its scenic appeal comes from within. It offers a beauty born of drawing board and blueprint and inspires admiration for human ingenuity rather than nature's handiwork.

In western Nebraska, every mile shouts of adventure. From the rugged Pine Ridge to ponderous Courthouse Rock, roads are interlopers in this vast expanse. Vistas of western enchantment roll on and on toward the misty mountains in this transition zone where the Plains bid welcome to the high hills. The land does not yield easily to blast and bulldozer and the roads wind and twist through rugged hill and narrow canyon, bringing' new viewing experiences at every turn.

In the harsh Wildcat Hills, the traveler sees the storied West of cedar-dotted breaks and rock-scarred canyons. Here, beauty is magnified by the sprawling immensity of the undulating hills. The deeper into the Wildcats the more impressive the scenery becomes. The venturesome soul who chances a ranch road snaking around the hills and over the long-dry creek beds is in for some awe-inspiring viewing.

Jutting against the western boundary of the state is famed Scotts Bluff National Monument. The high bluffs are reached by a winding road that coils and tunnels and loops its way to the flattopped buttes above the Platte River. From their summits the valley unrolls its rich tapestry of cultivation for miles.

There is probably no other place in the world were the importance of water is so vividly displayed as in the Platte valley. Roaming the bluff country, you know that nature is no longer in the mellow mood of the Great Plains. From here on, the land is carved with a rougher hand, but there are still roads to welcome your eyes.

NEBRASKAland's scenic spots are scattered with a lavish hand. No matter where you live or how little you travel, there's a spot of beauty waiting for you in this state that has a lot of everything to offer.

Go east and enjoy the river country with its trees and bluffs, growing crops, and colorful towns. Go south and follow the footsteps of history. Turn west and the wide-open spaces flash a welcome as big and bright as the sky above. Drive to the north and visit the country that is a mixture of farmland and badland.

Everywhere you look in NEBRASKAland there is something to see. The only ticket you need is the eagerness to take a look. The pictures here are only samples.

Next month, OUTDOOR NEBRASKAland turns back the clock and visits colorful Brownville on the Missouri. Be our guests for this exciting trip. THE END

CHARMED CIRCLE

LONG AFTER the venison is gone and that once-in-a-lifetime trophy is gathering dust, some NEBRASKAland big-game hunters will have a tangible reminder of their big day. Handsome citations are waiting for deer and antelope hunters who bag trophy animals. Eligibility is based on Boone and Crockett Club scoring methods, although minimum requirements are lower. Citations will be awarded for big game taken in the past as well as present and future seasons.

The parchment-like citations will record the name and address of the hunter and the official score. They are signed by the secretary of state and the director of the Game Commission and the recorder. Each is embossed with the seal of Nebraska.

Scores become official after the 60-day shrinkage period. Both archery and rifle trophies will be taken OUTDOOR NEBRASKAland

Minimum scores are 60 points for antelope, 135 for typical whitetails, 145 for nontypical, 160 for typical mule deer, and 185 for nontypical. Only those animals taken in fair chase under the laws governing Nebraska hunting will be considered.

L. P. Vance, chief of the Game Division, is confident that some remarkable trophies will come up when news of the citations gets around. He's positive that Nebraska hunters will gain more listings in the Boone and Crockett Record of North American Big Game when the plan gets rolling.

Nebraska is already well represented in the record book. Sitting in second place in the non-typical whitetail records is Del Austin's mighty buck of 1962. His buck killed with an arrow, scores 185 7/8: 91 4/8 or a total of 277 3/8. Austin's trophy is the best reported since 1892.

Other Nebraska deer hunters who are almost certain to get in the record book are Paul E. Pritts of Hastings, A. L. Brown of Gandy, Ray Liles of Hershey, Albert Ohrt of Washington County, Truman Lauterbach of Sprague, John T. Zuraske of Fullerton, David DeCamp of Meadow Grove, David Strimple of Fremont, and Richard Wolkow of Waterloo. All have brought home bragging-size deer trophies.

Joseph Nelson of Alliance and Harold C. Rusk of Angora are good bets to join the antelope champs when the new list is published. If official measurements confirm Joe's 89 2/8-point pronghorn he will be well up among the leaders. Harold is already in the book, tied for 29th place. His prize hit the dust in 1954.

