I won’t tell you who Old Number 271 is, other than that he is still out there and a finer gentleman you will never meet. His number, 271, was assigned as he became one of our very first quail hunter cooperators back in the late 1970s. And he dedicated large portions of his life working on behalf of quail and quail hunters throughout our state. Yesterday I noticed one of my quail cooperator envelopes had come in abnormally late. I could tell no wings were in it, which is not uncommon now, but I opened it anyway because sometimes I get a letter (and not always with kind words). The letter was dated May 15, 2015 and this is it verbatim:
It’s a rainy day and I’m trying to use it to catch up on things. I’m going through stuff that’s been piling up on my desk, such as the envelope I’m just now returning. The wing survey form that was enclosed is not returning nor has it been needed for several years.
I guess it’s time for old number 271 to be retired. I thought you might want to purge your records. I think 271 outlasted all prior numbers by several years. I guess I lasted so long because hunting quail was just too much fun to give up just because their numbers had dropped off a little from when I signed on in 1977.
While a little sad to think I may not be hunting quail again, I had some wonderful years in the 70s and 80s, when I didn’t kill a lot of birds but certainly found plenty to shoot at. Lots of memories to enjoy. Lots of good dogs. Not perfect but good.
And, by my profound interest in quail, lots of opportunity came my way aside from hunting. Meeting and working with like-minded individuals. The chance to preach occasionally on behalf of bobwhites and their unique needs. I owe that little bird a lot and have for a long time.
Best success to you in your determined and ever continuing efforts.
Old Number 271
Well…I sat and reflected on this note for quite a while. I have been personally involved in quail recovery since I started reading the quail literature back in 1992 … 15 years after Old Number 271 became a quail wing cooperator for VDGIF. I count myself lucky in having the opportunity to work with him for several years before he retired. I learned a lot about quail from Old Number 271, but more than anything else I learned how much a person can love these birds…just for the splendid creatures they are.
A couple things you will not notice in Old Number 271’s letter: 1) there is no bitterness, or lamenting about why we can’t seem to reverse this quail decline, 2) no quitting either, in the belief that they can come back…”Best success to you in your determined and ever continuing efforts.”
I wrote back to 271 in an e-mail. I admit to not having many words I thought might matter, but just wanted to say thanks. I also wrote in an effort to encourage myself … as I have seen many venerable old bird hunters fade away like the mist over a trout stream on an early May morning. I think many of us suffer from years of “winning some battles but losing the war.” And those few that age does not overtake, illness does.
Old 271’s letter made me think about all the people like him who have done all they can do for the bobwhite. I asked in the note, “I wonder how bad things would be now if no one had ever done anything for them?”
And I wondered to myself where we’d be without the 1985 Farm Bill which at long last brought the word “wildlife” into the farm conservation language.
And the subsequent 1996 Farm Bill that made wildlife an equal partner with soil and water conservation in USDA programs.
And the advent of the Southeast Quail Study Group in 1995 (now the 25 state National Bobwhite Technical Committee), and the National Bobwhite Conservation Initiative (NBCI) and all the non-governmental organizations like Quail Forever, the Quail and Upland Wildlife Federation, The Quail Coalition, the National Wild Turkey Federation, now involved in quail recovery and more.
And I wondered about where we’d be without all the thousands of research hours and millions of dollars spent on behalf of bobwhites by so many storied quail research entities. I could go on, but I reckon my message to myself and any listening is that some may think we have not worked hard for quail, that we have not tried everything we could, but all those things did not happen by accident. Had none of us ever done anything, had there been no Old Number 271s, no one to care, we’d be far worse off today.
I am encouraged by the many exciting things I see happening not just for quail, but for pollinators, songbirds and habitats themselves. Old Number 271 carried the torch, and I believe there is a new generation coming along to keep it lit until its light falls on the bobwhite’s recovery. Those carrying the torch may not be cut from the exact cloth of Old Number 271, but they are right- minded conservationists. Lastly, thanks to Old Number 271 and all those like him who have steadfastly refused to give up on quail.
