It’s up to all of us
As you might imagine, I am an avid weather watcher. I’m not talking about flipping on the Weather Channel and waiting for its segment called “Local on the 8s” — no sir, I’m talking more along the lines of exploring several websites and only then averaging the forecasts to come up with my own prediction.
There are probably only a handful of you who go to such extremes, but when there was a story this past week about it being the second-warmest year on record, that really caught my attention. So, what’s the big deal about a 1-degree change in the world’s weather? From what I have learned, that 1-degree change is unheard of in weather terms. Do I think there is global warming? Absolutely. Say what you will, but with all the crud that we humans spew into our air and water, this planet’s lifetime may be way shorter than we ever imagined.
Having lived here now for 67 years, you can imagine the changes to the Lowcountry that I have witnessed in that period of time. I realize my lifespan is but a pinprick in time, but if my memory serves me correctly (which it rarely does), both the temperatures and the ocean are way different than back in the 1960s and ’70s. During those summer months, you could set your watch by the afternoon rainstorms. They were that predictable. I also know that weather is cyclical, but there were other constants that have disappeared over the past several decades, and since I know more about fishing and the ocean, I’ll start there.
When my family moved to Hilton Head in 1960, you could go beachcombing and, in the space of a hundred yards, fill a bucket with shells. One shell in particular was my favorite, the angel wing shell. Delicate and pretty and pretty much a dead ringer for its namesake, they were everywhere. I am no marine biologist, but I can only imagine that any amount of pollution or change in the water’s composition might affect the development of such a fragile piece of nature. I still look for angel wing shells, but finding one these days is a rarity, even on some of the pristine beaches on the outer islands where few humans tread.
And where have all the ghost crabs gone? When I was a kid, my brothers and sisters and I would walk down to the beach at night with flashlights, and ghost crabs would be everywhere. White with long legs, the ghost crabs’ eyes would light up much like any animal’s eyes do when hit with a bright light, and we would chase them with crab nets. I know this sounds silly, but without computers to keep us inside, it was actually one of our favorite games. Their long legs made them the thoroughbreds of the beach, and besides their amazing speed, they could turn on a dime. Each of us would carry a shoebox, and the person with the most crabs after 30 minutes would win. Believe it or not, I can still remember how well I would sleep after an evening chasing those elusive critters.
If you like to catch Spanish mackerel, I only wish you could have seen the schools of mackerel back then. You didn’t have to go any farther than the south end of Hilton Head to catch mackerel after mackerel. On most any hot summer day, it was nothing to catch a hundred Spanish mackerel. From the moment you made the turn at South Beach on Hilton Head into the ocean, you would be greeted by thousands of terns and seagulls diving on baitfish pushed to the surface by massive schools of mackerel. I’m not exaggerating when I say there were schools that easily covered five or more acres of water. There were so many fish you didn’t have to wait for a bite, but rather see how fast you could bring a mackerel in and get the spoon back out. The water would be foaming with fish, and they would be in such a feeding frenzy that some would fly into the boat and others would slam into the sides of the boat. It was truly an amazing sight.
I will say that our redfish populations, or as we called them, channel bass, back then, are not anywhere as prevalent as in the old days.
When it comes to speckled sea trout, there doesn’t seem to be any consistency from year to year. The past couple of years have been pretty good years, but compared with when my dad and I would get up early on chilly winter mornings, in the space of an hour or so we could easily fill a washtub with trout if we were so inclined. To catch a trout on every cast was nothing unusual, and once again, it was usually right from the shoreline using a Christmas Tree lure, a funky piece of white plastic shaped like a fish with glitter sprinkled on it.
I know development is something that can’t be stopped, but that growth should come with a responsibility to keep our air and water as clean as it was before any of this development started. I will always love the Lowcountry, but more importantly, I believe that we must respect its unique attributes if it is to remain the piece of paradise that goes back hundreds, if not thousands, of years.
Collins Doughtie is a 60-year resident of the Lowcountry, is a sportsman, graphic artist, and lover of nature. collinsdoughtie@icloud.com.
