For additional interesting writings about Wyoming Wildlife Law Enforcement, check out Retired Game Warden Dave Bragonier’s book “Wild Journey”. A book about a Wyoming Game Warden in Yellowstone Country.

Chief Game Warden Jay Lawson has written a book called “Men To Match Our Mountains”. A book chronicling the life histories of some of the most colorful outdoor men and women from early 20th century Wyoming, including game wardens. The profits from book sales are dedicated to the Wyoming Wildlife Heritage Foundation’s Forensic Trust Fund.

These following game warden short stories were written by officers in the 1980s when WGWA was considering publishing a Wyoming Game Warden short stories book. Unfortunately the book never came to fruition, so we would like to share them with you here. Photos of the authors are of the time the experiences happened.

CHUCK WARD
(Retired Casper & Wheatland Game Warden)

WORM WETTING

This particular day I was working in plain clothes, running the unmarked patrol boat on Boysen Reservoir. There were quite a few fishermen and boaters out on the lake. One troller caught my eye, he appeared to be using two fishing poles. A closer inspection confirmed he was doing this dirty deed. I approached his boat and identified myself as the game warden and told him to meet me on shore. He was given a citation for fishing with more than one pole. At the court appearance, the fisherman told the judge he was only using the extra pole and line to keep his fishworm wet. The judge believed his story and dismissed the case.

NIGHT VISION

It was deer season and I was set up at a temporary road block on one of the main county roads in Natrona County, stopping hunters as they returned to Casper. The sun had been down for over an hour when a vehicle approached my location. When I turned on the red lights, the vehicle came to a screeching halt and the interior light came on. I ran up to the vehicle just in time to prevent the driver from tagging up. He had failed to properly tag the deer with his license. The deer and the license were seized as evidence and the hunter was issued a citation for failing to properly sign, date and detach the carcass coupon immediately at the site of the kill.

In his court appearance, the defendant pointed out to the judge that he could not properly sign or date the carcass coupon because it was dark by the time he had dressed out and loaded the deer in his truck. The judge handed the defendant a piece of paper and a pencil, had him close his eyes and told him to write his name. The defendant complied with the judge's request and gave the paper back to the judge. The judge said, "See, any fool can sign his name in the dark! Guilty as charged!"

I CAN DO THIS, CAN'T I?

A concerned citizen reported the possible killing of a deer out of season. Subsequent investigations resulted in the arrest of an individual for the illegal killing of a big game animal and the wanton waste of edible portions. Wanton waste was considered a serious crime (and still is), so the lay Justice of the Peace requested the local county attorney to be present during the court proceedings. The defendant plead guilty to all charges and was being interviewed by the JP before sentencing. At this time the defendant remarked about moving to Texas. The JP levied the maximum fine and advised the defendant he had his choice of going to Texas or to jail. After this remark, the JP turned to the county attorney and asked, "I can do this, can't I?"

BLOOD STAINS GET THEM EVERY TIME

At daylight on opening day of elk season, I was watching over a herd of about 200 elk when something spooked them and they headed into the timber. Not long afterwards, I heard some shots in the distance and headed in that direction. Bopping over a small rise, I met another truck. The individuals stopped and I checked the elk licenses of both men. Neither one of them had a proper license for the area and they told me they weren't hunting. Looking at them, I noticed reddish brown spots on their clothes and hands. I asked them to go back down the trail with me. They complied and after traveling a short distance, two freshly gutted bull elk were found along the trail. Both hunters denied knowing anything about these animals. I told them I didn't believe them and would need to confiscate their shirts and pants as evidence. I would send the clothes to the lab to confirm the stains on their clothes were elk blood. They changed their story and admitted to killing the elk.

THE DISAPPEARING EVIDENCE

An old beaver trapper related this story to me. It happened back in the time when game wardens were political appointees, a long time ago.

A trapper in the Laramie Peak area had applied for a license to trap beaver through the local game warden. The warden stopped by his cabin and said the license was being issued and told him to start trapping. The old trapper went about catching beaver and the next week the warden came back and arrested him for trapping without a license. The trapper was found guilty and paid the fine.

The trapper decided to get even with the game warden and continued trapping beaver without a license. He traveled on foot and had food caches in many different places, making it extremely difficult for the warden to apprehend him. One day the trapper become careless and was arrested by two game wardens. He had a number of beaver pelts in his possession at the time. The game wardens had to transport him to Laramie for court, so he was put in the back of their vehicle along with his pelts and they left for Laramie. The wardens made one mistake by not taking the trapper's pocket knife away from him. During the long trip to Laramie, the trapper cut the beaver pelts into small pieces and shoved them out a hole in the bottom of the vehicle. Upon arrival in Laramie, the wardens found there was no evidence to take the trapper to court.

I DIDN'T THINK THEY WERE POACHERS

Another game warden and I had just finished up with an evening trial at the local Justice of the Peace. While the other warden had to take the convicted game violator back to his camp to get additional money to pay the fine, I visited with the JP waiting for my partner to get back. The JP suggested we go take a drive and check some poachers. It was after dark when we left the judge's office.

As we traveled down the back roads, the JP had me stop every vehicle and check for possible hunting or fishing violations. During these stops, the judge remained in my truck, remarking, "It wouldn't look very good if I had to try them in court after checking them." When I returned to the truck after one particular vehicle stop, the judge said, "I didn't think they were poaching because that was my wife and her brother."

DAVE BRAGONIER
(Retired Cody Game Warden)

THE PARSONS' HEIRLOOM

One evening I was patrolling the Little Big Horn River in Sheridan County. As I approached a bend in the river, I saw a person jump up from a crouched position as if he had been hit in the rear with a bull whip. It seemed as if this action corresponded with his looking in my direction. He then scurried to a location nearby where a woman was preparing a picnic supper. A child and a dog were playing close by.
As I approached them, I asked, "How is the fishing?" as a game warden sometimes says when he approaches fishermen. "Oh," the man says, "we are not fishing. We are just enjoying the evening and are about to eat. Won't you join us?" He then introduced himself as the Reverend James Streeter of the Southern Baptist Church in Wyola, Montana. He also introduced me to his wife and son, and asked me again if I would like to join them for supper. I thanked him, but said that I had already eaten and I must get going.

