FAIR HAVEN — The centuries-old tradition of hunting waterfowl along the Navesink River has spawned another ritual at Dr. Eugene Cantor's riverfront home here: the annual tranquilizing of Joey, his Parson Russell terrier, who would otherwise spend the 60-day hunting season cowering behind the toilet for fear of the shotgun noise.
It's a tossup who'll be happier when the season ends Jan. 22 — Joey, or his master.
By state law, the gunfire can commence a half-hour before sunrise, no closer than 450 feet from an occupied dwelling, and continue until sunset every day but Sunday. Cantor, 78, says the noise from hunters arriving at the river starts even earlier.
"We've been putting up with it for the past 35 years," said Cantor, a retired physician who long opposed hunting on the river. "We thought there was nothing we could do because (hunters) were here before we were, but now the area is getting more populated and there's been more complaints from people who don't like being awakened during that hour."
That simmering discontent has now taken the form of a petition, bearing the signatures of more than 230 area residents, seeking a total ban on hunting along the Navesink and Shrewsbury rivers. Efforts in the past to curb hunting have failed, but now a new grass-roots group — Residents for a Peaceful River, which launched the petition drive this fall — aims to stop the shooting once and for all.
It won't be easy: The hunters say they have state and federal law — and longstanding tradition — on their side. And, as they demonstrated by turning out in force at an informal meeting Jan. 5 between an aide to Gov. Corzine and members of the Two River Council of Mayors, which discussed the possibility of hosting a public forum on the issue, they don't intend to cede any ground.
Members of the residents' group say they weren't told about the meeting, but somehow the sportsmen got wind of it from an internal e-mail sent to the mayors that turned up on several hunting blogs.
Fair Haven native Brian Rice, 38, whose family has been hunting along the rivers for generations, left his duck blind on the Navesink early that morning to join at least two dozen other hunting proponents at the meeting in Little Silver.
"The towns don't have any jurisdiction over us whatsoever if we're below the high-tide line, which is state land and state water," Rice said.
The mayors agreed, deferring the matter to the state Department of Environmental Protection's Division of Fish and Wildlife, which regulates hunting along the state's waterways. An affiliated body, the Fish and Game Council, establishes regulations and zones where hunting can take place, in cooperation with the DEP.
"We felt this fell in their lap, not ours," explained Eatontown Mayor Gerald J. Tarantolo, who serves as president of the mayors' council. He said he spoke to the governor's office this past Thursday about the possibility of the state hosting a public forum, which the mayors could attend, but nothing was decided.
Rice, for one, attributes the petition drive to intensive development along the rivers and the changing demographics of the area.
"There are people who have moved (into the area) from northern parts of the state and New York City," he said. "They move here in the spring and it's beautiful along the river, and then in the fall they hear shooting and they're like, "What is this all about?' But it's been going on here for hundreds of years."
The petitioners concede that point, but they argue that the area is so densely populated now that hunting has become too dangerous and disruptive.
"Residential areas and shooting don't mix," said Fair Haven resident Susan Russell, one of the leaders of the petition drive. "Hunters can go elsewhere; we can't."
A wildlife researcher, writer and advocate, Russell didn't know about the hunting when she moved from Little Silver a few months ago to a rented home along the Navesink, prior to the start of the Shore area waterfowling season in November.
"When I came here, I looked at (the river) and said, "My God, it's so beautiful and peaceful,' " she said. "The first morning I heard the gunning it was so loud I said, "This is insane.' "
She said her neighbors commiserated with her about the noise, but told her there was nothing that could be done about it. Russell begs to differ.
"This is a matter of good government," she said. "Just because something is legal doesn't make it right."
In the past, the Fish and Game Council has acted to prohibit hunting in areas where it had occurred for many years if, for example, new development encroaches too closely, which is what happened 20 or more years ago to the Shark River in Monmouth County, according to Darlene Yuhas, a DEP spokeswoman.
Similar conflicts between hunters and residents are flaring up across the state, even as the number of active hunters in New Jersey has dwindled.
Waterfowl hunters in New Jersey are required to carry a general-purpose hunting license, as well as both a state and federal waterfowl stamp. In the past 20 years, the total number of state-issued waterfowl stamps has dropped more than 50 percent, to about 15,000 per year, and some of those go to stamp collectors who don't hunt.
"It's getting to be a dying breed," said Gary Bell, president of the New Jersey Waterfowlers Association, a statewide group with about 800 members.
Bell, 52, of Brick, who still hunts with a traditional sneakbox boat and carves his own decoys, says the reasons for the sport's drop-off include loss of habitat, tight bag limits on the number and kinds of birds that can be killed, societal pressures, competition from other recreational pursuits and the nature of the sport itself, which can be time-consuming, expensive and physically demanding.
"One of my sons says duck hunting is too early, too cold and too wet," said Fred Reitmeyer Jr., 66, of Galloway in Atlantic County, an avid duck hunter who educates the public about the Jersey Shore's waterfowling heritage as a volunteer at the Tuckerton Seaport Museum. "The biggest problem I have is finding people to hunt with me."
But Russell, of the residents' group, said even one or two hunters blazing away with their guns can set a large number of people in a wide area on edge. The only duck hunter she regularly sees on the river is Brian Rice's father, Jerry, who keeps a duck blind near her home.
