A Family Tradition: Mike and Matt Criscoe

One of my favorite childhood memories involves my Uncle Joe.  He had a Plymouth Roadrunner in the late 1960s or early 70s.  I recall the “beep-beep” horn that sounded like the roadrunner cartoon character.  Joe took me on my first 100 mph, no seat belt, no air bag ride on a long, country straightaway in that car.  I suppose my wide-eyed silence led to his advice that we keep it between ourselves and to not tell my mom.

In many cultures, especially those of Native Americans, uncles fill a role of primary teacher and disciplinarian of young men.  It is uncles who clarify for a young man the expectations of manhood.  So, whether it is a Cherokee uncle teaching the ways of life or a southern uncle instilling a love for fast cars, uncles definitely impact a young man during those formative years.

Matt Criscoe’s uncle, Mike Criscoe, had that type of effect on him.  Matt’s early memories of Mike instilled a love for the outdoors and strengthened a desire to serve others – an example first set by Matt’s police officer dad, Richard.

“An early memory was going to Vance County fishing with my dad and Mike coming to see us while he was working.  Later when Mike started the K-9 program, my father was also starting one at his police department (Archdale P.D.).  I remember helping Mike and my father run tracks in the woods, hide articles for searches and with basic K-9 handling.  As a small child I thought that was the most exciting thing.  While helping with that program, I learned a lot from Mike about basic tracking skills (while running tracks for the K-9’s) which I still remember and use to this day.”

Master Officer Matt Criscoe

NCWRC K-9s Nip and Tuck - 1949

Mike was instrumental in the NCWRC Division of Law Enforcement redeploying dogs through a formal K-9 program.  Tracking dogs were utilized by the agency, primarily on wildlife management areas, in years past.  In 1988, Mike and his partner, K-9 Link, initiated a pilot program that resulted in an additional eight teams moving into the field in 1996.  Mike presented at the 1999 Southeastern Association of Fish and Wildlife Agencies’ annual conference on the North Carolina Wildlife Resources Commission Wildlife Detector Canine Program.

Mike Criscoe and K-9 Link

“At a very early age, as many young children who was raised in a law enforcement family do, I begin to think of going into law enforcement.  But it wasn’t until my mid 20’s that I made my mind up that I was going to be a Wildlife Officer, and come hell or high water nothing was going to stop me.

He [Mike] was very excited.  At the same time [he] made it very clear, ‘…once you make up your mind this is the path you want to follow, don’t stop until you go all the way to the end (the hiring process).  And when you make it, and you will, you will understand why it’s the best job in the world.’”

Master Officer Matt Criscoe

In addition to growing into an integral part of District 4’s wildlife law enforcement efforts, Matt was recognized for his innovation and collaboration with the Division of Wildlife Management in redesigning an alligator trap/transport unit.  This unit has reduced injuries with Commission staff who are tasked with relocating alligators.  For his efforts, Matt was awarded the Governor’s Award for Innovation in 2013.

L-R
Mike Criscoe, Master Officer Matt Criscoe, and Gov, Pat McCrory

Mike worked his last years in Haywood County, in the mountains of western North Carolina.  Like many wildlife officers, years of banging around in a boat left him looking to finish his career on solid ground.  He was reported to have said, “I plan to throw a boat paddle over my shoulder and start west.  When I find someone who asks what I’m carrying because they have never seen a boat paddle, that where I will settle.”

“Ever since I chose this career, Mike and I have grown even closer.  We spend a lot of time together - fishing, frog gigging, running squirrel dogs, etc.  We often talk about the job and compare how it is now with how it used to be.  I often ask him for advice about the job and he’s always willing to give it.  I’m very lucky to have someone so close to me that wore the same uniform, and with whom I share the same officer number and name.”

Master Officer Matt Criscoe

Master Officer Mike Criscoe retired in 2003.  Master Officer Matt Criscoe continues the family tradition in Brunswick County.

A Family Tradition: Joe Story, Jr. and Joe Story, III

The first time my wife, Amy, spent time around wildlife officers she was struck by how they interacted with each other.  She referred to it as a “family.”  She recognized the bond between officers.  It is one of the things I miss most about the job.

Over the next several weeks I am going to write about the family within the wildlife family – those father/son, grandfather/grandson, and uncle/nephew combinations.

