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.