"So we have one person who is holding the town hostage," she said. "There are so many people fed up with this, and so few hunters. It just doesn't seem fair."
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It's a tossup who'll be happier when the season ends Jan. 22 — Joey, or his master.
By state law, the gunfire can commence a half-hour before sunrise, no closer than 450 feet from an occupied dwelling, and continue until sunset every day but Sunday. Cantor, 78, says the noise from hunters arriving at the river starts even earlier.
"We've been putting up with it for the past 35 years," said Cantor, a retired physician who long opposed hunting on the river. "We thought there was nothing we could do because (hunters) were here before we were, but now the area is getting more populated and there's been more complaints from people who don't like being awakened during that hour."
That simmering discontent has now taken the form of a petition, bearing the signatures of more than 230 area residents, seeking a total ban on hunting along the Navesink and Shrewsbury rivers. Efforts in the past to curb hunting have failed, but now a new grass-roots group — Residents for a Peaceful River, which launched the petition drive this fall — aims to stop the shooting once and for all.
It won't be easy: The hunters say they have state and federal law — and longstanding tradition — on their side. And, as they demonstrated by turning out in force at an informal meeting Jan. 5 between an aide to Gov. Corzine and members of the Two River Council of Mayors, which discussed the possibility of hosting a public forum on the issue, they don't intend to cede any ground.
Members of the residents' group say they weren't told about the meeting, but somehow the sportsmen got wind of it from an internal e-mail sent to the mayors that turned up on several hunting blogs.
Fair Haven native Brian Rice, 38, whose family has been hunting along the rivers for generations, left his duck blind on the Navesink early that morning to join at least two dozen other hunting proponents at the meeting in Little Silver.
"The towns don't have any jurisdiction over us whatsoever if we're below the high-tide line, which is state land and state water," Rice said.
The mayors agreed, deferring the matter to the state Department of Environmental Protection's Division of Fish and Wildlife, which regulates hunting along the state's waterways. An affiliated body, the Fish and Game Council, establishes regulations and zones where hunting can take place, in cooperation with the DEP.
"We felt this fell in their lap, not ours," explained Eatontown Mayor Gerald J. Tarantolo, who serves as president of the mayors' council. He said he spoke to the governor's office this past Thursday about the possibility of the state hosting a public forum, which the mayors could attend, but nothing was decided.
Rice, for one, attributes the petition drive to intensive development along the rivers and the changing demographics of the area.
"There are people who have moved (into the area) from northern parts of the state and New York City," he said. "They move here in the spring and it's beautiful along the river, and then in the fall they hear shooting and they're like, "What is this all about?' But it's been going on here for hundreds of years."
The petitioners concede that point, but they argue that the area is so densely populated now that hunting has become too dangerous and disruptive.
"Residential areas and shooting don't mix," said Fair Haven resident Susan Russell, one of the leaders of the petition drive. "Hunters can go elsewhere; we can't."
A wildlife researcher, writer and advocate, Russell didn't know about the hunting when she moved from Little Silver a few months ago to a rented home along the Navesink, prior to the start of the Shore area waterfowling season in November.
"When I came here, I looked at (the river) and said, "My God, it's so beautiful and peaceful,' " she said. "The first morning I heard the gunning it was so loud I said, "This is insane.' "
She said her neighbors commiserated with her about the noise, but told her there was nothing that could be done about it. Russell begs to differ.
"This is a matter of good government," she said. "Just because something is legal doesn't make it right."
In the past, the Fish and Game Council has acted to prohibit hunting in areas where it had occurred for many years if, for example, new development encroaches too closely, which is what happened 20 or more years ago to the Shark River in Monmouth County, according to Darlene Yuhas, a DEP spokeswoman.
Similar conflicts between hunters and residents are flaring up across the state, even as the number of active hunters in New Jersey has dwindled.
Waterfowl hunters in New Jersey are required to carry a general-purpose hunting license, as well as both a state and federal waterfowl stamp. In the past 20 years, the total number of state-issued waterfowl stamps has dropped more than 50 percent, to about 15,000 per year, and some of those go to stamp collectors who don't hunt.
"It's getting to be a dying breed," said Gary Bell, president of the New Jersey Waterfowlers Association, a statewide group with about 800 members.
Bell, 52, of Brick, who still hunts with a traditional sneakbox boat and carves his own decoys, says the reasons for the sport's drop-off include loss of habitat, tight bag limits on the number and kinds of birds that can be killed, societal pressures, competition from other recreational pursuits and the nature of the sport itself, which can be time-consuming, expensive and physically demanding.
"One of my sons says duck hunting is too early, too cold and too wet," said Fred Reitmeyer Jr., 66, of Galloway in Atlantic County, an avid duck hunter who educates the public about the Jersey Shore's waterfowling heritage as a volunteer at the Tuckerton Seaport Museum. "The biggest problem I have is finding people to hunt with me."
But Russell, of the residents' group, said even one or two hunters blazing away with their guns can set a large number of people in a wide area on edge. The only duck hunter she regularly sees on the river is Brian Rice's father, Jerry, who keeps a duck blind near her home.
"So we have one person who is holding the town hostage," she said. "There are so many people fed up with this, and so few hunters. It just doesn't seem fair."
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