First Light
On the Hunt It is opening day of turkey hunting season and First Sgt. Benjy Byers and I are rolling westbound in the predawn darkness along S.C. Highway 301 toward Olanta in his Ford F-250 4x4. a black S.C. Department of Natural Resources-issued truck that serves as his- rolling - --"-'o office as he roams from one coun$r to the nextMinutes earlierwe'd grabbed an on-the-go brealdast in Effingham at Hub's Crit A Grocery. a fre;;.;,,r"p;;; sometimes hangout for lawmen, hunters, power line crews, farmers and other early-risers. Byers falls into that category. He's a former deputy sheriff and. for the past dozen years, an enforcer of the sLate's fish and game laws. As a DNR conseruation officer, his job often requires him to be on the road well before sunrise at leait six months out of the year, he estimates. Other DNR employees are in the field at first light, too, and to get a better idea of what these dedicated fotks do during the early-morning hours of their work in the Pee Dee, I made numerous trips into the field with DNR staffers over the course of several months. At Hub's. turkey hunters outfitteJ in camouflage clothing and calf-high snake boots hold court ou"", hot coffee and breakfast at tables in the back. Sgt. Byers and I survey the menu: eggs. bacon, four kinds ofsausage, hot biscuits and sausage gravy, fried ham, fried bologna, chicken fingers. potato wedges, flapjacks, toast and grits. Obviously a veteran of the grab-andgo meal, he opts for fried pork sausage wrapped in a slice of white bread lined with a quick blast oiyellow mustard. and I quickly follow his lead, ordering one for myself and throwing in one of those tiny glass bottles of ice-cold Coke for good measure. At just after five o'clock in 'WryryW morning. it looked posirively deadly . . . but delicious. And thenwe're moving down the highwaywith the radio crackling and the dash lights glowing.-Outside, the temperature is a steady fi$r degrees, and the road's white center lane divider shines brightly in the truck,s high beams. Occasionally, a lone pickup zooms pasL h;ded the other way very possibly a turkey hunter but for the most part, the highway is quiet. In South Carolina, hunting wild turkeys is second in popularity only to hunting white-tailed deer. Thll, slender creatures that can weigh as much as twenty-five pounds, wild turkeys are known for their sharp eyesight and overall craftiness. It takes more than just a leisurely stroll through the forest to bag one. Armed with either a bow and arrow or a shotgun, hunters cloak themselves in camouflage clothing and use artificial turkey calls to coax the wily, long-legged birds to within shooting range. It takes an
-
the
-
-
adult portion of one of turkey hunting's key ingredients
*
paience.
In}}1A,some 43,000 hunters tried their 1uck across the state. The amual end-of-season survey conducted by the DNR indicares rhar they bagged approximarely 17,000 turkeys, according to the 2010 SCDNR Wild fu ,lny H a rue s t Re p o rt, avai I able onl i ne at www. d nr: s c. gov (search for "turkey"). All that hunting activity is a boon for local economies. A2003 survey by the National Wild Turkey Federation estimates that turkey hunting generates approximately $35 million
in annual economic activity in South Carolina. Most turkey hunters follow the rules and take satisfaction from the challenge inherent in the sport. But some not many, to be sure, but they're out there take shortcuts by baiting with wheat, corn or sunflower seeds. Ifcaught, suspected violators can be issued citations that will ser them +r€:ry=:sj€==i.ry::back as much as two or three hundred
-
-
dollars. Over the previous several days, Sgt. Byers and his team have found three bait sites on private property: two
in Darlington County and one in Florence County. This morning, they've staked out each of those sites. Meanwhile, he and I continue to roll through the countryside, sticking mostly to Florence County, waiting to hear from his officers. Then, somewhere around sunrise. he gets a cal[. talks for a moment. then turns to me. "They got one in Darlington County,,'he sa1/s, cracking a smile. -"Let's take a ride on up there.,, (Left and upper right) DNR Law Enforcement Di,ision Finr Sgt.