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“The earliest memory of my dad as a wildlife officer was when I was around three or four years old.  He was under his patrol car in the driveway working under the front bumper.  I asked him what he was doing and he showed me the "sneaky light" he was installing.  He explained he could drive out of a field and into the road [with the aid of the sneaky light] and a spotlighter couldn't see him driving behind them, because the light was just enough to barely light up the edge of the roadway.”

Joe Story with sons Joe III (No shirt) and Charles

“I can also remember him pulling into the driveway after working all night and me running out to greet him and seeing a car full of guns with evidence/seizure tags on them. I can remember him doing a lot of writing (probably case notes).”

Joe Story, III

I first met Lt. Joe Story when I applied to be a wildlife officer.  My cousin and I were working at the Ford dealership at the time.  He came running in one afternoon and said, “There’s a game warden here and he is asking for you.”  He was excited because knew I had applied.  When I transferred to District 8 in 1989, Joe was then Capt. Story.

“I was 7 or 8 years old when I got my first violation report by telephone. My parents had gone somewhere for the evening.  The phone rang and I answered it.  The woman on the line said she would like to report some spotlighters.  I told her my dad was not there at the time, but he would be back in a little while.  She hung up and called back at least 3 more times.  On the last call she explained that the spotlighters were snatching deer up in airplanes and hauling them away, and that I needed to get out there immediately.  I responded, 'I'm just a kid and can't drive.'

"I fondly remember all of my Dad’s coworkers.  They always showed an interest in me.  I can remember them being around working on patrol cars, mounting boat motors, eating meals with us or generally just hanging out telling stories.  I remember going to some of the retired guys houses and listening to their stories.  I can also remember fishing with a lot of my Dads coworkers.  Those trips usually ended with a fish fry."

Joe Story, III

Having their son follow their career path is many men’s dream.  For others, they hope their son choose an easier path.  I recall one guy from my body shop days who said he would break his son’s fingers if he ever picked up a wrench.  I asked Joe whether his dad encouraged or discouraged him about becoming a wildlife officer.

“His first reaction was that I should find something that may pay a little more.  But, he didn't try to steer or influence me in any way.  He let it be my decision. When I decided that was the path I was choosing, he was behind me 100%.

"My first duty station was Scotland County.  I invited my Dad down for a float fishing trip on the Lumber River.  We were near the Sandhill Gamelands.  We discussed the "straw dogs" as we called them [pine straw thieves] and how they had been hitting our gamelands recently.  I told Dad we would check a spot when we went to retrieve our drop- off vehicle.  I actually stated, ‘I feel Lucky.’  After loading the canoe, we checked a path on the gamelands and noticed fresh [tire] tracks.  We called the officers working that day and we located a fully loaded truck on gamelands. My Dad said sometimes you have to just go with that hunch or lucky feeling."

Joe Story, III

Master Officer Joe Story, III

But, it take more than fishing trips and stories to make a son want to emulate his father.  Joe Jr. has also devoted much of his life to the Boy Scouts of American.  He was the scoutmaster of Joe, II and Charles' troop, taking them to Philmont High Adventure Base in Cimarron, New Mexico.  Both Joe and Charles, along with many others in that troop, went on to become Eagle Scouts.  Joe, Jr. continues to serve the scouts as a lodge adviser with the Order of the Arrow and is a recipient of the Silver Beaver Award for distinguished service.

Joesph C. Story, Jr. retired as captain of District 8 in 1993.  Joesph C. Story, III became a wildlife officer in 1996 and is currently stationed in Henderson County.  Between the two they covered much of the North Carolina landscape serving from Bath to Murphy with several stations in between.  Rounding out the family connection is Martin County officer Michael Strider, nephew of Joe, Jr. and cousin of Joe, III.

Mountain Top Experiences

We had great guests this weekend  – Kerri and Carrie.  Kerri and I worked together while I was in Raleigh.  We share not only a passion for wildlife, but for the outdoors in general.  I had told her about Grayson Highlands State Park near Whitetop, Virginia and suggested a day hike to that area when she came up to visit.  

Although it was cool when we left Bullhead, the forecast promised sunshine and temperatures into the 60s.  Yet, when we parked near the trailhead at Massey Gap, the clouds suggested the possibility of cold rain.  The wind was especially threatening.  I slipped on a fleece pullover before leaving the car.  We walked past a sign that I have read many times and like most folks, chose to ignore.