Many hunters believe number of points, weight, and size of their trophies puts them in the record class. Eligibility comes after a complicated set of measurements. There are 16 separate measurements on deer and nine on pronghorns before they are certified for possible listing. Both deer and pronghorns must exceed certain minimum standards to be considered. The antlers or horns must be attached to the skull.

Official Game Commission scorers are John Weigand, North Platte; Harvey Suetsugu, Alliance; Bob Wood, Bassett; Bob Havel, Norfolk; and L. P. Vance, Lincoln. Hunters who believe they have a citation trophy should contact their nearest scorer for arrangements to measure it. These sharp-eyed record sleuths can spot a taxidermy "make-up" at once, so bringing in fake trophies is useless.

Listing in the Boone and Crockett Club's records does not carry membership in the club. It is restricted to 100 members and one of the requirements is the taking of three North American game species in fair chase.

Small game hunters have some champs of their own to challenge, although no state citations are offered. Current pheasant champ is John Nordeen of Norfolk. His bird, taken in 1962, had the longest tail feather of record, a whopping 30 5/8 inches. His trophy was not challenged in 1963, but it's a cinch there is a better rooster waiting in the shelter belts.

Turkey hunters have two title holders to dethrone. Heavyweight champ of the gobblers is a 23V2-pound bird taken by James E. Larson of Pierce in 1962. Gordon C. Peterson of Orleans bagged a gobbler with a IOV4-inch beard. Both records are on the line again this fall.

Deer and pronghorns grow big in the wide-open NEBRASKAland plains and some hunters may rewrite the record books. In any case, the Game Commission will hand out plenty of citations in 1964. One may be waiting for you. THE END

BREWSTER Sand Hills Cow Town

OUT IN THE Sand Hills, along the cool-running North Loup River, there's a town called Brewster. Now Brewster isn't exactly suffering from a population explosion. In fact, the sign indicating that 40 people live there might even be a little optimistic.

Brewster was founded back around 1884, just as the settlement of the Sand Hills was getting under way. Brewster never got to be what you would normally call a large town, and maybe a little simple arithmetic will help explain why.

You see, it takes about 20 acres of Sand Hills grass to maintain one beef, and about 1,000 beeves to maintain one rancher. And it takes a lot of ranch families to 40 OUTDOOR NEBRASKAland keep one town going. Even though Brewster isn't growing any, it's not much smaller than it ever was. It's in a country known afar as "God's greatest pastureland". There are just a few people, but an awfully lot of cattle.

In Brewster, it's not too unusual for an antelope to meander into town. A cattle drive through the town's main street hardly draws a second glance from the boys who sit on the bench in front of Brewster's only saloon.

Despite Brewster's picayunish size, the community still fills several important roles for the residents of Blaine County. Surprisingly, the town is the county seat, and county government, with nine year-round employees, is Brewster's biggest business. Also, The News is the only newspaper published in the county.

The town's other enterprises include an automotive garage, a post office, and a saloon where a fellow can get out of the sun and wet his whistle. Brewster's general store handles everything from welding machines to spurs to bread and milk.

Brewster, on state highways 7 and 91, is a vita] link in the life of the Sand Hills residents in the area. It will probably never be a booming metropolis, but it will also never be a ghost town. Brewster, like the North Loup River, just keeps rolling long. THE END

MIGHTY SPADE

enforce Congress' 1886 fencing act. They were dead wrong.

Roosevelt sent out an order that all fences on government land should come down immediately. Richards and the rest couldn't imagine that "Teddy" was serious. They climbed aboard the Burlington and lit out for Washington. All that they got for their trouble was a year's extension to get their barbed wire down.

As bull-headed as Roosevelt, the stockmen called the President's bluff. When the deadline came, nary a strand had been pulled from the range. But Roosevelt wasn't bluffing. He ordered the United States attorney to begin prosecutions against the biggest operator of them all, Bartlett Richards. Trial was held in the federal court in Omaha November 13, 1905, the beginning of the "Roosevelt Roundup."

Richards, and his partner, William Comstock, entered a guilty plea to certain counts of the indictment. When federal men produced evidence showing 212,000 acres of public land enclosed by Spade fences, Judge William H. Munger sentenced the two men to pay fines and costs, and to be imprisoned in the custody of the United States marshal for six hours. The light sentence was recommended by the prosecuting attorney since the two were upstanding businessmen. The whole affair turned into a lark when the marshall took Richards and Comstock over to the Omaha Club to make their "confinement" as comfortable as possible.