Benjy Byers frequently greets the dawn
from
his pichq.
which also setyes as his rolling office. (Above) Bre6 ml',o \.irh a Pee Dee hunter while performing a routine license clrcck rlurinq deer season. (Overteaf, previous pagel First
ligttt ltirs
c:lpress
knees ot the DNR's Woodbury WiMW lvlfanagernew -4rea. la".:;.-.-
Ftica..
1,:l) 43
Preserving tLe Past In the seven counties that comprise the Pee Dee region. the DNR oversees ten designated Wildlife Management Areas (WMAs) and Heritage Preserves. WMA lands are managed Iargely for outdoor
recreation like hunting, fishing, hiking and birdwatching, and for the study and conservation of wildlife species. Heritage Preserves, meanwhije. are lands that have been set aside to help slow the loss of natural habitats or to some protect fragile cultural sites years. of One back thousands dating such area is the Johannes Kolb Site, located within lhe 2.725-acre Great Pee Dee Heritage Perserve and
-
WMA in Darlington County. I joined DNR archaeologist Sean Thylor at the Kolb dig at [irst light one morning in
rni"Griii
Prc
oii'iirer"nir|iogi t'reteii i"a'''ii-iiirhngto" ciinty.
for a team of his fellow archaeologists and volunteers to arrive and get back to the delicate task of searching for artifacts that can help shed Iight on the lives of people who lived here long, long
March,is
he waited
ago.
As the eastern sky's darkness gave way to pale morning light, and barred owls hooted and wood ducks squawked, Taylor showed me part of what he and his archaeological colleagues have been working on since the mid-1990s.
With sunrise at hand, Taylor, along with archaeologists the Chris Judge and Carl Steen men who created the plan for organized research at the Kolb and maybe two site in 1995 dozen
volunt""rr, *uny of them
accelerated speed), and to actually help dig at the site. In 2010, nearly three hundred people of all ages turned out for the event. Taylor and I walk over to a large excavation that dominates the site. It is maytre four feet deep and sixteen f,eet square. A blue plastic tarp has been set up to offer some measure of shade for those working the dig. The archaeologists use a ladder to climb into and out of the hole, which they began excavating in 2008. They work with flat shovels, the edges of which have been sharpened to better cut through the ubiqu itous roots encountered
throughout the day. Soil
university students, arrive for
another day of sifting through the past. The volunteers and students are a part ofthe 2011
"field season" at Kolb,
a
two-
weekJong dig held each year that helps archaeologists st udyi ng the site gather new artilacts and record data about the site. as
DN R archaeologist Sean Titylor works with young
removed from the excavation is sifted through quarter-inch wire mesh screens, and any artifacts buried in the groundwill be uncovered during this process. Over the years, archaeologists have uncovered close to a half-million artifacts from the five-acre site.
visitors duing"Public Day" at the Kolb site. "This project could go on well as providing a hands-on indefinitely," says Taylor, as the sun finally breaks or-er learning experience for the students. In a couple of days, the horizon and shafts of light begin filtering through the even younger students and adults will visit the site for branches of sweet gum, sycamore and loblol! pine tree s. the annual "Public Day" at Kolb to witness a variety of (the making "We've collected enough data to spend -vears uririns up skill oI demonstrations such as flintknapping what we've already done. There could be anr number of stone tools that Taylor has been perfecting for more than doctoral dissertations and master's theses that come out a decade). fire-mairing, pottery-making, the throwing ol of this site." an atlatl (an ancient device used to throw spears at an
red-cockaded wooc)peckers. An RCW peeps out of a man-made nest designed to help boost this endangered bird's numbers. The open pine savqnna at Longleaf Pine Heitage Preseruc and WMA in Lee Counry provides imponant habitat for RCWs and ofuer species.