My daughter and I were out in our yard last week playing with our dogs and enjoying the sunny afternoon. I spotted a tiger swallowtail perched on our lilac bush nectaring. Grace asked, “Can I try to touch it?” I replied “Well…it probably won’t hold still long enough, but you can try. You have to be very careful as the pretty colors are actually scales that rub off easily.” She approached softly and slowly raised her hand with one finger out and touched the butterfly…and it just sat there nectaring without regard. It must have known somehow she was a kid who meant no harm. It eventually flew off unfazed. I did not have a camera. I hope that memory lasts a long time for both of us.
That butterfly captured her imagination in a way most other animals can’t. Its coloration, approachability, beauty and charisma were all right there at her fingertips. I have struggled for two decades trying to find out what it takes to create enough spark and interest in early-succession habitat – thickets, weeds, wildflowers and native grasses – to have a habitat renaissance catch fire and burn like a rank field of broom straw in March (and then burn long like a bag of charcoal).
This brings me to the story of the Monarch butterfly. A story of more fascination I challenge any of the best fiction writers to top. At first glance they appear to be delicate sky jewels, flitting about rapidly if we are lucky enough to see one. An investigation into their life cycle will reveal an organism that is anything but delicate. I urge you to do a search of your own on their life cycle. One fascinating aspect of Monarch ecology is their migration to wintering grounds, in some cases exceeding 3,000 miles.That alone would be drama enough for most of us. Imagine trying to travel that distance through rainstorms, high winds, and other natural conflagrations – it is hard enough in a car, much less in the tiny package we call a Monarch. But this is only one part of their amazing life. You see, it is the fourth generation, typically, that does the fall migration back to Mexico, California and other wintering areas. Those that make the fall trip and successfully overwinter, then take flight in spring heading north into the vastness of Texas and other areas. That part is not so hard to understand. They flew down that way in fall and now they fly back in spring. But they must continue north and continue to breed because those that arrive and breed first, their offspring are not the ones that return to overwinter. It takes several more generations to insure the last one has the longevity to return to Mexico, overwinter and then fly north and breed the following spring.
My mind had to rest on that thought for some time before I could truly grasp its meaning. In terms of salmon, most of us know they are spawned in the headwaters of cold streams. They leave those streams and go out into the ocean for sometimes a few years, then return to their headwaters to spawn themselves. A striking journey in its own right, it still only spans one generation. The same generation that left the stream came back. The Monarch life cycle spans four generations. How does that last generation know to return to Mexico? How do they know how to get there? And how do they then know to return north in spring? I have to think more is at work than pure genetics.
As we know, unfortunately their populations have declined steeply in the last few decades; as have many other pollinating insects, most notably many of our native bees. With regards to Monarchs, declines in milkweed (asclepias sp.) plants have contributed greatly to this crash. Monarchs have another interesting aspect in their ecology – they lay their eggs on milkweed because their larvae after hatching must feed on milkweed to store energy enough to develop into pupae which is the chrysalis stage of their four stage true metamorphosis – egg, larvae, pupae, and adult. And while milkweed is the main theme of the story the public has gotten, there is much more to Monarch habitat. It turns out that native bees, butterflies and bobwhites share one thing in common ... many of them need diverse early-succession habitat to survive. Many of the same things we prescribe for creating and maintaining bobwhite cover like prescribed burning and rotational disking, also provide for an enormous number of pollinating insects.These critters need flowering plants available for nectar throughout the entire warm season.
Our DGIF staff has done quite a bit of prescribed burning this spring on some of our wildlife management areas. Over the last month I have spent a great deal of time getting photographs of some of these burned areas. It is amazing how rapidly the vegetation greens up after prescribed fire. Two weeks ago, while photographing in an old field we’d burned off to rejuvenate it, I saw two pairs of zebra swallowtails, heard at least four different gobblers thundering, heard one quail covey giving their morning covey call, and saw too many types of songbirds to name.
