Having been berated out on Long Beach last week for being with some f’in’ weirdos trying to protect plovers, let me weigh in against the name calling here. A second part of the story that has fascinated and bothered me is the deep divide with no seemingly middle here. Red state vs. blue state, spotted owl vs.logging, snowmobiling vs. snowshoeing, blue collar vs. white collar, and everyone angry and condemning the other side.

I’ve covered a lot of environmental issues. I’ve been a commercial fishermen, I hunted bowhead whales with Eskimo hunters, I went to graduate school in forestry, and covered clear cutting on Indian lands and Mayan lands. I always thought that being an environmentalist also meant communicating with people and understanding their story and perspective.

Most of the ORV owners I met in Plymouth are I like the ORV people I knew on the Cape. Some might have bumper stickers that say “Tastes Like Chicken”. Some, like a former Plymouth selectman, might comment that he won’t be unhappy if piping plovers go the way of the Dodo Bird or Tyrannasaurus Rex. But most of them express a concern for the birds’ welfare and are pleased that the birds are making a comback. If they are wrong or misinformed in thinking they can have access to the beach without harming the birds, isn’t that a call for communication or an invitation to talk about the biology of the birds and some environmental principles?

Calling people lazy, ignorant, and selfish doesn’t win anybody over, or do anything to protect piping plovers.

And behavior and attitudes don’t change overnight. Sandy Cotti, who owns Sandy’s restaurant at the start of Long Beach, took her kids out to the beach for years. Generations of Plymouth families have driven out to the point together; some of their best family memories are connected to time spent together, swiwming, fishing, in front of campfires and barbeques, out at the beach.

My children and I fondly remember going out to Race Point with an family in Provincetown; it was their way of getting back to the old days, even if in a four by four.

Personally, I prefer hiking, snowshoeing, birding, and off-road wilderness.

The piping plovers are a small threatened population worth saving. In the end, there those seeking protection and those wanting to drive out to the beach during the breeding season may not be able to come to an agreement. State officials and the courts may make the decision instead.

But I can’t help thinking that the failure here has been the lack of outreach by those wanting more restrictions to communicate their concerns beyond fellow conservationists, to explain and educate people about the natural history of plovers, and why, for instance, it’s impractical to re-migrate the plovers to another beach.

That was a well-intentioned if misinformed idea, by the way, and the good news is that the person with the suggestion actually cared enough about the status of piping plovers. Compared to the bumper plovers the other white meat, that’s progress. There are people on the other side that migth be convinced, or that might in some way change your minds.

Why do you take your son to the beach, exactly? To appreciate the beauty of the natural world? So point out the beauty of these tiny creatures in the video accompanying this article. Explain that to preserve this experience for his children someday, it’s necessary to walk to his favorite beach spot.

Get the cars, trucks, SUVs, jet skis, loud motor boats, and motorized whatever off the beach and away from the shoreline. These creations of the 1900′s-present are eyesores, safety issues, and unwanted pollution (noise, environmental, etc.) for the 99.999% of humans going to the beach to relax and be with nature.

Drive your SUV and commune in the mall parking lot, where cars, trucks and SUVs belong.

Buggies? What buggies, these people drive their SUV’s onto the beech’s which is a pretty ugly sight. Not to mention the damage done to the beech by all these 2000+ pound SUV’s driving on them.

These people need to think of the bigger picture other than their own selfish pleasures of driving from home to the beech to plant their fat butts down for an afternoon.

Disgusting people.