Managfing a Putli" T*trst Over in Lee County, on another DNR-managed property Longleaf Pine Heritage Preserve and WMA tiny red-cockaded woodpeckers are up before sunrise in search of food for their newly-hatched chicks. It is mid-June now, and you must look carefully to spot these little chaps in the gathering pre-dawn light when they are most active. The woodpeckers, commonly referred to as RCWs. have a curious roller-coaster pattern ol flying that sets them apart from their feathered colleagues. They pump their wings in short rapid bursts, their little bodies which wouldn't even tip the scales at two ounces -slightly losing altitude with each split-second pause in- wing
their cheeks and, on the heads of males, the red marking fromwhich their name is derived. RCWs make nests in holes in live longleaf pine trees maybe twenty or thirty feet off the ground. Around the hole, the birds drill much smaller holes with their dagger-shaped bills so that sap will seep out onto the bark. This helps deter snakes from climbing the tree and invading the woodpecker's home. The thingwith RCWs is they mainly thrive in longleaf pine and wiregrass ecosystems. which. before Europeans came to this continent, covered an estimated ninety million acres of the Southeast. Millions of red-cockaded woodpeckers flourished in those forests. But, of course,
action.
things change. Tiees get cut down, towns get built and wild areas gradually just aren'tverywild any more. And so, those longleaf pine-dominated ecosystems. prevalent so long ago, eventually dwindled, until today just three million acres remain. With the decline of critical habitat, the RCW population slipped to what can onlr be called desperate numbers. The U.S. Fish and \Vildlife Service estimates that the number of RCWs tell b-v about 99 percent since the time Europeans first hit the shores of
I saw my first RCW when Allen Bridgman, a DNR technician, pointed one out to me at the Longleaf Pine preserve. Viewed through a spotting scope or a pair of binoculars, one can see that this little woodpecker, one of eight such species in the Southeast, is a handsome fellow indeed. Roughly seven or eight inches long, and with a wingspan of about a foot, RCWs have distinctive white bars on their dark backs, a generous splash of white on 46
South Carolina Wildlile
Sunise lights up a wetland area at Woodbury WMA. (Below) WildJtowers bloonting in a meadow at Lynchburg Savanna Heitage heserue and WMA in Lee Counry.
the East Coast. Today, maybe 14,000 of these birds are left. A good portion of that number is located here in South Carolina, and the DNR isworking to re-establish RCWhabitat on Longleaf Pine Heritage Preserve and other heritage preserves around the state. Swatting moiquitoes and horseflies rhat I swear are the size ol hummingbirds,
Bridgman and I walk close to o.-ne of the longleafpines. I reach out and touch the sap that has hardened on the bark. He points to the nest above us and tells me that it is one of many manmade nests that have been implanted in trees by DNR crews to make things just a bit easier for the woodpeckers. RCWs Iive in groups comprised of one breeding pair and up to four other birds, usually male offspring from previoui breeding seasons. Biologists call these birds "helpers." These small communities there are four RCW nesting groups here at Longleaf Pine together to prepare and maintain the nest and -work to care forind feed the young. Bridgman and I make our way to another tree so that he
-
can show me the inside of one of the RCW nests using what he calls a "treetop peeper."
The "peeper" is a collapsible pole with a tiny camera and a light attached to one end. He extends the pole until it is high enough to reach the nest, taps the camera's nose against the bark to alert any adults that may be present, and then, ever so carefully, positions the camera inside the nest. And there it is on the LCD screen at the bottom of the pole right in front of us: a baby RCW maybe a couple of weeks out of the egg, with feathers starting to cover its little body. We look at the screen and listen to the youngster's squeaking. More than likely, this little one's family is out lookins for insects to bring back to the nest for her. Benr-een the familial duties of the group and the assistance of D\R's early-rising biologists, this little woodpecker just mieht avoid joining the grim parade of other bird species that have slipped from the here and now inro the black hole of
extinction. J;ri;n
-Fiiru;r,
:l::
17
Pro..iJing Publi" H.rnting Opportunities rrtJ Managing
Grr.r. PopJrtions In April, I drive over to the Pee Dee Station Site Public Dove Field in Florence County, near Kingsburg, to watch DNR technician Kell Fitts and two other men plant sixty acres of corn, sunflowers and brown top millet. Fitts and the other crew members rolled out of bed well before daybreak to get started with this planting ritual, which he has participated in for the previous fifteen seasons.