What does it takes to ignite enough interest in these habitats to make a difference? Maybe the Monarch is the butterfly that will save the bee that might save the bobwhite?
May 4, 2015
I used to golf. Trouble is, I love the game but hate crowds, especially on weekends when I am trying to recreate. Thus many years ago I gave up the gaudy pants, fancy shoes and expensive sticks, for…well…gaudy dry flies, fancy waders and other expensive sticks. Back a few years ago a development entity locally was building a new golf course right here in the heart of central Virginia. I passed the entrance to this new promised-land for iron wielding, golf cart racing, Bubba Watson “wannabes” daily on my way to work. It was all the talk of the local and slightly intoxicated “19th hole” crowd.
Shortly after the grand opening, I began getting phone calls, several every week about all the bobwhite quail that were being seen and heard around the new links. I had lived here long enough for people to actually believe there is such a thing as a quail biologist, and not only that, to have made enough of them aware of the plight of these special birds that they knew I’d appreciate any stories of quail success. They were all amazed that quail were attracted to golf courses. After all, I had told them repeatedly how quail needed rough areas, weeds, thickets, wildflowers and brambles and basically how quail hated “clean.” Many went on to describe how great the new course was but lamented, “Man, stay out of the rough though, I ripped a new pair of tweeds to shreds going after a lost ball last weekend.” Or, “This new course is like playing those old Scottish links, the rough is unreal.”
Generally a bit slow on the uptake, even I was quick to realize what was afoot around the new green ribbons of golfing glory. And sadly just as quick to realize how short-lived this new quail kingdom would be. I knew it would not be long until the regulars, who golfed here and not on the PGA tour for a reason, would grow tired of losing expensive golf balls in that rough. I don’t see how anyone without a sponsor can afford to play golf. And speaking of sponsors, I knew it also would not be long until those paying for signage around the links would demand that the unsightly weedy mess be cleaned up – as if God himself had no clue what kinds of plants should inhabit earth.
One day after work I took a drive down around the place. As you might imagine, when building a golf course from scratch, it takes quite a bit of heavy equipment. Dirt piles overgrown with ragweed abounded (some topped with clay covered golf balls). Brier thickets covered all the scarred areas, and broomstraw covered what had previously been fescue pasture. In short, quite inadvertently, and right here in the 21st century, a quail playground was created in a most unlikely place. I never got around to calculating by GIS exactly how many acres of quail cover had been accidentally established, but I suspect it was less than 10% of the total landscape encompassed by the fairways. You see, arrangement and distribution of cover has almost as much to do with quail habitat as does total acreage.
Within a year or two those calls stopped coming in. Upon driving by now, all that remains of that beautiful native cover are a few clumps of broomstraw poking up through the fescue, about as effective as a few hairs sticking up on a bald man’s scalp (Bald is Bold, Baby – I’m bald, I can joke about it). Occasionally I get a call that goes like this, “Man, there were quail out here a couple years ago like crazy, I almost hit one with a 5-wood out on number 6 (I did not know how to yell Foooouuouuuuurrrrr! In quail-ease), I don’t know what happened to them.” And so it goes – ah yes, maybe it’s predators, or some disease, or a parasite?
Take home lessons – quail can and do re-populate an area quickly when there is enough cover in the right distribution as long as there is seed stock (a few other quail) within a few miles. It is not overly difficult to create quail cover, but keeping it around is harder. There are challenges such as “How do we create good quail cover without increasing soil erosion, or decreasing water quality?” We can answer those kinds of questions, but the one I have the hardest time with is “How do we get enough people to care about quail and quail cover to make a difference?” When we live in a country where barely 40% of eligible voters make an effort to be involved, there are bigger issues at play.
Next month’s post: “The butterfly that saved the bee that saved the bobwhite.”