The wind intensified with every step upward.  We passed a small herd of “wild” ponies and after a ½ mile climb we intersected the Appalachian Trail.  The wind was unsettling and the temperature dropped at least 10 degrees.  I made a mental note to throw a toboggan in the car – my ears were beginning to ache from the wind.  We followed the AT from the Grayson Highlands State Park into the Mt. Rogers National Recreation Area.

My son, John, with a pony on a previous summer hike

We picked our way up a rocky section of the AT through a stand of spruce and fir to a blue blazed, side trail.  We took that worn path toward a rocky knob that I knew would offer a nice view of the surrounding mountains.  The wind continued to build in both sustained velocity and force.

A winter hike to Grayson Highlands - 2013

We topped out on the knob.  Clouds enveloped the mountain rising beyond us.  Kerri and Carrie were rocked by the wind.  They braced for a quick photo.  We had a short discussion about moving on up before deciding to turn back.  As we scrambled back down the trail, each step down brought us more securely into the lee side of the mountain and to progressively warmer temperatures.  We met hikers on their way up; many with small children and others wearing shorts and light jackets.  I found myself wanting to warn them of the changes ahead, but reasoned they would ignore a warning that seemed illogical at their position on the trail. 

Kerri and Carrie

I thought later of how that climb provided a metaphor for those in positions of leadership.  We are often warned of the challenges (or is it perils?) of the climb ahead but rationalize that, “It can’t be that bad.”  We may have exactly the right tools for the trail, but not have them in hand (I have a drawer filled with winter head gear.  Of course, they were of no benefit until they were actually on my head) or the ability to use them.  And even though each step upward reveals a changing environment, we tend to dismiss the change and the need to adapt by clinging to those things that served us well in the past.

In the book, The 4 Disciplines of Execution, the writers describe the “whirlwind of daily activities” that overwhelm our ability to focus on the things that matter most to the organization.  While standing on those rocks, I could only think about how the wind was causing my ears to hurt and how numb my fingers had become.   The clouds concealing the mountain ahead were disconcerting and obscured the trail.  I was uncomfortable for many reasons and I desperately wanted the discomfort to end.  Turning back seemed like the only rational choice.

So, how do leaders deal with the wind whirling around the mountain top?  Below a couple of suggestions.

1)   Make sure you have the right equipment or training before you begin the journey.  Both are essential.  But, we often worry too much about having the absolute best gear.  A cheap knit toboggan could have kept me on the mountain.  Our knowledge, skills and abilities don’t have to be perfect to meet the needs of the journey.

2)   Define what success will be like.  I had a predetermined spot that I envisioned us reaching for the hike.  Success was linked to that spot.  We still had an enjoyable hike even though we stopped well short of my intended destination.  Sometimes success must be redefined along the way.

3)   Having the right people around us helps us deal with the wind.  There is always a need for a strong coworker/friend that can anchor you when the gusts kick up or who can provide shelter from the wind.  Leaning slightly on each other allowed Kerri and Carrie to stand against the wind.

4)   Realize that the perspective of those at the bottom of the mountain may be very different from your's at the top.  While I fully embrace that leaders should solicit the opinions and perspectives of those throughout the organization, the fact is until one stands on the mountain, often just trying to keep from being swept away, those opinions are nothing more than a theories.

Finally, we should never let the fear of failing drive us beyond our capabilities.  I believe that few people reach their full potential because they pull up short when things get tough.  However, sometimes the most difficult observations to embrace are those where we find ourselves in over our heads and that the best thing for us is to turn back (for a deadly example of how this can play out, read Jon Krakauer’s Into Thin Air).  A leader's most difficult dilemma is to discern when to lower our head and plow forward, and when to take a step back, regroup and begin the journey refreshed.

Warden Tales: Hauling Dogs

It would not be hard to argue that I haven’t truly been a game warden in nearly five years.  I’ve been officially retired for seven months and spent almost all of my last four working years in an office.  But like most officers, I still measure time by seasons and holidays.  The trout season opens the first Saturday in April and signals that spring is underway.  Summer officially begins on Memorial Day weekend.  The opening day of dove season kicks off the hunting season.  But, regardless of what the calendar or regulation digest points to as hunting season, the real big game season opens up with the first cool snap of fall.  Hunters may play around during the warm weather, but as soon as they need to slip on a jacket, the real hunting begins.

http://www.nps.gov/grsm/planyourvisit/fallcolor.htm

Cool weather will make a wavering hunter go rogue.  I once heard it explained, “Deer hunters will play with sticks and strings ‘til it frosts.  Then they break out the rifles.”  It is the same for hound hunters.  They may run their dogs all summer, but when it "feels" like hunting season they often succumb to the perceived need to “get a little fur in the dog’s mouths.”