I started down the river and arrived at the spot where the parson had jumped up. At that location, I found an ancient, split-bamboo fly pole and hand wind reel with the line in the water. I had just brought in the line with hook and worm attached when I heard a heavenly voice behind me say, "Well, it looks like I'm caught!" The preacher could see that he might lose the pole, and told me the pole had been handed down several generations.

The Reverend Streeter paid his fine, got his pole back, and went back to preaching, if not practicing, the Ten Commandments.

IN THE EYES OF THE LORD

I was patrolling the Tongue River just west of Dayton one afternoon when I observed two fishermen standing in mid-stream on the Adamson ranch. As I approached them, I saw that one was a middle-aged man and the other was a young woman. Both looked like they stepped right out of the Orvis catalog, decked out from head to toe in the latest fly fisherman attire. When I asked to see their fishing licenses, I was immediately advised in an indignant tone that he was the rector of the old Church of England, in Canada, and he didn't need a license! And neither did his daughter! Out of curiosity, I asked him if he needed to get permission to trespass on private property. He advised me that he could fish any place he wished in Canada, and assumed he could do the same in the United States.

When I told him he was in trouble if he actually did not have a license, he acted like he couldn't believe it. He could finally see that I was dead serious and then said that he didn't have any money to pay a fine. When I told him we were going to the courthouse to pay the bond, he suggested that I take his eighteen year old daughter with me and he would follow. Now this young lady was very comely, but I could see what the conniving father was willing to try to get out of his predicament.

As the man of God and I headed into town in my pickup, followed by the daughter in their vehicle, he repeated several times, "In the eyes of the Lord, I am not guilty." The judge saw otherwise.

THE WAYWARD PRIEST

While patrolling on horseback around Bridger Lake in the Teton Wilderness one summer day, I saw a fisherman on the south shore. As I approached him, he hastily beat a retreat into the nearby pines, dragging a stringer of trout with him. I soon caught up with him and got off my horse to check his fish and his license.

When I asked him for his license, he said, "I left it in my car at the trail head at Turpin Meadows," in a slightly Irish brogue. This happened to be about thirty miles on foot or horseback from out location. I then asked to see some sort of identification, and he said that he had none. I continued to press him for some I.D. and he found a gasoline credit card slip in his shirt pocket, which he handed to me. On the slip was the name, Father John O'Reilly, and the address, Salt Lake City. I then asked him if he was in fact a catholic priest. He assured me that he was indeed.

I observed that the man of the cloth hesitated when I asked him for the location of the agency where he had obtained his license. I knew immediately that there was good reason for this hesitation because everyone knows that priests don't lie. Even knowing this, I still reminded him there was a big difference between having a license and forgetting to bring it, and not having purchased a license at all. Somewhat apologetic, I asked him again, "Do you have a fishing license?" To this he said, "No," as he hung his head. I advised him that it wasn't nice to lie, to which he said, "I know, I know. I have been asking forgiveness!"

DAVE AVEY
Casper Game Warden

AN ORIGINAL EXCUSE

Late one October afternoon, another officer and I were working the antelope season near Casper. We were about to call it quits as we had our usual 14 plus hours in when we spotted one more vehicle headed our way.

We positioned our vehicles and stopped the oncoming pickup. The couple had a nice buck antelope in the truck with the front legs tied over the head in typical Minnesota fashion.

Upon examining the license, I inquired as to why the lady had not tagged her antelope. She replied that her husband had not instructed her to do so, and besides, he was the one who shot it.

After a quick conference, the husband admitted he had indeed killed the antelope and had drug it a mile and a half to the pickup by himself. He also stated there was a special reason he shot an antelope for his wife. I told him that was fine but he would be issued a couple of citations. He could tell his story to the judge if he so chose.

The court date rolled around and we were scheduled for a trial before the judge. After all the swearing in, the trial began.

I was the first to testify. Next the judge asked the defendant if he had any questions to ask the officers. He replied no, that everything happened as stated. But he told the judge he would like to explain the circumstances of the day. The defendant stated, "As you can see your Honor, my wife is a rather large woman and she has a difficult time walking great distances. This, plus the fact, and I don't want to embarrass my wife, due to womanhood, she was menstruating and was physically unable to hunt. So, I shot her antelope for her."

The judge said that was an interesting story and pronounced him guilty as charged.

REX M. CORSI
(Retired Chief Game Warden, Tensleep Game Warden)

PAINTROCK BASIN EPISODE

During my years working as a game warden for the Wyoming Game and Fish Department I had my share of problems with vehicles. One episode which happened during October of 1964 caused me to walk some distance for assistance but as it turned out I was rewarded with getting acquainted with some very nice people.

On October 15, I went to Paintrock Creek area in an International Scout four wheel drive vehicle to check on hunting activity. This was the beginning of the elk hunting season so there were plenty of hunters around. I checked about 30 hunters and a few elk they had killed. It was dry conditions so hunting was difficult.
As I was traveling along a rather steep, narrow road which wound down a steep hillside to Paintock Basin, a rear axle of the Scout twisted apart. That ended my vehicle transportation so I walked to and across Paintrock Basin and up Paintrock Creek to Hap Crane's outfitting camp. Art Williams was there and he brought me to Worland. He made a special trip of over 100 miles to assist me and would not accept any pay. He owned a cabin at Hyattville that he used during the summers.

Finding a new axle to buy took a few days and October 19, Colonel Noyes, the Greybull game warden and Dick Keeney, the Ten Sleep game warden and I went to where I had left the Scout. Try we did but we could not get the broken axle out of the housing. Colonel and I returned on the 20th to try again. This time we chained a log to the frame of the Scout so it supported the rear where the wheel was gone. We disconnected the rear drive shaft and using front wheel drive we moved the vehicle down the switchbacks to the Basin floor.

Paintrock Basin is partially covered with sagebrush and as we moved into the bottom, a young bobcat ran from us and tried to hide in some brush. Bobcats were classified as predatory animals and could legally be taken, so we decided to try to catch it. Colonel and I each took a gunny sack and the chase was on. It could easily outrun us but for some reason it seemed to not want to leave the immediate area. We were able to catch it and put it in a sack. About that time, Wayne Souder and Ken Miller drove up in a Jeep station wagon. They were nonresident hunters and mechanics as well. Art Williams had arranged with them to help us with replacing the axle in the Scout. Colonel was well acquainted with both Wayne and Ken and as they drove up to us, he shook the bobcat out of the sack into the back seat of their vehicle. Wayne and Ken were very fast and agile moving out of the Jeep.