When Roosevelt heard about the affair his rantings could be heard all over Washington. He immediately discharged the prosecuting attorney and marshal and was now more determined than ever to dethrone the Nebraska cattle king. His chance came in 1906 when government agents gathered up proof to show that Richards and Comstock had lined up dozens of Civil War soldiers and widows to file on land within their fences under the Kinkaid Act of 1904.

The Kinkaid Act gave eligible homesteaders a full section of land, and the ranchers combed the nation for those who would file and then sell their title to the stockmen. It was a mad scramble, the big outfits desperately trying to make their claim to ownership legal before Roosevelt cut them off completely. Investigators came across one widow who had filed five times under variations of her name, but had only been paid expenses and $5 for making each filing.

Roosevelt's big stick was cutting a mighty swath across the prairies now. Once federal engineers surveyed the ranches, "G-men" moved in to cut the fences. The federal men were onto the wheeler-dealing of Kinkaid claims and dug up hundreds of false entries made for the stockmen. Richards and Comstock were the first to be brought to trial on a charge of conspiracy and both were found guilty. Each was sentenced to a one-year jail term and fined $1,500. It was a crushing blow to both men.

Richards and Comstock's attorneys appealed the ruling, but to no avail, and in December 1910, Bart and Will were turned over to the sheriff at the Adams County jail in Hastings. Both had fought long and hard for the free range that they believed in, but they had taken on a man who enjoyed being a king spoiler. The great Spade Ranch felt the loss of its owners. When the dust had cleared it was discovered that even the land under the headquarters buildings had been homesteaded by the foreman of the spread. Settlers became bold now and the shrinking ranch became shabby and run-down.

Confined in a 10 by 10 cell, Bart began to dwindle like his empire. He became ill and applied for a pardon, but the President on the advice of the Justice Department refused to consider his petition. In June, Bart got permission to go to Mayos' for an operation, but he was failing fast. Soon after being brought back to Hastings his condition became critical and he died on the way to the hospital.

The king was dead. And with him his great Spade Ranch died, too. Bartlett Richards had played his winner takes all hand for 34 of his 52 years. His high card was the Ace of Spades and he boldly branded it on every critter that walked his range. But it was also the death card and its omen held true, even though held by Nebraska's Bartlett Richards, the greatest cattle king of them all. THE END

PROGNHORN SHOOT

TROPHY ANTELOPE hunting in the Sand Hills will become a reality when the first modern-day hunt for these prized speedsters kicks loose Friday, September 26. The three-day special season in the vast area marks the high point in a giant trapping and transplanting operation that began in 1958.

Nebraskans have long hunted the panhandle for these prized speedsters. The opening of this huge 14,000 square-mile new range is the first step in making Nebraska one of the better antelope-hunting states in the nation. Though only 300 special bucks-only permits will be allowed in the Sand Hills this first year, eastern hunters will be glad to know that a healthy population is now established and growing several hundred miles farther east than present herds in Nebraska and other western states.

Establishment of the Sand Hills herd and the early hunt is a real game management success story. Game technicians knew that antelope once ranged throughout most of what is now Nebraska. But as civilization advanced and the prairie gave away to cropland, antelope were largely eliminated from their former range. Finally only a remnant population remained in the extreme northwest portion of Nebraska.

Way back before the turn of the century hunting was prohibited throughout the state. Under complete protection, the few pronghorns that remained gradually increased and they eventually occupied much of the 44 OUTDOOR NEBRASKAland panhandle and some of the southwestern part of the Sand Hills. The first hunt in the panhandle was allowed in 1953, but the vast area of the Sand Hills covering much of central Nebraska remained void of huntable herds.

When antelope have been eliminated from a range, natural dispersion back into the area from nucleus herds is an extremely slow process. Trapping and transplanting has proved to be an efficient method of re-establishing pronghorns into desirable habitats. It was felt that artificial restocking could accelerate natural dispersion in the Sand Hills by at least 20 years.

Between 1958 and 1962, in one of the largest antelope trapping and transplanting operations in the United States, 1,077 antelope were taken in the western panhandle and released in the Sand Hills. Interest on the part of the landowners was considerable, and 21 release areas were signed up under co-operative agreements. These areas contain over 1V2 million acres, or roughly 13 per cent of the Sand Hills area.