The purpose here, at the two other public dove fields the DNR maintains in the Pee Dee and at other similar fields located around the state, is to plant crops that will attractmourning doves for hunting enthusiasts later in the year. Although South Carolina has numerous hunting clubs and vast areas of private land, many hunters simply don't have access to private land. Public dove fields provide a welcome alternative for adult and youth hunters.
"We'll probably spend two days over here," Fitts tells me as we walk through freshly-tilled soil in the early morning light. "But we will be tending this field all the way through dove season." With any luck, some of the birds harvested during hunting season will have a tiny metal identification band on one of their legs. The hunters may keep the bands, but they are asked to report the band number to the United States Geological Survey Bird Banding Lab using the toll-free number inscribed on the bands. This band information helps the DNR keep track of the numbers of birds killed during any given season and contributes useful information that helps state and federal officials manage this species. Over the past decade, more than 15,000 doves have been banded by the DNR and the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service. To see how this is done, I catch up with another of the DNR's early-risers: Sam Stokes, the department's wildlile coordinator for Region Two.I meet Stokes just about sunrise one moming in mid-July at the Clemson University Pee Dee Research & Education Center north of Florence, where he's in the process of setting traps to capture mourning doves. 48
South
Cnrlim llitdlite
and maintqining public fune field"s like this one. Such fields are a source of food for migrating doves and provide hunting oppoftunities for citizerc who may not have access to pivate land.
(Below) Dove bandinghelps biologists monitor this impofiant game species.
The traps are really pretty simple. They are made of wire, are about fventy-four inches square and have two funnel-like entrances. Once inside, the dove just can't figure out how to get back out. Two or three weeks before the actual trapping begins, Stokes selects several spots where doves appear to be hanging around. He'll bait the site with sunflower seeds, brown top millet and wheat, and leave the cage nearby turned upside down so as not to work and frighten away birds from the site . . .yet. Eventually, the doves learn the baited sites are reliable sources for food, and they get used to those strange wire things that are always around. At that point, al1 Stokes has to do is flip the cages right-side-up, put fresh seedinside the cage and check back in an hour or trvo. Later,whenwe check one of the cages, we find a mourning dove, a cardinal and a brown-headed cowbird inside. Stokes lets the latter two go, but drops a pillow case over the dove to keep it calm and takes the bird back to his vehicle, where he attaches an identification band to one of its legs. Then he rolls down the window and tosses the dove into the air.
Epilogue: When Officer Byers and I show up in Darlington Counff, two of his officers privates Andrew Perry and Andrew Godowns are questioning two men dressed in - The officers issue tickets to both men camouflage clothing. for hunting on land that has been generously baited with corn. One of the men, who wears a black ball cap and does most of the talking, insists that he and his colleague have done nothing wrong. "I pride myself on being legal," he tells the officers. Some months later, when I check with Byers, I learn that both men paid their fines without contesting their tickets. The next morning, a Saturday, Byers and I are back on the road before dawn. We log maybe sixty miles, and then, somewhere in Florence County, not far from the Lynches River, we pull over to the side of the road and ro11 down our windows. We sit there for a while facing east, listening. It is still dark, but getting lighter. After a few minutes, we hear a gunshot. Hard to tell where it is, but Byers starts the Ford's engine and says, "Let's ro11 down that way and see what we can find." We drive a couple hundred yards and then turn left onto a dirt road that cuts across a cotton field. We stop for a minute, and Byers scans the far side of the field with his binoculars.