Well, after a good laugh and some conversation, Wayne and Ken installed the new axle in a short time and Colonel and I went out separate ways. Wayne and Ken both moved to Wyoming a few years after the meeting. Wayne operated an outfitting business he bought from Hap Crane. Ken operated a Chevron service station at Greybull.

TERRY CRAM
(Retired Sheridan Game Warden)

THE BLIND HUNTER

Every time a game warden gets to feeling smug and thinking he's seen it all, he gets proven wrong in a big way.

We were having fun breaking in a new trainee in the Sheridan District one fall. He'd gotten his share of jokes pulled on him and taken his share of ribbing for getting stuck, lost and confused. But, he was hanging in there and doing a great job. His name was Benge and he eventually passed his probation period.
The phone rang at night that fall, and a rancher was on the other end to tell me about something he'd seen. He said that when I had been out earlier and dealt with some hunters near his place, that I'd missed another antelope they had shot. He said that before I arrived, two guys had drug a buck antelope off a side hill and hid it in an irrigation ditch, they walked on down to the rest of the party who had a couple more antelope down. Then he'd seen me arrive and take care of the situation, but no one ever went up and got the buck antelope.

Well, I didn't have the slightest idea what the rancher was talking about, since I hadn't gone out there. I could only surmise Benge had.

I called Benge and he surely had gone out to the place; on a complaint from the neighboring rancher who had witnessed them shooting at antelope from the road, which is illegal. Benge had responded and written a couple of tickets for shooting from the roadway. There was another ungutted antelope in the back of the truck supposedly coming from another ranch. The antelope wasn't tagged before it had been transported or moved anywhere as required by law. Benge inquired and the hunter stepped forth. He was blind! Well, Benge had never known such a thing as a blind hunter, so he began learning some more about the job. Turns out they had a rifle with a side mount scope that the brother to the blind man would look through, give directions of "up", "down", "left", or "right", then "SHOOT" at the appropriate time.

Anyway, I explained to Benge that he had missed an antelope on the hillside and he agreed to go along. We talked about the earlier episode on the way to the site. Benge had checked all their licenses and knew they only had licenses to cover shooting doe antelope only. So, someone had shot a buck and hid it so we wouldn't find it. We wondered if the hunters would blame it on the unsuspecting blind man, who wouldn't know if he killed a buck, doe, or anything at all.

After some help from the rancher, we found and properly dressed the antelope, then headed for Sheridan. Benge knew their outfits and they were staying in a motel somewhere. Accidentally shooting the wrong sex is understandable, but leaving a mistake to rot isn't and is dealt with severely.

We searched and soon found the vehicles at a motel. As we were debating how to approach the guys, out come about four of them to go to town. We got out and began quizzing them about the dead antelope. At first they tried denying it, but after realizing an eye-witness had seen them, admitted "Yea, the blind guy shot it." I looked at Benge and thought he was going to explode before my eyes. We gathered our composure, and allowed the brother to explain. The scope was so offset, that if a shot was missed at 100 yards the shot gets off course quickly the further it travels, accounting for the near perfect neck shot on the buck at about 350 yards and it was all be accident. They did not know what to do, were scared and when Benge showed up, decided to forget about the buck.

I thought about it and decided that the guy looking through the scope and telling when to shoot should get the ticket. After all, he had given some bad advice and caused the problem. While this guy was trying to decide his own fate, the blind guy stepped forth and proclaimed, "Now wait a minute, I'm part of this hunting party. I can take a ticket too, you know." I thought about it a minute, remembering Benge hadn't given him a ticket for the earlier fail to tag and said "You got it, man!"

I cited him, got bail money from him and put the point of my pen where he was to sign the ticket. He was really trusting me now. For all he knew, I could be getting title to his house.

They were nice guys who had goofed up. The blind guy had a motorcycle wreck and couldn't see anymore due to the injury. He became a piano tuner and the family started taking fishing trips till they got the idea how to go hunting. Each to his own, and whatever works! I hope we didn't discourage `em! Benge and I decided we weren't going to tell anyone about the incident, but who could keep a secret like that?

THE PREACHER

Every once in a while a game warden has to do something he'd just as soon not do. Due to the situation, sometimes a ticket needs to be issued when (if only no one else knew) he'd just as soon issue a warning and save someone the humiliation. Also, there are times when breaks are given only to later lead to serious doubts as to the logic. I had occasion in the fall of 1979 to witness both conflicts in one situation.
I received a call a doe deer had been shot in a closed area and that the man who shot it wanted to meet at a lodge on the Bighorn Mountains. I arrived to find an elderly man and his wife sitting in a truck waiting for me. The man explained that he had a cow elk license and was sitting on a side hill with his wife when several doe deer walked out below. He thought they were cow elk and shot one. When he shot, his wife exclaimed, "You just shot a deer!", to which he replied, "Nooo!".

I explained to him that I had no choice but to write him a ticket, but I'd call and let the judge know he'd turned himself in and that it was an honest mistake. I felt sorry for the guy and probably wouldn't write a ticket at all except that everyone in the lodge knew what happened as well as everyone that heard the message over the radio phone at the lodge. While explaining the situation and writing the ticket, a local goofball from the lodge came up and asked if he could have the deer. I jumped all over the guy for making an already embarrassing situation worse for the couple. I forgot to mention the elderly man was a minister in a small town in eastern Wyoming.

Anyway, the minister drew a map to lead me to the dressed out and hanging deer, and I let him go with his misery and humiliation. Warden Chuck Repsis was summoned to help retrieve the deer and it was exactly where he said it would be. We gave the deer to a needy family in town and later found the man had only been fined $20 for killing the deer in a closed area. So, the case ended....we thought.

About five days later I got a call at our district office from the man. He stated he was at our checkstation headed for town and wanted to meet with me. Figuring he wanted to thank me for putting in the good word, I told him I would wait till he arrived.

When he got there, he wanted to talk outside and alone. I followed him outside and asked what was going on. He said, "Mr. Cram, you're not going to believe this." "Believe what?" I asked. He swallowed and said, "I did it again!" "Did what?" I asked. He said, "I shot another deer." "Where?" I asked. He said, "About 50 yards from the other one."