Possibilities for conflict with agricultural interests were minimal, since about 99.5 per cent of the area is in grassland. Gra-ss comprises an insignificant part of the pronghorns' diet, since they subsist almost entirely on weeds and woody vegetation. Food habit studies indicate that it takes about 110 pronghorns to consume the same amount of grass as one cow.

There is still considerable room for expansion, and it is hoped that antelope populations will increase several fold before stabilization or the need for stabilization occurs. The early season is considered advantageous, however, even though only two years have elapsed since completion of the transplants.

Although cropland comprises a very small portion of the range, there have already been some reports of crop depredations. One of the primary reasons for the season was to permit removal of a few animals in the areas of depredation, and to aid dispersal and move- ment of antelope from these areas by the hunting pressure.

Another major reason for the season is recreation, the major purpose for establishment of the Sand Hills herd. Antelope are polygamous, which means that one buck will mate with several does. Thus, the removal of a reasonable number of bucks will not affect the increase of the herds. In several western states, where only male antelope are legai game, the harvest is aimed at removing bucks to provide a ratio of one adult buck to five adult does.

In the earlier years of antelope hunting even some of the experts considered it impractical to have regulations on the sex of the animal to be taken. However, with reasonable care, the hunting of bucks is quite feasible. This is no place for the man who practices herd shooting or takes shots at extra long range when he is unsure of his target.

Sex is easy to determine, particularly with the use of binoculars. A buck's ears commonly turn inward at the tip, while the doe's do not. His black mask covers his face up to the horns, while on the doe only a faint shading of darker hairs extend upward onto her face. The buck has a black neck patch, visible at long distances, and the doe has no such mark. A buck runs with his horns forward and his nose pointing to the ground, while the doe points her nose well toward the front.

Regulations provide that a legal antelope must have horns longer than the ears, and these are easily discernible at reasonable shooting ranges. In measurements of Nebraska antelope, over 90 per cent of the yearling bucks qualify as legal animals, and all of the older bucks meet the standards. It would be an extremely rare doe which would qualify under the regulations.

Bucks only seasons are the only feasible hunting in areas where the population is low and an increase is desired, such as in the Sand Hills. Similar seasons have proven their worth in several western states, and illegal kill and crippling losses are minimal. Earlier predictions were for a season in the Sand Hills in about 1970, and without the season as set, this long a waiting period may have been necessary.

How about the prospects for success in this first Sand Hills hunt? As measured in terms of recreation and some fine trophies, the anticipation is for a very good season. This is an unhunted area, and numerous excellent bucks have been reported. Quite possibly antelope will be taken here which will meet Boone and Crockett standards, and a new state record may be taken.

If the season is to be measured by the standards of the meat hunters, who are unhappy unless everyone gets an antelope, it will be a dismal failure. Technicians predict a total kill of about 75 to 100 antelope for the 300 permittees. This means that one of every three to four hunters will get his buck. Certainly this is not the area for the meat hunter.

As a word of advice, spend as much time as pos- sible in scouting areas ahead of the season. The chances of getting an antelope are slim if you wait until open- ing day to find a hunting area or look for a pronghorn. Antelope densities are quite low over most of the area, with probably less than 800 legal bucks over a mighty sizeable territory. However, with some scouting, and an accurate rifle, you may be one of the fortunates. Good hunting and good luck. THE END

WHERE TO HUNT State and Federal Areas

WHERE TO GO

WHERE TO GO

GAME PROCESSORS

THE FOLLOWING people, when contacted this summer, indicated their willingness to dress and freeze game for hunters. If ad- dresses are not given, the towns are likely small, and a minimum of effort should locate them.

HUNTERS' FIRE WATCH

MAN'S COMMON enemy, fire, stands as a constant threat to sportsmen and landowners alike. A single blaze, roaring and sweeping across the fields, can wipe out years of pasture development and destroy upland birds and game animals. Of all mutual interests shared by ranchers, farmers, and hunters, the flaming spector of wildfire is the most dramatic.

Reams of copy have been printed urging sportsmen to co-operate with landowners in all manner of ways They have been asked to help plant food plots for wildlife, build nesting boxes, buy seed, and assist in many other worthwhile projects. However, many hunters do not live near enough to their landowner friends to take an active part in soil and cover conservation It is on the fire line that every hunter can prove his friendship 54 OUTDOOR NEBRASKAland and his interest in the welfare of the land and the game birds he seeks as sport.