March 30, 2015
I was talking with a colleague this morning discussing youth hunter recruitment and how difficult it is given all the things kids and their parents are now involved in. Just to get a commitment for a one day hunt, or even part of a day, is difficult. Where does that hunting spark come from? What makes a kid burn with desire to go afield? I know when I was a kid some of my earliest memories were of my dad returning home with game. I can still vividly picture a big greenhead mallard he pressed into the window of our front door, when I was four or five, as I gazed at it in awe. But it was more than that, and exactly what I am not sure.
Regardless whether your kid ever hunts or fishes, I hope you somehow manage to kindle their interest in the outdoors. Without that basic curiosity towards nature, there is little likelihood a child will ever grow into a conservationist. I hope you help your kid find a way to rediscover discovery. You just might have fun yourself.
My daughter and I have worked together on her school science project now for the past 3 years. As we scanned the internet looking at page after page of age appropriate science projects for this year’s assignment, nothing really spoke to us. Last year we did the “floating egg” experiment, where we tested the buoyancy of water. As we added salt, low-and-behold the egg that sank in freshwater now floated. Her thoughts may have been, “OK Dad, my choices for fun are, play cool video games, or watch an egg float in water.” One of the biggest challenges any parent faces is how to make things productive, but also fun.
I gave up on the internet projects this year. I put my own meager brain to use. What might be easy, involve nature and be fun? “What do you think about testing to see which seeds in a bag of store bought bird food the birds actually prefer?” I asked Grace. She thought it was “cool.” Most store bought bird seed is comprised of millet, milo, sunflower and cracked corn. Some contain wheat, barley, or a few other seeds, but your standard bag of bird seed is not a sack of gourmet bird food.
Daddy’s bright idea was to get a sifter and separate the seeds…which did not work at all, and we had a ton of fun laughing at my stupidity. I ended up buying the four basic seed types separately. We then had a great time building a 4-chambered tray to put the different seeds in. Nothing hi-tech, we use plywood and some 1’ x 2” stripping pine to make our testing device.
My daughter, wife and daughter’s science teacher all had worries about “how will you know whether squirrels ate the seed? How will you control for seed being blown out by wind? Will you weigh the seed each morning and evening, etc.?” I explained to them all – this is an observational experiment. It will require Grace to sit and watch the birds feed during peak feeding times and record what seed they choose. Thus Daddy is not as stupid as many would like to believe (though my life does have a Forrest Gump quality).
I actively involved my daughter in observing birds. At the same time I eliminated all the potential biases associated with a non-observational experiment. If a squirrel comes along, we’ll shoo him away. And we won’t worry about times, if Grace watches for 10, 20 or 30 minutes over several days – it does not matter because in the end we will have the total number of each variety of seed chosen by type of bird, and collectively.
Some of our results: sunflower was chosen 286 times, millet 26 times, milo 23 times and cracked corn 27 times. The most common choosers of sunflower were the tufted titmouse and the chickadee. We can unequivocally say tufted titmice and chickadees prefer sunflower. Juncos fed on the ground almost exclusively and visited the tray only 2 or 3 times. Doves also fed exclusively on the ground. Cardinals preferred to feed from our bird feeder which was close by, but began to visit the tray once they got used to it. The towhees were the last to show up. They only began using the feed we put out after it snowed. We also found that Cardinals eat sunflower seed by taking the entire seed inside their bill, then spitting out the hulls, but the chickadees and titmice have to grasp the sunflower with their feet and peck out the seed inside. Thus cardinals can eat sunflower a lot faster than other birds. Interesting also was that blue jays, while a large bird, do not have a beak adapted to take in the seed like a cardinal. They, too, had to hold the sunflower seeds and peck them open. The chickadees would pick the seed up and fly to a nearby tree to eat it. The titmice would as often as not, simply peck it open right on the edge of the tray - all this from one simple experiment.
Seed for further study…we wondered how far away birds would come to a feeder? We observed them flying in from a distance of well over a hundred yards. Maybe this study has been done? Regardless, I hope I sparked in my daughter the seeds of a conservationist. Today, songbirds, tomorrow, who knows? But it has to start somewhere.