In the fall of 1985, retired captain Rick Venable and I were fresh out of recruit school and learning the nuances of being a wildlife officer.  Our sergeant, Travis Whitson, had four recruits out of the 1985 class.  So even though Rick and I were green, we spent a considerable amount of time on our own.  The first cool snap that fall coincided with Saturday night.  Travis was almost giddy.  “They’ll been hunting Saturday,” he coached us.  “Ya’ll need to be on East Buffalo before sunset.”

Neither Rick nor I had a real understanding at that point of exactly how “they” would be hunting.  There were no deer in that area.  While I had ‘coon hunted for years, I couldn't quite get my mind around hunting hogs or bear at night.  Travis assured us (correctly) that both that bear and hogs could not only be hunted at night, but that a nighttime hunt was somewhat easier.  A bear will often tree quicker at night - a hog will bay up faster.

We rolled into the area well before dark to get a better feel for the terrain.  At that time, the only way into the cove was a rutted logging road that dead ended near the national forest boundary.  Unsure exactly how to work it, we backed into an old skidder trail and waited for it to get dark.

We did what most game wardens do while waiting.  We immediately ate everything we had brought.  Then we explored the general area on foot.  Took a whiz.  We threw rocks for a while.  We tore the truck apart looking for something else to eat.  We had a rock throwing contest for the half-eaten candy bar discovered under the backseat.  I checked the blue light for the third time.  Took another whiz.

After a couple of hours we heard a vehicle grinding its way toward us.  During our prep time we never really gave much consideration to what we were going to do if someone actually showed up.  Overcome with impatience, we fell back to our default; “Let’s stop them and shake ‘em down.”

We hit the blue light as when the old Jeep rounded the curve.  I shined my flashlight through the windshield and saw two guys I later came to know well - Ronnie and Rufus.  Both looked surprised as did the three hounds in the back seat.

I switched to what I thought was a good game warden voice.

“What are ya’ll doing up here tonight?”

Rufus stared straight ahead while Ronnie did the talking.

“Just ridin’ around.”

“What ya’ll doing with those dogs?”

“Just ridin’ ‘em round.”

Rick was at the passenger door.  His flashlight was fixed on two 30-30 rifles between the driver and passenger seats.

“What ya’ll gonna do with those rifles?”

“Nothin’.”

"Ya'll planning to hunt."

"I'd say we will when the season comes in."

It dawned on me that whole conversation was going nowhere fast and our “shake down” was collapsing.  There was a long uncomfortable silence minimally broke by the dogs’ whines.

Ronnie sensed our confusion.

“I reckon they taught you boys in game warden school what is and ain’t agin the law?”

I managed a weak “yes.”

“And the best I can tell there ain’t no law agin buddies and dogs ridin' around.  Neither is having a rifle or two, loaded or not, on private land.  Am I right?”

My mind wallowed around the definition of "to take" and conspiracy, but neither gained any mental traction.  Ronnie took my lack of response as an affirmation of his position.

“Well, since we ain’t done nothin’ wrong, we'll be movin’ on.”

They drove up the road a ways to make it look good and then hightailed back past us out of the area.  Rick and I spent the rest of the evening trying to figure out where things went wrong.  Travis later gave us advice that I carried the rest of my career.  There is a time to be proactive, but sometimes you have to overcome the urge to act too quickly and wait to see what develops.

A couple of years later I observed Ronnie and his brother in this same area, hunting hogs on Thanksgiving Day.  The season was closed for hogs.  The brother fired three warning shots when he saw me, giving Ronnie a short head start.  I chased him on foot for a half mile before losing him in a thicket near where we had stopped them that cool fall night.  It was very satisfying to go to the magistrate to swear out warrants for him.  

That memory came to mind when I heard the weather forecast today.  It looks like a good chance for the first frost this Saturday night.