Elaborate fire-fighting equipment is not necessary. Every hunter who goes afield can carry in his car all the tools needed for a cash outlay of less than the price of box of shotgun shells. All that is required is a shovel, an old broom, a few gunny sacks, and a fivegallon can of water. With these items in the trunk, every hunter's car can serve as a one-man fire engine.

Most families have a spade or a shovel around the house. Toss it in the trunk when you go hunting. Aside from having it handy to throw dirt on a grass fire, the shovel can mean the difference between a car stalled in sand and a pleasant day afield.

Along with the shovel, take that old broom the wife has retired from kitchen duty, trim off the handle to fit the trunk, and wire the straws tightly so they won't fly off while you're beating a fire into submission.

Gunny sacks are tops for beating out a fire. These big burlap sacks can serve many other functions in a hunter's car. They do nicely as a dog bed. Ice wrapped in burlap keeps quite a spell and muddy boots come clean fast when wiped on the coarse cloth. On icy roads, they can be tucked under the rear wheels for extra traction.

A five gallon can shouldn't be hard to come by. Either your favorite hardware store or service station will have one. Get a can that features screw-type top. Fill the can with water and add it to the equipment in the trunk. The water is not to pour on any fires you might discover, as five gallons won't go very far. Rather, use it to soak your gunny sacks and the broom. With wet sacks or a wet broom, you can flog a fire into surrender in short order.

Fire threats are greatest in dry seasons. This is especially true in the great Sand Hills country where the prairie grasses burn like tinder. As you drive along SEPTEMBER, 1964 to your favorite hunting area, watch the roadsides for small blazes. When you spy a ditch fire, break out the wet sacks and brooms and go to work. Don't leave until the fire is dead out.

Let your landowner friends know you are equipped to give them a hand. After all, when you help him protect his land, you are helping yourself. They'll appreciate knowing you care enough to offer your assistance.

To win friends and influence people, and to open new gates to improved hunting, a sportsman can do no better than demonstrate a willingness to man a broom or swing a sack. A strong arm on the fire line when a roaring prairie fire breaks loose will go a long way toward long lasting friendships.

There's an old expression, "Nothing is what you get free". If you want good hunting and a friendly rela- tionship with the folks who raise the game you hunt, you've got to offer more than lip service. This year, equip yourself to lend a hand fighting fire and you'll find many friendly hands pointing you toward the best shooting you ever enjoyed. THE END

OUTDOOR ELSEWHERE

Hot Foot. A game warden checked a remote pond several days after the state's ban on fires and smoking in the woods was lifted. As the warden walked toward an angler sitting on a log smoking a cigarette, the fisherman apparently thought the ban was still in effect. He didn't want to get caught with a cigarette, and dropped it in front of him. The warden checked his license. As he started to leave he noticed smoke coming out of the angler's knee-high rubber boot. The officer started to call it to his attention, when he let out a banshee yell, threw both arms in the air, sent his fishing rod flying, and started clawing at his boot. He got the boot off and there, stuck to his leg was the cigarette, still burning.— New Hampshire Fish and Game Newsletter.

The Latest Thing. Vacationing "voyageurs" in Saskatchewan can take advantage of the latest thing in wilderness outfitting. Hudson's Bay Company will start a "U-Paddle" Canoe Service, similiar to renting cars.—Outdoor Saskatchewan, Regina, Saskatchewan.

Smoky the Man. An incident in Min- nesota last fall makes one wonder whether the massive "Smoky the Bear" campaign has been aimed in the wrong direction these many years. It seems a hungry bruin invaded a dump grounds south of International Falls and packed off some garbage for lunch in the adjoining woods. Mixed with the rubbish were some smoldering ashes, which ignited the dry vegetation and started a half-acre fire. Maybe there should be a "Smoky the Man" to warn bears that "Only you can prevent forest fires!"—South Dakota Conservation Digest.

Toil Toll. A new idea has been suggested to combat litter. Texas Game and Fish magazine suggests an exit payment instead of an admission charge for park areas. This could be in the form of an armload or bag of rubbish (one's own or picked up at random) to be deposited at the exit gate. It also asks consideration of an admission charge that would be rebated upon deposit of trash outside the area.—Izaak Walton Magazine.

Cowboy Dentist. Bob Robinson, San Diego contesting cowboy, will start predental training at Porterville Junior College. He hopes to make rodeoing carry the financial load for his education as a dentist.—Rodeo Sports News.

