Jan 17, 2016 By Ben Moyer for The 5 min read

Zoological science and rabbit hunting are not two subjects you would necessarily link. Zoology seems a stodgy discipline confined to laboratories, while rabbit hunting is something rural folk once did for fun and food (People still hunt rabbits, of course, but the number has plummeted, down from a half-million around 1980 to less than 75,000 today). But there is a connection, and that connection has a local aspect.

Let’s start with the rabbit hunting. Long ago, when I was a kid approaching hunting age my dad and his friends took me along, gun-less, on some grueling grouse hunts. They were all in their thirties then, fit from not-so-long-ago military service, physical lifestyles, and from walking to work over miles that would astonish today’s car-commuters. They followed our English setter around ledges and boulders and through dense thickets atop Chestnut and Laurel ridges, or through the steep Youghiogheny Gorge, and I followed them — barely.

They thought of themselves as grouse hunters, but all had grown up on garden-yield and game in the 1930s. So, if a squirrel scurried or if a rabbit flushed, they didn’t discriminate. They shot the happenstance mammal and brought it home for the pot.

I recall vividly the rabbit kills, and how we’d assemble there in the highland thickets while the bird dog made no attempt to conceal her disdain. “That’s a mountain rabbit,” someone would assert, pointing out what, according to him, was a darker color and shorter ears than the “farm rabbits” from the lowlands to the west.

I hadn’t seen enough rabbits up close to know the difference but my father’s and his companions’ approving recognition of a “mountain rabbit” seemed significant, even then.

So what’s that have to do with zoology?

Just recently I read about research efforts to learn about the distribution and habitat needs of the Appalachian cottontail, which zoologists now recognize as an entirely distinct species from the more common Eastern cottontail that frequents farms and suburban backyards all across America.

I read that the Appalachian cottontail is smaller, darker and has shorter ears than the familiar Eastern cottontail species, just as my mentors had said.

As I progressed through the article, nodding and grinning, I fondly recalled those impromptu zoology lessons I’d gotten in the mountains more than 50 years ago, long before scientists had ever considered the differences among cottontail rabbits. I also read that the Appalachian cottontail has a faint black spot between the ears, and black trim along the ear’s leading edge (the grouse hunters hadn’t pointed out those fine points).

Considered by the International Union for the Conservation of Nature as “Near Threatened,” the Appalachian cottontail lives in disjointed ridge-top swaths of laurel, greenbriar and rhododendron thicket from western Pennsylvania to northern Alabama. According to the recent research, they are never found below 1,600 feet elevation.

Knowing where I followed along on those early grouse hunts well above 2,000 feet, I’d bet those “mountain rabbits” my mentors pointed out were the Appalachian cottontails zoologists are studying today.

If you are a rabbit hunter you may learn about opportunities to assist this research effort in coming seasons. Pennsylvania Game Commission biologists will ask rabbit hunters who hunt at higher elevations to let them know if they think they have seen Appalachian cottontails.

Some cooperators may even be asked to submit the heads of rabbits they kill, since characteristics of the skull are unmistakable identifiers of the Appalachian species.

By the way, there is no legal concern in shooting an Appalachian cottontail, even though the IUCN considers them “Near Threatened.” In a regulatory sense, all cottontail rabbits in Pennsylvania are considered the same, as it is so difficult to tell the two species apart. Knowledge gained in the research will enable the Game Commission to know where the species persists and to manage habitats to the Appalachian cottontail’s advantage.

That same article affirmed another related observation I’d made–this time on my own–several years ago.

The same research teams studying Appalachian cottontails had encountered snowshoe hares in some parts of Pennsylvania where they were not thought to occur.

Snowshoe hares, much larger than cottontail rabbits, are named for their large, hairy feet that allow them to cruise along easily over deep snow.

But the species is best known for turning white in winter, as camouflage from predators in the snowy woods.

Previously, biologists believed that the snowshoe hare’s range penetrated only Pennsylvania’s far northern counties.

But the researchers found some hares here in the Laurel Highlands (I hope they didn’t turn white this winter; that would be a distinct disadvantage).

I was pleased to read that because I once saw a snowshoe hare at Mt. Davis in Somerset County, Pennsylvania’s highest point.

The animal hopped along a path as I approached the Mt. Davis observation tower that affords such an impressive vista.

My sighting happened in summer, so the hare was a “normal” brown color, much like a cottontail. But its large frame, long legs and ears were unmistakable. I was sure I’d seen a snowshoe hare.

Outdoor folks who live and visit here know the Laurel Highlands region is a special place. Now we can add rare and adaptable wildlife to its list of enviable natural features.