I stood in disbelief and wondered what the judge would say if we went to court again. He was going to think the poor guy is a menace, and I must be crazy for pleading leniency the first time. We visited a little more, and I found out then that this man could hardly see. I explained to him that he shouldn't be hunting and he could as easily have shot another hunter. I told him I really didn't know what to do and would have to think about it awhile. I told him to go home and stay there until he heard from me. That was fifteen years ago. I haven't heard of anyone getting shot in the area, so I presume he is still waiting!

ONE OF THEM DAYS

People often call us with information while wishing to remain anonymous to the suspect they call about. We respect their wishes and go to great length to keep them uninvolved. But, occasionally something goes awry.

A woman called to report that her dog had dragged in a fresh elk leg, and she suspected her neighbors were poaching. She explained that the neighbors were in the yard next door and would see me drive up if I came out.

I told her we had an old undercover truck, and I could put on a windbreaker or something so the neighbors wouldn't realize who I was. She consented to this plan and gave me directions to her house south of Sheridan. This all seemed pure and simple, except for two things: our undercover truck had a broken door latch and my holster was falling apart.

I threw on a windbreaker, noticed the stitching was unraveling in my holster, jumped in our old 1959 Army OD pickup and headed out. I got just south of town and went around a sharp hair pin turn to the right. The driver's door came open...and I headed out. I gripped the steering wheel, pulling it to the left and promptly went across the road and into the borrow pit. Luckily it was gentle, and I was able to pull back onto the road. Luckily too, there was no oncoming traffic.

I arrived at the house and noticed people in the yard next door. I parked, got out and headed to the door. The informant came out to meet me and was halfway to me when KER-PLOP! My pistol fell out from under my windbreaker onto the gravel walkway. The poor woman gasped out loud and just shuddered, "My neighbors will know!". I bent down, picked up the pistol and tucked it back under the windbreaker and into my belt...and kept walking. The neighbors never even noticed! We went to the house and looked at the elk leg, which turned out to be one from last fall and nothing illegal about it. I apologized to the woman for scaring her to death and drove back to the office....holding onto the door with one hand.

THE PHANTOM DEER

Game wardens spend their entire careers learning lessons, then they retire because the lessons scare them to death.

One fall I decided to don some `real person' clothes, shoulder a rifle and wander into a deer and elk area on foot. We are constantly accused of `just riding around in trucks all day', so I figured I might catch some hunter unawares. And, so I thought, "Who knows, I might even see an elk and be able to call this my big elk hunt for the year.". I'd heard some shooting near the bottom of a creek about a mile off, so I slipped on some orange and headed out.

Upon reaching the creek bottom, I found a large bull elk lying on its back and fully gutted. I checked it closely, but couldn't find the mandatory elk tag that should have been visibly attached somewhere on the carcass. The `whistlers' or canine teeth were still in the elk. I was surprised because they are highly prized by hunters. So, the elk had not been tagged as required by law and was therefore, not the property of anyone. I decided to remove the teeth and see if I could find someone that wanted to claim them. I marked the elk carcass so I could identify it later and proceeded on up the creek.

I shortly found a hunter puffing up the hill ahead of me and caught up to him. The first thing he asked was if I had seen the elk he'd shot down below. I said I had and he proceeded to tell me all the details about how he had gotten the bull, and then missed a cow that was with him. I finally told him who I was and asked for his elk license. His first words were, "I lied to you. I didn't really shoot that elk, my friend did!" Turned out that the hunter I was talking to had a general elk license and by law had to shoot a bull elk only. His friend had an either sex license and could shoot a cow or a bull. The two had decided they would use the bull only license on the bull, then they'd still have an either sex license to share the rest of the day. That would improve their chances of getting another elk (more options). I checked the license and the tag had not been torn off.

By now the guy was getting real nervous and I tried to calm him by downplaying the severity of the offense. I explained that we'd have to go find his friend and take care of the matter. He explained that his friend was probably in camp and we could head there. I knew where the camp had to be and headed off, waiting occasionally for the out-of-shape man to catch up in the deep snow. We had just reached the top of the hill when an explosion went off right behind me! I whirled and shouted, "What happened?". He motioned and said something had crossed through a clearing to our right. I hadn't seen anything and asked if it was a deer. He said, "I think so." I responded, "You think so? You aren't sure?". He replied, "Well, it was about this tall and it was grey!". I asked if it had antlers (since this deer area was limited to bucks only) and he again responded, "I think so". I came back with "I hope so, let's go have a look".

We entered the clearing and began to look for tracks. There were none! I completely circled the clearing and went beyond. There were no tracks at all in the two feet deep snow!

I suddenly got a chill up my spine and realized that there never was a deer. I could only guess that he had either accidentally fired his rifle during his haste and fear or something even more scary...he shot at me!
I really concentrated on calming him down this time and suggested he go on ahead to his camp and wait while I would peel off to where my truck was parked, then catch up to him later. I slowly started off to the left while watching his every move and unsnapped my holster.

Once he was gone I hurried to my truck, and then headed for the camp. We got there about the same time and his friend was already there. I wrote the friend a ticket for not tagging the elk, gave him the teeth from my pocket and explained I could confiscate the elk if I so wished, but this time I'd let them have it. As for the phantom deer shooter, I never mentioned the incident but let him know how easy it was to get caught in a party hunting situation and hoped he'd learned his lesson.

My real thoughts upon leaving the camp were that I'd learned a real lesson myself. A warden can get careless thinking everyone is a nice guy. Treat people with respect, but never, never let your guard down around people with guns!

DISTRICT III PHONE TAP

The vast majority of contacts made during hunting season are commonplace; not worth rehashing. In fact, most of us hear so many hunting stories, we'd love to hear no more...ever.

But occasionally something happens whereby its merit to be retold can't be denied.

During the fall of 1986, I received word through an informant that a local resident had taken a couple of elk to his brother's processing plant to cool. The elk were supposedly part of an over limit of elk and were untagged.

I contacted Dayton warden, Bob Peterson and proceeded to the locker to check out the devious story. When we arrived at the plant, the plant owner greeted us in his usual friendly way and invited us to look through the plant if we wished. We subsequently found an untagged deer and the two untagged elk as reported.
An employee of the plant admitted to bringing the deer in and produced a `slick' license from his wallet. He understood he had to be ticketed. Both agreed the plant operator knew nothing about it.

