Dog hunting stirs furor
Expanding development, land sell-offs threaten rural tradition
By JOEY HOLLEMAN
jholleman@thestate.com
Sun, Jan. 14, 2007
C. ALUKA BERY/CABERRY@THESTATE.COM
Barry Turner and one of his hunting dogs chase deer — a tradition in rural South Carolina. But as more rural land is being developed, hunters are finding it difficult to set their dogs loose without complaints.
More photosA pack of hunting dogs released on the far western section of a two-square-mile hunting tract picked up a deer scent first, howling with delight.
Within two minutes, three other packs spread throughout the tract found something that sparked their yelps. The pine forest was awash in the sound of happy dogs chasing deer.
“That’s the sweetest music in the world,” said Dell Parsons, president of the S.C. Coalition for Dog Hunters’ Rights.
For Parsons and his friends at their hunt club near Hemingway, it’s the soundtrack to crisp fall days spent with friends and family in the outdoors.
But for others, the barking sparks fear and rage about a rural tradition that makes them feel unsafe on their own property. They’re scared to let their children play outside.
“It’s like living in Beirut,” said Kathy Andrews, who has a long-running battle with dog hunters at her home near Pamplico.
Expanding development and the timber companies’ land sell-off have put more people on the edges of traditional dog hunting property. Many of those new landowners don’t appreciate packs of hunting dogs — who can’t read “No Trespassing” signs — roaming through their property. They’ve got lawmakers considering limitations on dog hunting.
“I love to hear dogs run myself,” said Rep. David Umphlett, R-Berkeley, a former dog hunter. “But what we’re trying to get across to these guys is the times have changed.
“If we don’t come up with a compromise somewhere, all the hunters are going to lose.”
‘BOOKOODLES OF DEER’
Parsons hardly noticed the temperature on the coldest day in a couple of years. He was too busy serving as huntmaster, the tactical general who positions the troops in the best way not only to shoot deer but also to recapture dogs before they can roam too far.
C. ALUKA BERY/CABERRY@THESTATE.COM
Shane Driggers waits for dogs to jump and run the deer on Bamberg County land belonging to former legislator Larry Koon of Lexington.
“We’re gonna hunt from the power line back to the Big Block,” Parsons explained as the troops prepared for an afternoon dog drive after enjoying a bountiful meal of barbecue pork, sweet potatoes and eight varieties of dessert. “Everybody stay put ’cause we’re gonna be out there awhile, and there’s bookoodles of deer in there.”
He dispatched trucks with about four-dozen dogs — small beagles and larger long-legged walkers — to various points along the border of the Big Block. Trucks without dogs lined up along the power line right-of-way at the other side of the tract.
“Don’t nobody turn a dog loose till I say so,” Parsons said as a mix of old, young, male and female hunters headed for their trucks.
Moments later, communicating via radio, Parsons started the hunt: “Put ’em in the woods! Y’all hunt safe!”
The dogs got action immediately. Not so the hunters. The deer were running in circles, as if they knew not to cross the open areas rimmed by hunters.
An hour later, only two shots had been fired. By the end of the afternoon, one doe and one buck had fallen.
Within 90 minutes, Parsons was focused more on catching dogs than shooting deer. “You turn ’em loose, and it’s an hour’s hunt, then it’s another hour to round ’em up,” Parsons said.
‘CONSTANT, DISRUPTIVE NOISE’
Parsons’ club takes all precautions to keep its dogs on the nearly 4,000 acres it leases from a timber company. Members hunt in the middle of the property, leaving a buffer for surrounding property (in some cases owned by club members). Most of the dogs wear tracking collars.
But all too often, opponents of the sport say, groups with control of small tracts of land turn loose their dogs, knowing they will wander off their property.
Pickens Moyd, a surgeon from Hartsville, last year bought 378 acres on the Pee Dee River near Pamplico, fulfilling a longtime dream. He and his four sons worked all summer to make the land attractive to wildlife.
“Everything worked out well until the opening day of hunting season,” Moyd said. “These dog hunters that owned a tiny sliver of land next to my property, they released dogs on their property and let them run wildlife through my property so they could slaughter the deer on the other side.
“Those dogs were running under our deer stands.”
C. ALUKA BERY/CABERRY@THESTATE.COM
Barry Turner’s dogs leap from the back of his truck at the start of the hunt. Some still hunters complain that dogs roam into still hunting areas and chase deer from feed plots.
People who hunt deer from stands are called still hunters. Two generations ago, when deer were less plentiful in the state, the vast majority of deer hunters used dogs. But as deer populations expanded in the late 1900s, many hunters shifted to still hunting.
Still hunters set up in a raised stand and wait for deer to come to feed, either on natural vegetation or on bait corn. Still hunting can be easier and more efficient than dog hunting.