No sign of anyone. We follow the narrow road into the woods. Underbrush and tree branches scrape the sides of the truck as the road
snakes downward closer to the river. Finally, we arrive at a small clearing and the road ends. The truck slows to a stop and we get out. We don't hear any more shooting, and Byers decides that the shot we heard earlier probably came from Lee Coun$r, just across the river. We sit quietly for a couple of minutes, listening, and then two turkeys begin gobbling away somewhere in the brush. One is an adult with a world-class gobble. The other voice is that of a jake, as young turkeys are called, and it is clear from listening to him that he has yet to perfect the famous trademark call of his species. Now the sun is up. Shafts of morning light are breaking through stands of birch, gum, oak and tupelo. It's a good time of day, maybe the best. The American naturalist Edwin Way Teale wrote once that dawn is "nature's finest balm" for anything that might be troubling you. I think Sgt. Byers subscribes to that view. In fact, I know he does. More than once over the last couple of days he has told me that being outside at first light offers simple, yet unparalleled rewards sight of a beaver swimming in a - theacross pond, a raccoon scurrying a country road, deer going for water which most of us just never see. The lawman quietly suweys the spreading light of morning in our small clearing. "This is the time of day when life begins," he says, and then we walk back to the truck, somewhat reluctantly, I think, to get onwith the rest of our day. w"
-
the
-
-
adult portion of one of turkey hunting's key ingredients
*
paience.
In}}1A,some 43,000 hunters tried their 1uck across the state. The amual end-of-season survey conducted by the DNR indicares rhar they bagged approximarely 17,000 turkeys, according to the 2010 SCDNR Wild fu ,lny H a rue s t Re p o rt, avai I able onl i ne at www. d nr: s c. gov (search for "turkey"). All that hunting activity is a boon for local economies. A2003 survey by the National Wild Turkey Federation estimates that turkey hunting generates approximately $35 million
in annual economic activity in South Carolina. Most turkey hunters follow the rules and take satisfaction from the challenge inherent in the sport. But some not many, to be sure, but they're out there take shortcuts by baiting with wheat, corn or sunflower seeds. Ifcaught, suspected violators can be issued citations that will ser them +r€:ry=:sj€==i.ry::back as much as two or three hundred
-
-
dollars. Over the previous several days, Sgt. Byers and his team have found three bait sites on private property: two
in Darlington County and one in Florence County. This morning, they've staked out each of those sites. Meanwhile, he and I continue to roll through the countryside, sticking mostly to Florence County, waiting to hear from his officers. Then, somewhere around sunrise. he gets a cal[. talks for a moment. then turns to me. "They got one in Darlington County,,'he sa1/s, cracking a smile. -"Let's take a ride on up there.,, (Left and upper right) DNR Law Enforcement Di,ision Finr Sgt.
Benjy Byers frequently greets the dawn
from
his pichq.
which also setyes as his rolling office. (Above) Bre6 ml',o \.irh a Pee Dee hunter while performing a routine license clrcck rlurinq deer season. (Overteaf, previous pagel First
ligttt ltirs
c:lpress
knees ot the DNR's Woodbury WiMW lvlfanagernew -4rea. la".:;.-.-
Ftica..
1,:l) 43
Preserving tLe Past In the seven counties that comprise the Pee Dee region. the DNR oversees ten designated Wildlife Management Areas (WMAs) and Heritage Preserves. WMA lands are managed Iargely for outdoor
recreation like hunting, fishing, hiking and birdwatching, and for the study and conservation of wildlife species. Heritage Preserves, meanwhije. are lands that have been set aside to help slow the loss of natural habitats or to some protect fragile cultural sites years. of One back thousands dating such area is the Johannes Kolb Site, located within lhe 2.725-acre Great Pee Dee Heritage Perserve and
-
WMA in Darlington County. I joined DNR archaeologist Sean Thylor at the Kolb dig at [irst light one morning in
rni"Griii
Prc
oii'iirer"nir|iogi t'reteii i"a'''ii-iiirhngto" ciinty.
for a team of his fellow archaeologists and volunteers to arrive and get back to the delicate task of searching for artifacts that can help shed Iight on the lives of people who lived here long, long
March,is
he waited
ago.