There is a primordial link that modern humans cannot escape when we stand near the ocean and look at its vastness and taste the salty sea breezes. Likewise, I feel that same connection when sitting near a campfire. There's just something about fire and smoke ... and the visions and memories they evoke. Transcending time, apparitions of faces, echoes of voices telling stories all rise like the smoke, then waft away quickly on the evening breeze. I can see friends in the flames appearing as they looked 25 years ago.
I built a nice big fire ring in the northern portion of my backyard out of “found” rocks. I don’t have to camp to have a fire now. I feel no guilt in burning wood I cut with my own hands from time-to-time for the sheer joy of it. As I sat by the fire a few nights back, I watched the small pile of wood I brought up from the barn disappear rapidly. The colder it got the more I poured on the red oak. Within three hours what I thought would have lasted most of the night was nearly gone (and so was the drink I sipped on).
Much as I try to forget work on weekends, a bobwhite quail flew up out of the fire and into my thoughts. In the east, the father of modern quail management Herbert Stoddard called the bobwhite the “fire bird” in his classic “The Bobwhite Quail: Its Habits, Preservation and Increase” back in the late 1920s. It has been postulated to me by several biologists over the past year that perhaps we were working very hard to restore bobwhite quail to a landscape where they were never abundant pre-European settlement. After all, the tendency in the east for land left to its own devices is to become mature forest.
I agreed to a point with these colleagues, but as I sat by my fire I imagined Native American villages, perhaps consisting of dozens, sometimes hundreds and occasionally maybe thousands of humans living in one area and depending on the resources in their immediate surroundings. Those people not only needed fire to stay warm in winter, they used fire to cook with routinely, daily almost. Fire was also used in canoe making, land clearing, preparing land for farming and promoting ample game populations. When I looked at how much wood I had used to stay moderately warm for a few hours it struck me that Native Americans must have used vast quantities of wood in the areas in which they lived. And fire must have been as common a daily tool for them as a microwave oven is to us.
I further imagined their imprint on the landscape. It was not benign. As they exhausted resources in one area over a period of years, they were likely forced to move to new areas and begin the process again. I am not an archaeologist, but I have read quite a bit about this, and what I am describing is well documented in various places. The notion that there was an unbroken, mature forest from the Atlantic Ocean to the Mississippi River is somewhat misleading. And, while I believe quail populations peaked in our state shortly after the Civil War, I do believe they were abundant well before that. When you add to the Native American use of fire, lightning struck fire, and also toss in large grazing animals like elk and buffalo, I believe early-succession habitats were common.
Tying this back to my title, beyond the bonfire ring, I imagine a ring of fires influence across wide areas of our eastern landscape. Early-successional habitats were perhaps not as evident here as they would have been in our mid-western prairies, or in the Texas scrublands, but they were critical components of our eastern ecosystems. Vast acreages of fire-dependent long-leaf pine existed with significant acres occurring in Virginia. Piedmont prairies, and open mixed short-leaf pine and oak woodlands were common throughout central Virginia. Large open lands occurred west of the Blue Ridge in extensive, fertile valleys and on mountain “balds” maintained by lightning struck fire and grazing. And southwestern facing mountain ridges burned frequently, keeping them in a successional sere dominated by open stands of fire adapted pine. These habitats were important then and they are important now. Until Virginia’s landowners, public and private, learn to recognize, appreciate and manage these sometimes “scruffy” looking habitats, our state’s biodiversity will continue to decline.
However, there is good news. A culture of prescribed burning for ecosystem management is beginning to emerge again among many agencies and among several non-governmental organizations in our state. This has not occurred by accident. Many dedicated professionals in both the public and private sector have worked hard to reignite (don’t groan out loud or roll your eyes) and fan the flames of interest in prescribed fire. So next time you see smoke in the air, don’t assume the worst. There is still a place on Virginia’s landscape for properly applied fire and the habitats it produces.