We explained that we'd heard the elk were brought in during the night, possibly after the plant owner had left for the night. He quickly proclaimed "I'll get to the bottom of this!" Whereby he telephoned his brother. Presumably talking to his brother's wife, he asked where his brother was, when he'd be back, etc. He then growled, "There are some extra untagged elk down here and two game wardens are about to take me to jail." He was just putting the finishing touches on a believable conversation, when a horrible sound came over the phone (loud enough for both Peterson and I to hear): "Beep, beep, beep, beep. Hang up your phone! Hang up your phone now!"

Now Bob and I were having some real fun! I called the owner by his first name. Sam's ears were turning red, but he continued to talk to the very loud recording. I again said "Sam....there's nobody there!"
Sam turned, hung up the phone and exclaimed, "I know! But he's my brother, man! What else could I do?!"
We all had a good laugh. The tags were found and Sam now has an answer when asked of his most embarrassing moment.

GREGG ARTHUR
Assistant Director, Laramie Supervisor, Laramie Investigator, Greybull and Jeffery City Game Warden

ANTELOPE, WIVES AND COMPOST PILES

A Game warden's job is one of many contradictory emotions. Happiness and hopelessness, fun and frustration, adventure and adversity, delight and despair.

I prefer to remember and reflect on the positive, good and often times, humorous aspects of the job. And so it is that I reflect on Antelope, Wives and Compost Piles for your pleasure and time.

Late one fall night, I received an anonymous telephone call concerning a wildlife violation. This is not an uncommon occurrence with game wardens. This anonymous caller advised that earlier in the day, Mr. Cee had killed two antelope on one license, an obvious overlimit. Both antelope were reported to be in Mr. Cee's garage and he was presently trying to give the extra antelope away to a coworker at his place of employment. I dragged my weary body out of bed, game wardens are always weary in the fall, contacted a city policeman and requested that he watch Mr. Cee's garage.

Ii drove to Mr. Cee's workplace, arriving around midnight. I found his pickup truck parked in nearby parking lot. His antelope license was lying on the dashboard and there was fresh blood in the bed of the truck. I found Mr. Cee shortly thereafter and he promptly confessed to killing both antelope and failing to tag either of the antelope with his license. Mr. Cee told me both antelope, a doe and a fawn, were in his garage. He agreed to let me in his garage and turn both animals over to me. It looked like the crime would be quickly solved and I might get to sleep at least part of the night. Little did I know!

When we arrived at Mr. Cee's house, we met the policeman who advised all was dark and quiet at Mr. Cee's house and garage. Imagine everyone's surprise when Mr. Cee opened the garage door, turned on the lights and only one antelope was hanging in the garage. Mr. Cee was quiet for a moment, then exclaimed, "My wife!" He went into his house and brought his wife to the door dressed in her nightgown. She appeared to have just been awakened from a deep sleep. When she asked what the problem was, Mr. Cee told her that he had confessed to shooting two antelope and now one had disappeared. Mrs. Cee instantly transformed from drowsiness to panic. She screamed at her husband, stamped her feet and finished by breaking into tears.

After she calmed down, although still frazzled, Mrs. Cee was able to tell me what happened. She had received a phone call from one of her husband's co-workers. He told her that her husband had been arrested by the game warden and for her to get rid of one of the antelope. She then looked outside, saw the police car parked across the street and panicked. Barefoot, dressed only in her nightgown and without any lights, she went out the back door of her house and pulled the fawn antelope out the back door of the garage. She dragged the antelope down the alley for two blocks, threw it over a fence into a stranger's back yard and buried it in a compost pile. She then returned to her house, sneaked in the back door and got into bed. All this activity was unseen by the policeman who was watching the front of the house and had not seen any movement or lights. Mrs. Cee directed me to the antelope and I retrieved it from the compost pile. Mr. Cee was subsequently cited and convicted in court for his violations. I finally got to bed before daylight, another crime solved.

To this day, however, I often wonder what the occupant of that house would have thought if they had looked out their back window at 2:00 am on that cold October night. They would have observed a game warden climb over their fence, dredge through their compost pile, dragging out a dead antelope and throwing it into the back of a Game and Fish Department truck. They would have also seen the truck drive off down the alley occupied by a somewhat frantic lady in a bathrobe, her chastised and humble husband and a very weary game warden.

JOHN DEMAREE
Laramie Wildlife Investigator and Damage Control Warden

TENNIS SHOES

It was late summer in 1978. I was spending a few days working with Saratoga game warden Gary Brown. We were working the Sierra Madre Mountains, checking fisherman and finding out where some of the old jeep trails went. These two tracks are somewhat narrow for driving full sized pickups on. Each year, the numerous rocks, stumps and ruts in these roads appear to grow larger. Anyone could tell that Gary patrolled his area extensively. Besides a severe case of tree rash, there were squeaks and creaks that seemed to continue from the truck after it was parked. Gary called it broke in, our supervisor called it something else. Since Gary's truck was already modified, we used his truck that day.

This particular day we were working the Beaver Creek area. As we were driving up the creek, two fishermen appeared. They were down in the willows fishing the beaver dams. They had heard the truck coming, but hadn't realized who we were until it was too late. One fisherman waved hello, but his buddy dropped out of sight in the willows. A clue to fishing without a license. Gary and I jumped out of the truck and moved as quickly as we could to where the guys were fishing. The friendly one was still there, showed us his license, but wouldn't tell us where his buddy, Roger went. As I followed Roger's tennis shoe foot prints along the creek, Gary went back to the truck and called for Roger on his PA. Roger ignored his request to come back to the truck. The tennis shoe prints left the creek and crossed the road about 100 yards behind the truck and headed up through the timber, where I lost his tracks.

Meeting Gary back at the truck, we settled on a plan. We would see how smart Roger was. I stepped back into the timber and Gary got into the truck, slammed the doors and drove slowly up the road, calling Roger on the PA. As the variety of sounds from Gary's truck grew fainter, I waited. Three minutes passed. Only the annoying buzz of a deer fly was noticeable. Then I heard it. Clump...Clump...Clump...Clump. The unmistakable sound of a tennis shoed fisherman running through the woods. Roger was not very smart. He was unknowingly running right toward me. I waited until he was about 5 yards away and stepped out from behind the tree.

"Where you going, Roger?" I asked.

Roger looked like he had a bowel movement in his pants. He stumbled to a stop and sat down on a stump. He had that total surrender look. While waiting for Gary to come back, I quizzed him on what he had done with his fishing tackle.

"It's someplace behind one of those trees." Roger said and pointed up into the timber. "I was scared and now I can't remember exactly where it is. Anyway, I wasn't fishing." Wrong answer. Gary and I had seen Roger, pole in hand at the creek with the line out.

