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At Last, the Ivory-bill 
By BELLE WILSON 
OFTEN I HAD read of the ivory-billed woodpecker and longed to add it to 
my life list. While I was in Florida, I was told repeatedly that the bird 
was now extinct in that state, and that it could be found only in remote 
forests of Louisiana. But I was determined to see the bird. 
May 6, 1940, I left St. Petersburg, Florida, after waiting a week for 
a letter that never came, granting me permision to enter the Singer Tract 
in northeastern Louisiana to hunt for the ivory-bill. I spent some days in 
Biloxi, Mississippi, going out with a friend who collects birds for the 
museum at Jackson, Mississippi. Among other birds, she collected two 
specimens of the red-backed sandpiper. These red-backs I had seen but 
twice before in breeding plumage. 
Five more days, and no letter from Louisiana. My “dander” was up. 
I hopped into my car and drove to New Orleans, arriving the day before 
the new governor was inaugurated. I waited until the day after the 
inauguration, then called upon the gentleman who had ignored my letter 
to him. 
His alibi was, “Well, I told Mr. Tanner, who spent two years in the 
Singer Tract on a National Audubon Society Fellowship, that he was not 
to tell anyone how to secure permission to enter that Singer Wild Life 
Refuge.” 
I asked him how many ivory-bills there were in the tract. 
His reply was, “Oh, around fifty.” 
Fifty! I knew he did not know his birds. Only seven, I had been 
told, had been found by Mr. Tanner. I rehearsed in as glowing terms as 
I dared my experiences in the study of birds, and enumerated the bird 
preserves I had already visited in his State. I closed with the remark, 
“T carry no fire arms, never shoot birds, only look at them and count them.” 
Finally he asked, “All you want is permission to go into the Singer 
mract:” 
I replied, “That is all, except I want a game warden who knows the 
deep woods where the ivory-bills are to accompany me.” 
He immediately requested the stenographer to make out the necessary 
permit. But, when he handed it to me, he warned me the permit might not 
be recognized when I arrived, for, you see, all the old crowd expected to 
lose their heads under the new governor. 
Believe me, I hastened to Talulah, Louisiana. 
Early in the morning, in Talulah, I found the chief game warden of 
the Singer Tract. He was very courteous and arranged for me to go at 
once in my car with a splendid up-standing man, a game warden about 
forty, whose wife I met before starting. I had already secured a cottage 
at a tourist court, changed to boots, crash skirt and long-sleeved blouse. 
When I suggested carrying lunch, my guide said, “Well, a grocery 
store lunch, then.” I asked him to choose such cooked meat, crackers, 
