For the birds

This weekend hundreds of hunters will descend on Karnes County in pursuit of a daily bag limit of twelve mourning and white-wing doves. They’ll drive for hours, stay in hotel rooms, eat at restaurants, and buy lots of shotgun shells and assorted beverages. For many, this will be the only weekend they hunt dove.

Seem excessive? Shoot, I know a guy that loads up a bird dog and a buddy or two and drives for two days to states in the northern and Midwestern sections of the U.S. in pursuit of upland birds and has yet to fill a daily bag. And that’s after months of reading and research on when and where to go.

Seem crazy? I also know a guy that spent several months on a tractor last spring clearing brush so that the few quail that might survive the drought of last summer (remember that?) had adequate edge cover and weeds to rear multiple broods for the following season. And if he’s not crazy, then his buddies that visit from across the state during the spring and summer to shred and plow in preparation for opening day surely are.

Bird hunting is obviously more of a luxury now than back in the days when two prairie chickens fed a farmer’s family out of necessity. But it is a tradition with deep roots in America, perhaps due to that link with survival from centuries ago.

It has been an important part of my life for as long as memory serves. I could easily fill pages with memories of early morning hunts, first shotguns, great dogs and sorry ones, and trips filled with more fun and laughter than bag limits.

But instead, I’ll ask you to ponder the importance of our relationship with these indigenous and migratory birds on a number of levels.

Even if you don’t hunt, if you live in Karnes County you’ll benefit from the visitors we receive this weekend. Every time they open their wallets, our cities and county will receive a little financial boost. Every hand that goes up during the Lonesome Dove Fest auction is contributing to a scholarship that some Karnes County senior will be awarded next May. Every hunter that signs a lease with a landowner is giving that landowner more resources to rebuild a fence, buy a new bull or pickup, send a child to college or the orthodontist, or maybe just save a bit more for retirement.

The same scenario plays out across the country each fall.

In South Dakota and Kansas, pheasant hunters will be fed a welcome breakfast by appreciative small-town chambers of commerce. "Welcome Hunters!" banners will be draped across main streets from Minnesota to Louisiana in anticipation of the economic boon the hunters bring with them.

Countless others benefit from our wing-shooting passion including publishers, outfitters, breeders, gun and ammunition manufacturers, retailers, and yes, beverage makers.

Dove hunting may be the best way to expose a youngster to the shooting sports. The fast action, social aspects, warmer weather and more convenient hours in the field are easier for kids to handle than the frozen toes and wee hours of deer hunting.

Even if they don’t become a lifetime hunter, I believe it’s crucial to expose children to the activity, so their future opinion of hunting (like, when they can vote) is not formed solely by actors or media members.

Many lessons about conservation, stewardship, ethics, respect for life and death, and the consequences of your actions can be learned from one day in the field with a caring adult. You’d be surprised how many little girls I’ve seen holding a dead dove with far more interest and fascination than revulsion.

In my experience, the greatest conservationists of land and resources are hunters. Based upon the amount of time and resources hunters devote to improving habitat so they can have a successful hunt, I frankly feel we’re better stewards than "environmentalists" who’d rather see no human intrusion into nature, except with cameras and granola.

While creating habitat for my quail over the past few years I have benefited numerous other species of birds and animals. Sure, the greatest reward for me is the sight of mama quail running down a cow path with a dozen little bumblebees scooting behind her. From my tractor seat, I’ve also seen scissor-tailed fly catchers riding caracara’s backs while defending their nests, generations of swallows eating millions of mosquitoes, and cattle egrets darting between tractor and plow to scoop up insects.

There may be no greater irony than the fact that the bird I love most, quail, benefits most from the plant I despise with a passion, ragweed. My efforts at ragweed eradication are tempered by my understanding of the role it plays in quail conservation… and antihistamine sales.

I don’t think the land can be returned to its condition prior to man’s arrival, but I also don’t believe that was the best time for all creatures either.

I can still vaguely recall, and frequently read about, the halcyon days of upland hunting of a few decades ago whose demise was not created by more hunters or better dogs, but by larger, more productive farming. If you remember when there was a covey on every fence row or by every abandoned barn, then you need to look more closely at that land today.

Chances are the brushy fence row of the past is gone and a disc harrow has run within inches of the property line. The weeds and grass from the past are probably coastal Bermuda now, a virtual desert for most wildlife. The little family farms have been consolidated into more productive fields or abandoned to brush too thick for anything’s benefit…or worse, turned into tract homes.

Pheasant, quail, and other upland populations of the Midwest are taking a severe hit this year, not because of the weather, but because of ethanol, another environmentalist boondoggle and fodder for future columns. You can’t blame the farmers for turning fallow fields into cash flow or getting as many bushels per acre as possible.

Hopefully through education and conservation, a balance can be struck in the near future between landowners, developers, and hunters that is mutually beneficial to all.

The next time you plant a hay patch, consider something like Klein or lovegrass which benefits cattle and wildlife. The next time you harvest a crop, leave a bit for the birds, just a couple of rows.

If you’re worried that such wanton waste will hurt your pocket book, then look around this weekend at the hunters who’ll be visiting. Ask them what they’d be willing to pay you for the chance at a hunt like their grandpa used to have. Tell them to bring their kids along too.

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