On a cold January evening in 2011, a couple hundred people filed into the E.P. “Tom” Sawyer State Park community center for a public meeting called by officials of the Department of Fish and Wildlife Resources. State game officials had expected a big turnout for the Jefferson County gathering, and they were not disappointed.
The crowd, as expected, was mostly male, but several women were also in attendance. They formed a mixed bag: Hunters and conservationists dominated the audience, but there were a considerable number of wildlife-loving non-hunters in the group, along with a few openly anti-hunting spokespersons.
Everyone was welcome, and everyone who wished to speak was afforded an opportunity to do so. The Department of Fish and Wildlife—a state agency funded mostly by sportsmen’s dollars, with no monies from the general tax fund—is not non-political, but it’s non-political enough to afford equal footing to all parties at open forum meetings. Also, the contingent of game officials who worked their way through the crowd prior to the 7 p.m. start time included a handful of conservation officers. (Each county is supposed to be assigned at least one officer, although the law enforcement arm of the wildlife agency is rarely fully staffed.) Conservation officers always attend these meetings. Game officials rarely expect or experience trouble, but the presence of a couple of armed, uniformed officers can help spread a conciliatory air among any audience.
The crowd milled about, drinking coffee and chatting among themselves and with state game officials. A few drifted outside in the frigid evening air for a smoke.
A couple minutes after 7, the meeting was called to order. Opening remarks were made, and then a slide show launched the program. State game officials were proposing a hunting season for sandhill cranes, a proposal that had evolved into a surprisingly contentious issue.
Pictures of the cranes—elegant creatures that the Cornell Lab of Ornithology describes as “tall, gray-bodied, crimson-capped birds”—flashed across the screen. Sandhill cranes have a distinctive call, fly high, travel in enormous numbers, and feed and rest in prairie, grassland and marshy habitat. Only a handful of the people in attendance had likely ever seen a sandhill crane in the wild. I had not.
Kentucky wildlife officials had been pushing for a sandhill crane hunting season for several months, although even inside the agency’s headquarters, opinions on the hunt varied sharply. Supporters of the hunt presented a simple but powerful argument: Bird numbers would support a limited harvest. The U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service, which oversees and manages the framework for all migratory bird hunting, including sandhill cranes, had approved the season, within strict limits. Furthermore, it was the state agency’s responsibility and mandate to provide sporting opportunities to the public. While it is true that sandhill cranes had once been endangered, numbers had rebounded. Several states already offered seasons. Bird numbers had continued to thrive. There was no reason not to offer Kentucky hunters a limited quota hunt for the big birds, which are finicky, fickle and notoriously difficult to lure into gun range.
Game officials concluded their presentation and opened the floor to comments and questions. Several hands went up. A middle-aged man with neatly trimmed gray hair and wearing a camouflage cap and coat approached the microphone. He cleared his throat and spoke plainly and softly but with controlled emotion and purpose. Those standing near the back wall strained to hear. He was a lifelong hunter, he said. Deer. Waterfowl. Turkey. Small game. He said that he’d recently taken his grandson on his first squirrel hunt. He praised state wildlife officials for their work and complimented them on their presentation.
And he was absolutely opposed to the sandhill crane season.
“We just don’t need it,” he said. Then quietly sat down.
Game officials seemed briefly stunned but quickly regained their footing and recognized others to speak. More than three-dozen people voiced an opinion, the majority tilting toward approving the season.
Afterward, I found the first speaker and asked about his opposition. He shook his head in a matter-of-fact sort of way. “It’ll be approved,” he said. (It was approved at the following June commission meeting.) “And there’s nothing wrong with having it. I just don’t think we need it.”
Sandhill crane season is now part of the fall and winter hunting fabric, although the quota hunt remains limited to 400 birds per season (in the six seasons since 2011, the quota has never been met), and the season remains dotted with numerous restrictions to help protect the birds. With the approach of each sandhill crane season, my mind rewinds to the speaker that cold January night who simply rendered his opinion without rancor or anger or posturing. There’s a lesson in that.
Kentucky’s 2017-18 sandhill crane season opens Dec. 16 and runs through Jan. 14. The daily/season bag is two birds.
This is a quota hunt in which a computer randomly selects a specified number of hunters from a pool of registrants. Hunters must register to be eligible for the drawing of a crane permit. The registration period ended Nov. 30. Hunters who were drawn and wish to apply for the 2018-19 sandhill crane hunt must complete an online survey at fw.ky.gov by Jan. 25. Completion of the survey is required, regardless of whether a drawn hunter tagged a bird or even hunted.
Readers may contact Gary Garth at editor@kentuckymonthly.com