As the eastern sky's darkness gave way to pale morning light, and barred owls hooted and wood ducks squawked, Taylor showed me part of what he and his archaeological colleagues have been working on since the mid-1990s.
With sunrise at hand, Taylor, along with archaeologists the Chris Judge and Carl Steen men who created the plan for organized research at the Kolb and maybe two site in 1995 dozen
volunt""rr, *uny of them
accelerated speed), and to actually help dig at the site. In 2010, nearly three hundred people of all ages turned out for the event. Taylor and I walk over to a large excavation that dominates the site. It is maytre four feet deep and sixteen f,eet square. A blue plastic tarp has been set up to offer some measure of shade for those working the dig. The archaeologists use a ladder to climb into and out of the hole, which they began excavating in 2008. They work with flat shovels, the edges of which have been sharpened to better cut through the ubiqu itous roots encountered
throughout the day. Soil
university students, arrive for
another day of sifting through the past. The volunteers and students are a part ofthe 2011
"field season" at Kolb,
a
two-
weekJong dig held each year that helps archaeologists st udyi ng the site gather new artilacts and record data about the site. as
DN R archaeologist Sean Titylor works with young
removed from the excavation is sifted through quarter-inch wire mesh screens, and any artifacts buried in the groundwill be uncovered during this process. Over the years, archaeologists have uncovered close to a half-million artifacts from the five-acre site.
visitors duing"Public Day" at the Kolb site. "This project could go on well as providing a hands-on indefinitely," says Taylor, as the sun finally breaks or-er learning experience for the students. In a couple of days, the horizon and shafts of light begin filtering through the even younger students and adults will visit the site for branches of sweet gum, sycamore and loblol! pine tree s. the annual "Public Day" at Kolb to witness a variety of (the making "We've collected enough data to spend -vears uririns up skill oI demonstrations such as flintknapping what we've already done. There could be anr number of stone tools that Taylor has been perfecting for more than doctoral dissertations and master's theses that come out a decade). fire-mairing, pottery-making, the throwing ol of this site." an atlatl (an ancient device used to throw spears at an
red-cockaded wooc)peckers. An RCW peeps out of a man-made nest designed to help boost this endangered bird's numbers. The open pine savqnna at Longleaf Pine Heitage Preseruc and WMA in Lee Counry provides imponant habitat for RCWs and ofuer species.
Managfing a Putli" T*trst Over in Lee County, on another DNR-managed property Longleaf Pine Heritage Preserve and WMA tiny red-cockaded woodpeckers are up before sunrise in search of food for their newly-hatched chicks. It is mid-June now, and you must look carefully to spot these little chaps in the gathering pre-dawn light when they are most active. The woodpeckers, commonly referred to as RCWs. have a curious roller-coaster pattern ol flying that sets them apart from their feathered colleagues. They pump their wings in short rapid bursts, their little bodies which wouldn't even tip the scales at two ounces -slightly losing altitude with each split-second pause in- wing
their cheeks and, on the heads of males, the red marking fromwhich their name is derived. RCWs make nests in holes in live longleaf pine trees maybe twenty or thirty feet off the ground. Around the hole, the birds drill much smaller holes with their dagger-shaped bills so that sap will seep out onto the bark. This helps deter snakes from climbing the tree and invading the woodpecker's home. The thingwith RCWs is they mainly thrive in longleaf pine and wiregrass ecosystems. which. before Europeans came to this continent, covered an estimated ninety million acres of the Southeast. Millions of red-cockaded woodpeckers flourished in those forests. But, of course,
action.
