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SOUTHERN OUTDOORS, MAY 15, 1946
Where Friends and the Outdoors Meet
Phone MAin 7137 • Pryor at Auburn, Atlanta 3, Ga.
JOHN MARTIN Editor and Publisher
ASSOCIATE EDITORS
CHARLES ELLIOTT EDDIE FINLAY DEAN HUNTER
LOU WILLIAMS B. M. ATKINSON, JR. PARSON S. GUNN
HENRY P. DAVIS GENE WIKE JACK PICKEREL
Southern Outdoors is a trade and technical newspaper, publishing trade and technical news
for sportsmen, sporting goods dealers and the industry. Issued semi-monthly by Southern
Outdoors, Pryor at Auburn, Atlanta 3, Ga.
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responsible for advance payments to representatives or agents. All publications are entitled
to use for republication all news credited to Southern Outdoors. Entered at the Atlanta post
office in May, 1940, as second class matter under Act of March 3. 1879.
Ax Keep Out
Again we find it our duty to put in an oar in defense of
wildlife in Georgia. This time we refer to the matter of
timber-cutting in the Okefenokee Swamp. We do not be
lieve that the U. S. Fish and Wildlife Service will submit
to the pressure of Georgia representatives in Congress and
allow any trees to be removed from the Big Swamp.
A1 Day, who has just taken over the reins of the Service,
already has been nudged by Congressman John Gibson. And
even Senator Walter George has reminded Day that he is
“interested in removing cypress timber and stumps from the
swamp under proper government supervision.”
We have high regard for Senator George and Repre
sentative Gibson and their ability to represent the good
citizens of Georgia. And we believe that they are making a
request of the Fish and Wildlife Service in good faith, but
nevertheless, without weighing the consequences that always
accompany and follow the entry of man into a wildlife sanc
tuary.
Timber operations in the Okefenokee already have dam
aged this great refuge and conservationists sadly shake
their heads when they think of it. What a pity it is that
adventurers into the swamp cannot be treated to the work
of Nature that was once a great haven for the disappearing
whooping crane and countless other species of wildlife and
waterfowl. Man and his building desires have left scars on
the swamp that will never be erased.
A wildlife refuge is not the same as a forest manage
ment area, where the growth of timber is of paramount im
portance. We urgently request Mr. Day to keep the ax out of
the Okefenokee. And we believe that sportsmen and con
servationists have the same view.
A hoary, bearded old. cypress is more beautiful living
and reaching toward the heavens than it is chopped into a
roof for a hot dog stand.
Let’s Accept the Cut
Officials of the U. S. Fish and Wildlife Service, including
Director A1 Day, have hinted that they expect a decline of
20 to 25 per cent in the North American duck population
will be revealed when all the census reports are in.
Although ducks have come back in the last decade, they
and perhaps now regret that they predicted a sizeable in
crease in most of the waterfowl species except the Canada
goose. Latest returns indicate that our hunters, despite shell
shortages last season, overshot the 1945 crop of birds. In
1944 there were 350,000 more duck hunters than in 1943.
Last year there were 250,000 more than the year before.
There perhaps will be an increase of 500,000 this winter.
What does this mean? There can be only one answer—
fewer shooting days and a reduced bag limit.
Although ducks have come back in the last decade, they
have not skyrocketed to such numbers that they can hold
their own against a greatly increased gunning army.
It shouldn’t be long before the new regulations are set.
It is our guess that the season will be cut from 80 to 60
days and the daily bag limit from 10 to eight, and perhaps
seven birds. There is an outside chance that the 4 p. m. dead
line will be put into effect.
Whatever changes are made, waterfowl gunners should be
willing to accept them as necessary steps to preserve a
glorious sport in years to come. We cannot afford to rub out
by overshooting the gains we have made since 1930 in res
toration of our duck populations.
THE SPORTSMAN’S FRIEND
YELLOW CABS
WA. 0200
ATLANTA, GA.
A. G. Hendley, President
With a Partner
On a Pond
WHOOPING CRANE
Threatened with Extinction
HAVE YOU SEEN ANY? WHERE? WHEN?
The Notional Audubon Society and the U. S. Fish and Wildlife Service are attempting to save this magnificent
bird. If you have seen any, send (1) the NUMBERS of individuals seen, (2) the EXACT LOCALITIES where seen,
and (3) the DATES when seen to O. S. Pettingill, Jr., Carleton College, Northfield, Minnesota. Your cooperation
is greatly desired.
One of the important reasons I
hunt and fish is for companionship
with those kindred souls to whom
the out-of-doors is a vital and liv
ing part of this old globe.
Bill Parrish, of Cordele, is one
of those fellows. Bill carries mail
on a rural route for his bread and
meat. He spends all the remainder
of his hours between Smoak Bridge
and the Power Company dam. Day
light, before time to start on his
route, usually finds him trying out
a bass lure around some of the
stumps or logs that dot the pond
beyond the edges of his shack, or
puttering around the cabin shin
ing up tackle or making coffee in
the wee small hours. Dusk finds
him at the same place and usually
with the live box in his boat filled
with bass or bream.
Bill and I trolled up the east
bank of the creek. We cut in and
out between the logs and stumps
and made a wide circle in the
mouth of a branch. Suddenly he
shut off the motor.
“Looks like they’ve started,’’ he
said.
I got the strong whiff of a bream
bed. It scented the air like a bar-
rell of spoiling mullet.
WE DROP ANCHOR
“They laugh at me about being
able to smell bream beds,” Bill
said, “but it’s only them birds with
plugged noses.”
We dropped anchor and slid the
bream poles out from under the
seat. I liked that kind of fishing
better than trolling, because it
gave us a chance to talk. Fisher
men always have more than
enough to fill up the hours with
conversation.
“Somebody sent me a walleye
the other day,” Bill said.
“They’re good fish,” I agreed.
“I’ve caught some nice ones in
Lake Itasca.”
“That’s a good fishing lake,”
Bill agreed.
I looked at him suspiciously.
“What do you know about Itas
ca?” I asked.
FISHED EVERYWHERE
So Bill proceeded to tall me
about Itasca Lake, where it was
located, how the Mississippi River
flowed out of it and the kind of
fish one could expect when he
tossed in a lure.
“There was a fellow named Hal
something or other,” he said.
“Smith, Allen, Jones, Kirk—” I
tried to help him with the name.
“I believe it was Lathrop,” he
said.
’ I know Hal Lathrop and was
convinced.
“Those walleyes are not as ex
citing as the Ounaniche,” I said.
“My best fishing for Ounaniche
was at Grand Lake, in Maine,”
Bill said.
I know every foot of Grand
Lake.
“Where’d you fish in Grand
Lake?” I asked.
“Below where the point runs out
into Pocumcus,” Bill said. “It was
near Stewart’s cabin.”
HOW TO UNTANGLE
A good many years ago I’d spent
two weeks in that cabin. I was
meditating on whether Bill was
a mind reader when he called my
attention to the cork on my line.
It had disappeared, so I pulled
up on the cane pole. The shell-
cracker had run under a log. When
Continued on Page 7
Note the pictures of the Whooping Crone
and of other white birds with which it may
be confused.
THE WHOOPING CRANE:
Stands over 4 feet tall.
Has a wing-spread of 7 feet.
Flies with neck and legs out straight.
Has a white plumage except for black tips
on wings.
Has black legs and yellow bill.
Has a bare red crown.
Usually nests in big marshes.
Illuttrotiom by W. J. Br*<ktnridg»
7 f
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