Long Shot. On February 9, 1963, Lester S. Rake purchased fishing license No. 42106 at the Montour County Courthouse. On February 14, 1964, without any prior planning, he purchased the same license number at the same spot. What are the odds of an angler buying the same license number two years in succession?—Pennsylvania Angler.

Fast Track. Japan's newest engineering marvel, the crack Japanese National Railway's Super Limited-Express Train, will be in operation on schedule October 1. Billed as the world's fastest train, the ivory white and blue coaches are each equipped with their own power units.—Newsletter Japan Travel Bureau.

NEBRASKAland TRADING POST

GENERAL LINE ANTIQUES to please beginners and advanced collectors. Through the Years, Sprague, Nebraska. Open Wednesdays and Saturdays, 2 to 9 p.m. Telephone 432-6038, 423-8950, 477-1681.

PLATTSVIEW KENNELS. Papillion, Nebraska. Dogs trained for hunting and field trials A.K.C. Labradors for sale. Contact Joe Vampola, Jr. Telephone 339-8454.

AKC BLACK LABRADOR pups. Whelped May 1st Sire and Dam proven hunters. Championship bloodlines. E. M. Baldwin, DVM, RFD, Elkhorn, Nebraska. Telephone 3123.___________________________________________

AKC BLACK LABRADORS—Champion sire and dam. Dual champion bloodlines. Wormed and temporary shots. Whelped May 19th. Priced reasonable. H. L. Morrison, 1441 Carlos Drive, Lincoln, Nebraska._____________________

AKC WEIMARANER pups, proven excellent hunters, natural pointers and retrievers, good family pets. Contact John Miller, Miller Bros. Furniture, Sioux City, Iowa.__________________

REGISTERElT GERMAN SHORTHAIR puppies. Whelped April 27, 1964. Nicely marked. Females, $25, males, $35. Write Ed Weigel, Amelia, Nebraska or telephone 925-2411, Atkinson, Nebraska._______________________

GERMAN SHORTHAIRED POINTERS, Bourn's Game Farm, Route 2, Box 190, Lexington, Nebraska, 68850. ________________

FREE picture folder "Growing and Selling Fishbait." Redworm breeders 1,000, $3.50; bed-run 10,000 $9.95. Fain's Bait, Box 560N, Edison, Georgia.

NEW, USED, AND ANTIQUE GUNS— Weatherby, Browning, Winchester, Ithaca, Colt, Ruger, and many others in stock. Buy, sell, or trade. Write us or stop in. Also live bait. Bedlan's Sporting Goods, just off U.S. 136, Fairbury, Nebraska.

HUNTERS: Good pheasant and quail hunting. Lodging and food. Reservations and information. Write to: Riverside Ranch, Mary Williams, Parks, Nebraska. Telephone Benkelman 423-2880.

HUNTERS: Cabins rented by the season, October 1st to December 24th inclusive. Erbs Lodge, Lake McConaughy, Lewellen, Nebraska._____________________________

ACCOMMODATIONS- FOR HUNTERS. Unlimited acres. Donations for room and board on farm. Telephone 373-2393, Route #1, Bloomfield, Nebraska.

SCHAFFER'S RUBBER STAMPS. Free Price list. 3-Line Deluxe Pocket Stamp and Pad, $1.00. 1106 "P" Street, Auburn, Nebraska 68305.

weeTkeunto^ equipped, including awning and poles. $695 and up. A. C. Nelsen Company. We buy mobile homes. 2018 Harney Street. Telephone 344-4548, Omaha, Nebraska.

BOB-K'S AQUA SUPPLY, Nebraska's largest scuba dealer. U.S. Divers, Sportsways, Voit, Swimmaster, Scubrapro. Air Station, Regulator Repair. Telephone 553-0777. 5051 Leavenworth Street, Omaha, Nebraska.

CUSTOM TAXIDERMY. Trophies mounted true to nature. Reasonable prices. John Reigert, Jr., 924 South 39th Street, Lincoln, Nebraska. Telephone 489-3042. ______

COLLAPSIBLE Farm-Pond Fish-Traps; Animal Traps, postpaid. Free information, pictures. Shawnee, 3934-A Buena Vista, Dallas 4, Texas. ___

BOX TRAPS. Fifteen easy to make box traps. Catch game alive, chipmunks to bear. How to make baits, scents. Eliminate sparrows, starlings. Pictured blueprints. Complete, $2. Hiawatha Traps, 9026 Center, Milwaukee, Wisconsin. 53222

note son Nebraska fauna... TURKEY VULTURE

LONG MALIGNED as a ghoul on wings and an omen of approaching death, the turkey vulture, cathartes aura septentrionalis, has an undeserved reputation for evil. A scavenger, he is one of nature's most efficient sanitarians. No carrion is too "ripe" for this strong-stomached bird. Unable or unwilling to kill for himself, he depends upon his phenomenal eyesight to reap the harvest of death.