While Gary wrote the citation (my citation book was absently left in my truck that morning), I tried to retrace Roger's run through the woods. Finding his tackle wasn't required, but a little PR now and then didn't hurt. About a 100 yards into the timber from where Roger crossed the road, lay a fallen tree with two large rocks setting on it. It didn't look natural and upon closer inspection, I found a Zebco reel and a K-Mart tackle box with Roger's name on it, stuffed under the tree.

Talk about gratitude, Roger thanked me for finding his fishing tackle, but failed to show up on the court date. When the Sheriff went to arrest him on the bench warrant for failure to appear, Roger had one more opportunity to try out his tennis shoes.

BILL HALEY
Laramie Game Warden

THE CAMPFIRE

It was October 15, the opening day of elk season. Overcast and cold, a typical opening day.
About eight o'clock in the morning, a call came in, someone had poached several elk. About a half hour later, another call. Someone else had seen the same thing and wanted to meet me. I had already started that way, but as usual I was many mile away without a good road between where I was and where I was going. About an hour later I arrived and gave directions to the other warden who was helping me.
We headed to the camp of the hunters suspected of being involved in the violations. The report indicated that several elk had been shot and left along with a buck deer. We were looking at overlimits of elk and deer out of season.

We arrived at the camp about 10 o'clock and found 15 men all standing around a very large campfire keeping warm and trying to dry off. As we approached, a sudden hush fell over the hunters. Two more hunters came up the hill to the fire. I questioned them about their hunt, looked at their licenses and went to check the hunters at the fire. My partner was watching this whole thing in case there was a sign of trouble, which there could have been real easy. I had arrested about half of these guys at one time or another. They were experienced poachers and we were in their camp. I started around the fire gathering licenses and checking the physical descriptions of the hunters I didn't know. I got about half way around the fire and realized I was getting no where. So, I turned to one guy and said, "Who shot the deer?" He said, "I did." Well, not only did I about fall over from shock, but when I looked at my partner, the expression on his face said it all. Nobody confesses that easily when the evidence was as thin as ours. Talk about your basic outhouse luck! Not only did we not know who shot the deer, the ridge was so big that we would never have found the deer especially since it had started snowing and there was about 4" now on the ground.

There were 13 elk shot that morning. We confiscated 4 elk, one deer and wrote numerous citations.

TWENTY YEARS AGO

A young new game warden was checking pheasant hunters when he observed two elderly gentlemen walking beside a narrow weed patch. Their black lab was working the weeds between them. This young warden noted that it was still a half hour before legal shooting hours and these two guys were walking back to their truck, so they had obviously been hunting for a while. He asked to see their licenses and saw they were long time residents of the area as well as old enough to have pioneer licenses. The warden asked them why they were hunting before legal hours, at which point a heated discussion ensued. One of the hunters ranted, "If this were twenty years ago, I'd kick your ass." To which the warden replied, "You probably could have, I would have only been six years old."

THE CASE OF MISTAKEN IDENTITY

One early fall Thursday evening, I was sitting at home enjoying a quiet peaceful moment. I had about three years of experience at this point and thought I was ready for anything.

Antelope season was going to start the coming weekend. The phone rang and an exited male voice said two guys in a pickup were shooting at antelope 15 miles south of town. When I reached the area, nothing was there. The radio dispatcher called to say the informant had driven back out there to keep track of the vehicle. They had turned around and were back in town somewhere. My informant wrote down the license plate, vehicle description and suspects' descriptions. With the help of the dispatcher, I got the address and headed that way.

By this time it was dark as I rolled up to a trailer house on the south end of town. I could see one guy go into the trailer and another one washing out a carcass on the tailgate of the pickup. I called a highway patrolman for backup and got out.

Feeling pretty confident and very lucky, I walked over to this guy and identified myself. I looked at the carcass and smugly asked to see his antelope license. Anyway, it looked like an antelope, smelled like an antelope and the informant had seen them shooting at antelope. When he replied, "This is not an antelope, this is a domestic sheep.", I had to think quickly. I asked to see the hide of the "sheep", knowing the drunk was about to be caught lying now. I walked over to the barrel that he pointed to, expecting to find the antelope hide. Looking in, there was a fresh warm sheep hide lying in the bottom. I pulled it out and stretched it out on the ground. There was a red paint brand on its back and one of its ears was notched. I figured these drunks had killed a rancher's sheep. With the highway patrolman watching them, I called the brand inspector and asked him to come out and look at the sheep and identify the brand.

Upon questioning the guys about the sheep, their "story" was all legal.

His friend had come out to help butcher the sheep which had been kept in a small pen behind the trailer. The sheep escaped and ran through town and out toward the west. It took them 20 miles to catch the sheep. As they were explaining the story, I looked at the ewe's mouth to estimate the age. This sheep exemplified the term, "broken mouth ewe". She had seen her better days about 10 years ago.

When the brand inspector arrived, he looked at the brand and knew which rancher the sheep belonged to. We confronted the guy about this, and he was told he was going to jail. I don't remember who made this statement, but our rustler was not impressed. I forgot to mention our man was very large and an unemployed construction worker. After he heard he was going to jail he looked at the three of us and said matter-of-factly, "I don't think you three are big enough to arrest me." All that practice of self defense tactics and arrest and control techniques didn't give me much self confidence with this giant. The patrolman grabbed on arm, the brand inspector and I latched onto the other and we all ended up in a heap on the ground, with the patrolman on the bottom. We got his arms under control and I got out my handcuffs. My cuffs were so dirty that I could hardly get them open, and his wrists were so big, I hardly got them closed again. All this while we were rolling on the ground.

The real story on the sheep killing finally came out in court. The trip started out as a fishing and drinking excursion. They did more drinking on the way out there and decided to scrap the fishing and go back to town to get their rifles and go antelope hunting. By this time, they were too drunk to hit any antelope, so they ran through a highway fence into a bunch of domestic sheep, killing the old ewe. Both men were convicted and sentenced to the State Penitentiary.

GARY BROWN
Cody Supervisor and Saratoga Game Warden

BOAT RIDE WITH A RATTLESNAKE

One warm Saturday in July, Medicine Bow warden Joe Gilbert and I decided to take the jet boat down the North Platte River to Seminoe Reservoir and check fisherman. We made it to the lake with no trouble, checked some fisherman and had lunch. As usual, the wind came up and we had to make a run for the river and back to the landing.