Dogs roaming into still hunting areas chase away deer from feed plots, prompting animosity between still hunters like Moyd and dog hunters.
“All I want to do is be left alone to derive the benefit of my land,” Moyd said.
But this isn’t just a battle between hunting styles. Many nonhunters are buying rural land as the timber companies unload their inventory. They often have little patience for dog hunters.
Andrews, for example, started a campaign to rein in dog hunting near her Pamplico home.
“The gun blasts start at 5 a.m.,” Andrews said. “It is constant, disruptive noise from gunshots and barking hunting dogs.
“We can’t walk out our door without fearing we’re going to be shot to death.”
Nonhunters like Andrews often are surprised to learn state regulations exempt hunting dogs from leash laws as long as their owners or handlers “are in the vicinity or in the process of trying to retrieve the dog.”
“I don’t understand,” Andrews said. “Only 5 percent of the population hunts. Why should the other 95 percent be held hostage by them?”
Ed Godwin of Irmo bought 330 acres near Rimini nearly three years ago and has had trouble with dog hunters ever since. Godwin doesn’t want dog hunting abolished, but he has contacted legislators pleading with them to restrict the practice.
“A few locals down there are running their dogs over everybody’s land,” Godwin said. “They’ve got maybe 50 acres, and common sense tells you if you turn a dog loose to run a deer for a couple of hours, they’re going to cover more than 50 acres.
“We need to find some way to protect landowner rights, protect dog hunting and (allow) people to be friends.”
TIME FOR CHANGE?
Umphlett has been hearing stories like that for years, and he plans to sponsor legislation limiting dog hunting.
Currently, dog hunting for deer is outlawed in 18 Upstate counties, where the sport isn’t part of the local heritage, said Charles Ruth, the deer project leader for S.C. Department of Natural Resources.
Elsewhere in the state, hunters along public roads or railroads must have permission to hunt from at least one landowner adjacent to the road or railroad.
Attempts to further limit dog hunting have gone nowhere in the past, shot down by pro-hunting legislators. Umphlett suspects the time is right for change, as long as the regulations aren’t too restrictive.
Former legislator Larry Koon of Lexington, an avid dog hunter, warned that advocates will fight for the tradition. He lives for the weekly hunts in November and December on his 600 acres in Bamberg County.
“If they try to do away with dog hunting, it’ll be the most controversial thing they’ve done at DNR in 40 to 50 years,” Koon said.
‘OUR HERITAGE’
The S.C. Department of Natural Resources floated trial balloons on the subject several times in the past but has no plans to push for changes this year, said director John Frampton. But if legislators ask for suggestions, Frampton would recommend setting a minimum acreage for dog hunting and outlawing hunting from paved roads.
“It’s part of our heritage,” Frampton said. “You’ve got some legitimate hunt clubs that do it right, and then you’ve got some that don’t. We can’t let the bad apples spoil it for everybody.”
South Carolina can look to the west for an example. Reacting to similar complaints, Georgia in 2003 began requiring that:
• All dog hunting clubs have hunting rights to at least 1,000 contiguous acres
• Vehicles and dogs used by club members have to be marked
• Dogs have to stay on club property during hunts
• Habitual violations can lead to revocation of the club dog hunting permit.
More than 400 clubs in Georgia have registered per season in the three seasons since the law took effect. Investigators have confirmed 369 complaints against clubs. Only two clubs have had their permits revoked, both in the first season.
“It’s working to resolve the conflicts,” said John Bowers, assistant chief of game management for the Georgia wildlife department. “It protects the landowners as well as the tradition of deer hunting.”
CAMARADERIE OF THE HUNT
Parsons’ club would have no problem meeting Georgia’s conditions. But as president of the dog hunters’ coalition, he hates to think about the smaller clubs such limitations would shut down.
The trend toward still hunting and the loss of large tracts to development along the coast already has cut the number of dog hunting clubs by nearly 60 percent in the past decade, Parsons said. There used to be hundreds of large clubs throughout the coastal plain. Now, the Coalition for Dog Hunters’ Rights has about 30 member clubs.
George Sutton of Hemingway joined Parson’s club last year after complaints from new neighbors of his Georgetown County hunt club forced it to switch from dog hunts to still hunts.
Sutton and his daughter Sally switched clubs because they prefer the camaraderie of dog hunting over the more solitary still hunting. But he didn’t even load his gun during one of the club’s recent morning hunts, choosing to bask in the excitement of other hunters and the unbridled joy of the dogs. It’s a tradition Sutton would hate to see end.
“When they let those dogs loose,” Sutton said, “I said, ‘Boys, put your guns up and listen to the choir.’”
Reach Holleman at (803) 771-8366.
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