His endless circling above a weakened animal until it dies has nurtured his unenviable image as a com- panion of the Grim Reaper. Assured that life is gone, he and his fellows waste no time sweeping in for the banquet. If the carrion is too tough for his blunt beak, 58 OUTDOOR NEBRASKAland he will wait until decomposition softens his repast. The hunched appearance adds to this hungry carrion eater's funereal aspect.

An adult bird has a wingspread of approximately six feet and a body depth of 26 to 32 inches. His dark pinions are marked by a gray edging on the underside of the flight feathers. The head and neck are usually naked and range from dull to bright red. His slightly hooked bill is red and tipped with ivory. It is unadapted to ripping or tearing flesh. Flesh-colored or dirty white legs and feet complete the turkey vulture's weird appearance.

Talons are clumsy and unsuitable for seizing or holding Awkward and ungainly on the ground, the turkey vulture runs and hops with a gawky, hitching motion Take-off is accomplished with a series of hops and a great flailing of wings. Usually silent, the turkey vulture has a small vocabulary of hisses, grunts, and croaks

Once air-borne, the vulture is in his element. He sweeps around the sky in great circles, spiraling to great heights without visible effort. He soars for hours on set and motionless pinions, his keen eyes scanning the landscape for miles. Descending, the bird rocks from side to side without changing the position of wings and tail.

Nesting is a casual affair. One, two, and rarely three eggs are laid in rock cavities, caves, hollow trees, stumps, or on the ground. The large creamy white eggs are covered with dots and splashes of bright brown. Depending upon the latitude, nesting occurs from February to June.

Incubation takes approximately 30 days. The young are hatched naked but soon develop a protective down of white or buff. The fluff is gradually replaced with feathers over the next eight or nine weeks. Parents feed their young by regurgitation until they are old enough to feed themselves.

Turkey vultures range from southern California to southern British Columbia. Casual populations are found in some of the eastern states. In Nebraska concentrations have been reported in the Snake and Niobrara river valleys and in the Pine Ridge. The only published breeding record here is from Nuckolls County. A strong migrator, the vulture winters south of a line from the Ohio Valley, Nebraska, and California. Vast summer range extends into Michigan, Minnesota, and the Canadian provinces. A speedy traveler, he migrates by day and wastes little time when instinct tells him to head north.

There is a published record of turkey vultures flying from Panama to Michigan and Minnesota in 10 days, a distance of some 3,600 miles. During migrations the birds apparently travel without stopping for food. As a migrant, turkey vultures are protected by federal regulations.

There is a one-for-all and all-for-one philosophy among turkey vultures. Let one spot carrion and it is only seconds before others slant down to share the feast. A flock of these scavengers never quits until they strip the carcass to the bare bones. If the meal to too big for one sitting, they return again and again until the last shreds of flesh are gone.

Observers claim the vultures use only their eyes in locating food. There is no scientific evidence that the birds can smell death from afar. Instinct tells them almost to the second when life leaves the intended meal and they descend upon the body when it is still warm. Lurid accounts of vultures devouring living animals or humans appear unconfirmed.

Besides his popular and scientific names, the turkey vulture has a beak full of local titles. These include buzzard, turkey buzzard, carrion crow, John Crow, and red-necked buzzard.

Once shot on sight by farmers and ranchers who believed vultures transmitted cholera and other diseases to livestock, the birds have been exonerated of this charge. Before the days of effective sanitation, vultures were the accepted street and road cleaners in many southern states. Scavengers without scruples, vultures help remove the health hazard of dead and decaying animals from many communities. Before enjoying federal status, they were often protected by state and local regulations.

Field studies and stomach examinations of the vulture confirm that his diet is almost exclusively carrion. He is not a threat to poultry or game birds and animals. Structurally unable to kill, the bird does not seek out and destroy the nest or young of other birds and mammals. He joins the coyote and crow as part of nature's clean-up crew. As such, the vulture performs a vital function in the cycle of life. THE END