things change. Tiees get cut down, towns get built and wild areas gradually just aren'tverywild any more. And so, those longleaf pine-dominated ecosystems. prevalent so long ago, eventually dwindled, until today just three million acres remain. With the decline of critical habitat, the RCW population slipped to what can onlr be called desperate numbers. The U.S. Fish and \Vildlife Service estimates that the number of RCWs tell b-v about 99 percent since the time Europeans first hit the shores of
I saw my first RCW when Allen Bridgman, a DNR technician, pointed one out to me at the Longleaf Pine preserve. Viewed through a spotting scope or a pair of binoculars, one can see that this little woodpecker, one of eight such species in the Southeast, is a handsome fellow indeed. Roughly seven or eight inches long, and with a wingspan of about a foot, RCWs have distinctive white bars on their dark backs, a generous splash of white on 46
South Carolina Wildlile
Sunise lights up a wetland area at Woodbury WMA. (Below) WildJtowers bloonting in a meadow at Lynchburg Savanna Heitage heserue and WMA in Lee Counry.
the East Coast. Today, maybe 14,000 of these birds are left. A good portion of that number is located here in South Carolina, and the DNR isworking to re-establish RCWhabitat on Longleaf Pine Heritage Preserve and other heritage preserves around the state. Swatting moiquitoes and horseflies rhat I swear are the size ol hummingbirds,
Bridgman and I walk close to o.-ne of the longleafpines. I reach out and touch the sap that has hardened on the bark. He points to the nest above us and tells me that it is one of many manmade nests that have been implanted in trees by DNR crews to make things just a bit easier for the woodpeckers. RCWs Iive in groups comprised of one breeding pair and up to four other birds, usually male offspring from previoui breeding seasons. Biologists call these birds "helpers." These small communities there are four RCW nesting groups here at Longleaf Pine together to prepare and maintain the nest and -work to care forind feed the young. Bridgman and I make our way to another tree so that he
-
can show me the inside of one of the RCW nests using what he calls a "treetop peeper."
The "peeper" is a collapsible pole with a tiny camera and a light attached to one end. He extends the pole until it is high enough to reach the nest, taps the camera's nose against the bark to alert any adults that may be present, and then, ever so carefully, positions the camera inside the nest. And there it is on the LCD screen at the bottom of the pole right in front of us: a baby RCW maybe a couple of weeks out of the egg, with feathers starting to cover its little body. We look at the screen and listen to the youngster's squeaking. More than likely, this little one's family is out lookins for insects to bring back to the nest for her. Benr-een the familial duties of the group and the assistance of D\R's early-rising biologists, this little woodpecker just mieht avoid joining the grim parade of other bird species that have slipped from the here and now inro the black hole of
extinction. J;ri;n
-Fiiru;r,
:l::
17
Pro..iJing Publi" H.rnting Opportunities rrtJ Managing
Grr.r. PopJrtions In April, I drive over to the Pee Dee Station Site Public Dove Field in Florence County, near Kingsburg, to watch DNR technician Kell Fitts and two other men plant sixty acres of corn, sunflowers and brown top millet. Fitts and the other crew members rolled out of bed well before daybreak to get started with this planting ritual, which he has participated in for the previous fifteen seasons.
The purpose here, at the two other public dove fields the DNR maintains in the Pee Dee and at other similar fields located around the state, is to plant crops that will attractmourning doves for hunting enthusiasts later in the year. Although South Carolina has numerous hunting clubs and vast areas of private land, many hunters simply don't have access to private land. Public dove fields provide a welcome alternative for adult and youth hunters.