At the mouth of the river we saw some fishermen and stopped to check them. Joe went down to the fishermen while I stayed with the boat. Joe finished checking the fishermen and as he returned to the boat he stopped suddenly and yelled, "Snake". At about the same time I saw a rattlesnake leave the bank and get in the water, five or six yards from the boat.

Immediately after entering the water, the snake turned and headed for the boat. I figured the snake would turn and head back to shore. It didn't take long for me to realize that the snake felt differently and had made up its mind it wanted a boat ride.

Almost as quickly, I made up my mind that I wasn't going to let him in the boat and drew my pistol. I didn't see any problem shooting the snake as it was getting closer all the time and beginning to look as big as a python. Besides, cowboys on TV shoot the heads off snakes all the time.

As the snake's head approached the side of the boat, I took aim and started to squeeze the trigger. My concentration was broken by Joe's frantic scream, "Don't shoot! You'll sink the boat." Somehow Joe's screams soaked in and made some sense, especially since my aim was not as good as the cowboys' and I undoubtly would empty my gun and the snake would still be in the boat. I wasn't sure that the administration would buy the story that I sunk a $10,000 boat trying to keep a python or whatever from attacking me. I did the next best thing and abandoned ship.

During my scramble for the shore, Joe and I lost track of our scaly friend. This left us with the unpleasant task of trying to locate the snake. Joe reasoned that since it was my boat, it was my responsibility to make sure it was safe for passengers, namely him. Joe assured me he would be there to back me up.

After some more discussion, I got back in the boat armed with an oar. I very carefully looked everywhere I thought a snake could hide; no luck. Joe still wasn't satisfied and suggested I take the boat out for a spin and see if I could shake the wily reptile loose. This sounded like a good idea and I gave it a try; still no luck.
I pulled back into shore and explained to Joe the snake must have gotten to the bank during my scramble. Joe wasn't totally convinced, but he didn't want to be left forty miles from his truck with a man-eating snake so he got on board.

Joe remained a little nervous and continued to look over his shoulder. About a mile up the river, Joe tapped me lightly on the shoulder and said, "There he is." This caused everything to come to an immediate halt again.

The snake was between the motor and the transom. All that could be seen was his tongue flicking in and out and his two beady black eyes that didn't look overly happy. We tried to shake him loose with some sharp turns. The snake still liked riding better than swimming. While I beached the boat, Joe guarded my back.
Upon reaching shore we finally were able to subdue the snake. During that terrible fracas, Joe broke my oar. It turned out the snake wasn't quite as big as a python, measuring only 40 inches. No doubt I would have sunk my boat trying to shoot something that small.

CAN I RENT YOUR KID?

On a Saturday in June, I was checking fishermen on Granite Reservoir west of Cheyenne. It was hard to make cases on this lake because it was so open and they could see you coming. I stopped farther back from the lake and watched with my spotting scope.

I found one fisherman sitting by two poles. I watched as he reeled both outfits in and cast them back out. I drove down to where the subject was fishing and got out. After checking his license, I asked about the second pole. He told me the pole belonged to his son who was playing up the hill. I told him what I had observed and that I would give him the benefit of the doubt if his son returned by the time I finished checking the other fishermen down the shore.

As I went one way along the beach he went the other. I thought this was a little strange since he had just told me this kid was playing on the hill. When I finished with the other fishermen, he was sitting by his poles again. I asked where his son was and he told me he couldn't find him. I was having severe doubts about the story, but said I'd give him a little longer and went the other way down the beach.

The second group of fishermen I checked commented that the fisherman sitting down the beach was sure strange. I asked what they meant. They explained the man had walked down and asked if he could rent one of their boys for a little while. I had to chuckle and explained what was going on. They all had a laugh.
I walked back up to my fisherman and asked if he'd had any luck renting a kid. He got a sick look on his face and said, "I thought it was worth a try. I figured it would be cheaper than a ticket." I had to agree and laughed the whole time I wrote the citation.

MARK BRUSCINO
Bear Conflict Supervisor and Lovell Game Warden

WHAT WOULD YOUR GRANDMA SAY?

On one crisp morning while patrolling a section of the North Platte River that was notorious for the illegal activity that occurred during the spring rainbow spawning run and the walleye run, I was sitting on a high rock ledge overlooking the river when I noticed movement below me at the water's edge. There sat a plump middle aged man fishing with several poles. I watched the man attend to each pole while acting very suspiciously and secretive. Wyoming law, at that time, restricted fishermen to fish with a single pole, as trout are fairly easy to catch while they are spawning. I watched the man creel several large rainbows. After about 30 minutes, I decided he was fishing alone and was purposely using too many poles to enhance his chances of catching fish.

I climbed down the ledge and approached the man. He seemed a bit surprised and nervous when I showed him my badge and identified myself as a game warden. I told the man I was going to issue him a citation for fishing with too many poles and asked him for his license. In a strong Italian accent, he told me that it was in his camper parked about a quarter mile away. As we walked silently to his camper, the man turned to me and said in his accent, "Watta you name?" I told him my name and he said it several times under his breath. Then he said, "Are you a Dego?" I told him I indeed did have an Italian background on my father's side of the family. He said, "I am a Dego, too. Youa nota gonna write another Dego a ticket are you?" I told him my mind was made up and I was going to write him a ticket. He threw his arms in the air and said, "Whata you Grandma say if she knew you wrote another Dego a ticket?" I told him I doubted it mattered much to her. As we approached the camper, I again requested to see his driver's license. He said, "You lika the wine?", as he opened the trunk of the car. I told him that I enjoy a glass occasionally. He pulled a bottle of wine from his trunk that was packaged in an old screw top whiskey bottle and held it toward me saying, "Ia giva youa this bottle of wine, if you noa write me a ticket." I politely refused his offer and again requested his driver's license. He said, "Ah, I never knew a Dego to refuse the winea.", as he placed it back in the trunk of his car. He said, "Youa ever come to Denver?" I told him that I made it there occasionally. He said, "Ia fixa your cara if you ever coome to Denver and break down.", as he handed me one of his business cards. I told him no thanks and I still needed to see his driver's license. He said, "Mya sister, shea cuta you hair for freea if you no writta me a ticketa." I again refused. Running out of things to barter, he threw his hands in the air and said, "AH!", and gave me his license.

