Growing up in the expansive landscapes of Jamaica, bird shooting was more than just a pastime; it was an initiation into the wild, a test of skill, and a way to connect with the island’s rich avian life. While I was merely decent with a slingshot, my brother possessed an almost uncanny accuracy, a skill honed over countless summer days roaming our family’s property. This early talent, targeting birds high in the trees, may have foreshadowed his later career as a sharpshooter in the Jamaica Constabulary Force. His marksmanship, honed on unsuspecting birds, translated into a distinguished service protecting the island in a different way.
A young boy's slingshot, handmade from forked branches and rubber strips
Among the various birds that populated our youthful hunts, the baldpate, or bald plate as we called it, held a place of particular esteem. It was the ultimate prize – the largest, the most elusive, demanding a precise shot to the head or heart from our slingshots. Following in desirability were the peadove and whitewing (lapwing), each with its own level of scarcity and challenge. The loggerhead, in stark contrast, presented an easy target, often found perched on low branches, seemingly oblivious to danger. However, a loggerhead protecting its young was a different proposition altogether, commanding respect and discouraging any hunting attempts.
Then there was the pitchary, a bird that evoked fear rather than sporting interest. Related to the loggerhead, the pitchary was notorious for its unprovoked attacks, swooping down aggressively, seemingly aiming for the eyes. It was a bird to be avoided, a stark reminder that not all encounters in nature were about the hunt. Equally challenging, though for different reasons, was the woodpecker. Its resilience was legendary; even a direct hit seemed insufficient to bring it down. Camouflaged against tree bark, spotting a woodpecker, identifiable by its distinctive red head, and successfully hitting it was a true mark of slingshot mastery.
The diverse birdlife of Jamaica has long captivated visitors and naturalists alike. As early as 1847, Philip Henry Gosse documented this fascination in “The Birds of Jamaica,” followed by W. T. March’s “Notes on the Birds of Jamaica” in 1864, and subsequent publications by W.E.D. Scott and G.W. Field, painting a vivid picture of the island’s rich ornithological landscape. This enduring interest eventually translated into legislative efforts to protect Jamaica’s avian treasures and regulate hunting practices. Law 32 of 1886 emerged as a landmark piece of legislation, safeguarding numerous species including the Jamaica black bird, canary, finch (excluding the jack sparrow), hummingbird, robin redbreast, swallow, solitaire, nightingale, flycatcher, warblers, john tewit, anteater, troopial, banana quit, blue quit, orange quit, mosquitto hawks or gi-mi-mi-bits, and the oldman or rain bird. Surprisingly, this list of protected species even included loggerheads and woodpeckers, birds we routinely targeted as youngsters, unaware of their protected status.
This early law aimed to prevent the extinction of birds valued for their plumage and those crucial for agriculture as insect controllers. B. Pullen-Burry noted in 1905 the dwindling populations of parrots and macaws due to the demand for their vibrant feathers. The 1886 law also established a closed season for bird shooting from March to July or August, varying by species and location. This regulation specifically covered sought-after birds like the baldpate, blue pigeon, ringtail, parrots, parrakeets, peadoves, whitewing, ground doves, hopping dicks, glasseyes, coots, white belly, mountain witch, partridge, and pitcharies, aiming to ensure their populations could recover and thrive. Subsequent laws, such as Law 4 in 1887 and Law 16 of 1899, further empowered the governor to expand both protected and regulated bird lists and extend the closed season, reflecting a growing commitment to conservation.
A John Crow perched on a branch, its dark feathers and bare red head visible
Among Jamaica’s avian inhabitants, one bird stands out with a unique, if somewhat infamous, reputation: the John Crow, also known locally as jankro or jranko. While absent from the 1886 protected list, historical accounts reveal its early recognition as a valuable, if “ugly,” component of the Jamaican ecosystem. Sir Archibald David Scott, writing in 1875, noted the John Crow’s crucial role as a consumer of carrion and “impurities,” leading to its legal protection and a fine for its “wanton destruction.” This protection fostered a remarkable tameness, allowing these large birds to fly within arm’s reach, a characteristic noted by observers who were struck by their seemingly effortless, flapless flight. The John Crow’s protected status highlights an early understanding of its ecological importance, even if its appearance wasn’t conventionally appealing.
The early English settlers’ initial encounter with the John Crow offers a humorous, if slightly unsettling, glimpse into cultural misunderstandings. Mistaking these carrion-eating birds for turkeys, they attempted to incorporate them into their cuisine. Sir Hans Sloane recounted that upon arrival, the English, observing the “bareness and colour of the skin on the head,” made this understandable error. However, as B. Pullen-Burry wryly noted in 1905, “the offensiveness of their lean bodies soon deceived them.” This anecdote underscores the John Crow’s distinct identity and ecological niche, far removed from the palatable turkey, firmly establishing it as a unique and essential part of the Jamaican landscape, even if it’s not a bird for the dinner table. The John Crow, despite its unappetizing reputation and appearance, plays a vital role, soaring high above, cleaning the island, and reminding us of the intricate and often misunderstood web of life in Jamaica.