"We'll probably spend two days over here," Fitts tells me as we walk through freshly-tilled soil in the early morning light. "But we will be tending this field all the way through dove season." With any luck, some of the birds harvested during hunting season will have a tiny metal identification band on one of their legs. The hunters may keep the bands, but they are asked to report the band number to the United States Geological Survey Bird Banding Lab using the toll-free number inscribed on the bands. This band information helps the DNR keep track of the numbers of birds killed during any given season and contributes useful information that helps state and federal officials manage this species. Over the past decade, more than 15,000 doves have been banded by the DNR and the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service. To see how this is done, I catch up with another of the DNR's early-risers: Sam Stokes, the department's wildlile coordinator for Region Two.I meet Stokes just about sunrise one moming in mid-July at the Clemson University Pee Dee Research & Education Center north of Florence, where he's in the process of setting traps to capture mourning doves. 48
South
Cnrlim llitdlite
and maintqining public fune field"s like this one. Such fields are a source of food for migrating doves and provide hunting oppoftunities for citizerc who may not have access to pivate land.
(Below) Dove bandinghelps biologists monitor this impofiant game species.
The traps are really pretty simple. They are made of wire, are about fventy-four inches square and have two funnel-like entrances. Once inside, the dove just can't figure out how to get back out. Two or three weeks before the actual trapping begins, Stokes selects several spots where doves appear to be hanging around. He'll bait the site with sunflower seeds, brown top millet and wheat, and leave the cage nearby turned upside down so as not to work and frighten away birds from the site . . .yet. Eventually, the doves learn the baited sites are reliable sources for food, and they get used to those strange wire things that are always around. At that point, al1 Stokes has to do is flip the cages right-side-up, put fresh seedinside the cage and check back in an hour or trvo. Later,whenwe check one of the cages, we find a mourning dove, a cardinal and a brown-headed cowbird inside. Stokes lets the latter two go, but drops a pillow case over the dove to keep it calm and takes the bird back to his vehicle, where he attaches an identification band to one of its legs. Then he rolls down the window and tosses the dove into the air.
Epilogue: When Officer Byers and I show up in Darlington Counff, two of his officers privates Andrew Perry and Andrew Godowns are questioning two men dressed in - The officers issue tickets to both men camouflage clothing. for hunting on land that has been generously baited with corn. One of the men, who wears a black ball cap and does most of the talking, insists that he and his colleague have done nothing wrong. "I pride myself on being legal," he tells the officers. Some months later, when I check with Byers, I learn that both men paid their fines without contesting their tickets. The next morning, a Saturday, Byers and I are back on the road before dawn. We log maybe sixty miles, and then, somewhere in Florence County, not far from the Lynches River, we pull over to the side of the road and ro11 down our windows. We sit there for a while facing east, listening. It is still dark, but getting lighter. After a few minutes, we hear a gunshot. Hard to tell where it is, but Byers starts the Ford's engine and says, "Let's ro11 down that way and see what we can find." We drive a couple hundred yards and then turn left onto a dirt road that cuts across a cotton field. We stop for a minute, and Byers scans the far side of the field with his binoculars.
No sign of anyone. We follow the narrow road into the woods. Underbrush and tree branches scrape the sides of the truck as the road
snakes downward closer to the river. Finally, we arrive at a small clearing and the road ends. The truck slows to a stop and we get out. We don't hear any more shooting, and Byers decides that the shot we heard earlier probably came from Lee Coun$r, just across the river. We sit quietly for a couple of minutes, listening, and then two turkeys begin gobbling away somewhere in the brush. One is an adult with a world-class gobble. The other voice is that of a jake, as young turkeys are called, and it is clear from listening to him that he has yet to perfect the famous trademark call of his species. Now the sun is up. Shafts of morning light are breaking through stands of birch, gum, oak and tupelo. It's a good time of day, maybe the best. The American naturalist Edwin Way Teale wrote once that dawn is "nature's finest balm" for anything that might be troubling you. I think Sgt. Byers subscribes to that view. In fact, I know he does. More than once over the last couple of days he has told me that being outside at first light offers simple, yet unparalleled rewards sight of a beaver swimming in a - theacross pond, a raccoon scurrying a country road, deer going for water which most of us just never see. The lawman quietly suweys the spreading light of morning in our small clearing. "This is the time of day when life begins," he says, and then we walk back to the truck, somewhat reluctantly, I think, to get onwith the rest of our day. w"
