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Passing the Torch, Spreading the Word t was always gratifying to see children enjoying the outdoor experience with their fathers, grandfathers, or uncles, whether they were hunting, fishing, shrimping, or camping. I was confidant that those shared moments out under the sky would foster a continuing tradition of stewardship and instill a genuine regard for the lands and waters of our lowcountry heritage. I had many occasions over the years to be not only a participant in but also a witness to such deeply rooted feelings in countless duck blinds, deer stands, and fishing boats and around many campfires. In my professional capacity I was sometimes able to help pass on that tradition to a new generation. One morning while patrolling in the upper reaches of the Wando River near Paradise Island, I spied a small boat with two people in it coming down the middle of the river. As I drove my boat over to them, I saw the occupants were an old man and a young boy. There were a few palmetto fronds in the front of the boat, and they were wearing camouflage clothes. After introducing myself, I asked the man if they had been hunting that morning. He reported that this was his grandson’s first duck-hunting trip. I could see that they had only one single-barrel shotgun in the boat and asked to see his license and federal duck stamp. The old man produced the requested items and proudly exclaimed that his grandson had shot his first bird, a goose, that morning. I immediately expressed my interest in seeing it. I was curious because I had never seen geese in that part of the river before and the season for shooting Canada geese was closed east of Interstate 95. i Passing the Torch, Spreading the Word 181 The old man reached into a sack lying under the palmetto fronds and pulled out a very large male loon. Pride beamed in the faces of the old man and the boy, and I did not have the stomach to be the one to break the bad news. I figured that justice would be served when they put that loon in the pot. I departed, leaving them with a copy of the migratory-bird laws and a duck-identification booklet. A similar situation occurred in North Santee Bay as I was checking a man and his young son. The little boy, visibly shivering, sat close to his father as I checked their guns and licenses. When I asked if they had had any luck, the man said his son had shot his first duck and produced a fine drake pintail from the folds of a towel. He explained that he had it wrapped up because he was going to have it “taxidermied.” After a moment of deliberation, I asked the man if he would mind stepping over into my boat for a brief conference. I backed away a short distance and informed the man that the season on pintails was closed, and I knew that his son would be embarrassed and disappointed if he was told that his duck had been taken illegally. Without going into a lecture, I explained to him that under normal circumstances I would seize the bird and issue a ticket, but I didn’t feel this was a “normal” situation. I explained that I did not want him to go back to the landing with the illegal bird and said I would meet him later at the crossroads at McClellanville , where I would return his duck. I told him to tell the boy that it was so pretty that I wanted to take it and show it to somebody. Weeks later, after transferring the duck, I ran into him again, and he said that his son had hugged that duck in the towel all the way back to Charleston and that it was in the hands of a taxidermist. In December 1979, after a patrol where I had checked three young boys who had been duck hunting in the Wando, Dr. James A. Timmerman, the director of the Wildlife Department, received the following letter from Eddie Walker of Charleston: It is not often, as a matter of fact, very, very seldom that I take my time to write public officials and when I do, it is to complain and gripe in no uncertain terms. However, I believe that a few words of praise and thanks are...

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