As I was filling out the citation, his partner came walking down the road and stopped to see what was going on. The man said to his partner, "Youa told me not to fish with more than one pole, or the warden will give me a ticketa." His partner said, "Yep, I told you." I explained the citation to him, collected the $40 bond, and gave him his copy. When I turned to leave he said, "Heya, Ia wanna you to taka thisa bottle of wine anyway.", pulling one from the trunk of the car. "Ia wanna you to taka ita home tonighta and drink it alla. Then I want youa to feel badda in the morning for writting another Dego a ticketa." We both laughed.

JEFF SMITH
Laramie Supervisor and Evanston Game Warden

HITCH HIKING MOOSE

The poachers were coming off the mountain with a moose in the back of the pickup. They were going too fast and rolled their truck. The Highway Patrol investigated the accident and when they saw the moose, they called the game warden. Asked where the moose came from, the poachers replied, "We were driving down this road and a moose just jumped in the back of our truck and this caused us to wreck."

During the court appearance, the defendants repeated their story to the judge. That was the best story he had heard in a long time and let them go.

ROADKILL

There was a game warden who received a call from a local resident. The resident reported there were two elk in the alley behind his house. "Alive?" the game warden asked. "No, dead; the dogs are chewing on them.", the resident replied. The elk season had been closed for two months so the warden got into his truck to check it out.

Arriving at the alley, the warden found the elk. One looked like the head was sawed lengthwise. Both elk were stretched out to about ten feet in length and the entrails looked like they had been ripped out. Bewildered, the warden knocked on the door of the house the elk were behind. Asked about the elk, the occupant replied, "Oh, I was going to contact you. I saw these dead elk along side the Interstate on the way to Salt Lake City, yesterday. They were still there on my way back, so I hooked a chain around their necks and pulled them home."

"How far down the road was this?", the warden asked.

"About 20 miles.", the occupant replied.

"What were you going to do with them?", asked the warden.

"Well, I thought I might be able to salvage them." was the answer.

"Well, they are a bloody mess. Would you eat them?", continued the warden.

"I guess not. Not when the dogs have been eating on them." answered the occupant.

JIM JOHNSTON
(Retired Laramie, Sundance and Thermopolis Game Warden)

THERE REALLY ARE STOP SIGNS IN MEDICINE BOW, WYOMING

Three men decided to go "rabbit" hunting the day after Thanksgiving in 1987. Now, as most every wildlife enforcement officer knows, especially in the West, people are always coyote or jackrabbit hunting when they are confronted. These three men may have been coyote or jackrabbit hunting, but a buck mule deer with a nice set of antlers stepped out in the open while they were hunting. Needless to say, the deer came out on the losing end.

These men started for Medicine Bow, and were probably going on to Elk Mountain, as one of the men lived there. They were north of Medicine Bow and coming in on the highway after dark. Maybe, they knew that Medicine Bow game warden, Joe Gilbert and Elk Mountain game warden, Bill Long were out of town, helping work waterfowl hunting seasons in Goshen County. Quite possibly, they could have been talking on how easy they would get away with this one.

Coming into Medicine Bow from the north, one must stop at the junction with Highway 30. Well, the driver did not stop, maybe thinking no police officer would be around. However, Officer Steve Rakness was in the vicinity and observed the traffic violation. Upon stopping the vehicle and confronting the driver, Officer Rakness noticed dried blood on the driver's hands, along with blood on the tailgate of the pickup. Naturally the driver said they had been rabbit hunting, but gave permission to the officer to look in the back. Officer Rakness found the deer under a tarp and took the three men to the Medicine Bow Police Department with help from Highway Patrolman Mike Lowry.

I had just arrived back in Laramie from spending Thanksgiving at my mother's home in Cheyenne. I planned taking the rest of the day off, but that was not to be. I was the next game warden called after the Medicine Bow Police Department failed to contact wardens Gilbert and Long. So, I put on my red shirt, got in the green pickup and headed for Medicine Bow.

Upon my arrival in Medicine Bow, I talked with the three suspects, giving them their Miranda rights and all the legal stuff a law enforcement officer has to go through. I climbed into the bed of the pickup and uncovered the deer. Lying by the deer was a dead badger. I went in and asked the men if anyone had a trapping license for killing the badger. Luck was not on their side, none of them had a trapping license. The deer and badger were confiscated and put into my truck.

Under interrogation, the driver admitted to killing the deer and badger and citations were written to him for these violations. The other two men were given citations as accessories to the taking of the deer. One of the men had his seven year old brother along with them; I wonder what he learned out of all this.
I returned to Laramie around one o'clock in the morning. On my trip back to Laramie, I wondered how much hell the driver caught from his friends. He probably was lectured heavily about stopping at stop signs or obeying all laws, especially when you have illegal wildlife in your possession.

Carbon County Judge, Margie Meacham heard this case in Hanna on December 17, 1987. All pled guilty; the driver was fined $440 for taking the deer and $140 for taking the badger plus losing his 1987 and 1988 hunting privileges. The other two men were each fined $220 for being accessories. That was an expensive deer and badger. I am sure they were relieved there was no jail time, which was possible.

NEIL HYMAS
Cokeville and former Wheatland Game Warden

HIS MONEY'S WORTH

Two warden trainees were assigned to a boat patrol to check fishermen and boaters on several large reservoirs for the spring and summer. It was May when the ice left Pathfinder Reservoir and the pair put in their 18 foot patrol boat. They ran up to an isolated point where they observed a man and a woman fishing near their truck camper. The two young wardens checked the couple who were fishing from lawn chairs. Everything seemed legal and as the wardens were walking back to their boat, one of them tripped over a fishing line hidden at the water's edge. The wardens noticed that a coffee cup had been set by the illegal hand line. Although the couple was the only fishermen for miles, and the gear matched the tackle in the fisherman's tackle box, the couple denied any knowledge of the handline. Being somewhat inexperienced, the wardens decided to leave and discuss the situation. After pulling back into the Reservoir some distance, the wardens agreed they should issue a citation after gathering some evidence. They pulled back to the beach, and jumped out. They stood facing the couple as they wrote out the citation for the illegal hand line. After listening to the wardens explain the court procedures for some time, the couple grinned and the man said, "By the way, your boat has floated off."

Two very embarrassed officers turned to see their boat slowly drifting away, already 150 yards out in the icy water.

After a quick coin toss, one warden `volunteered' to swim for the boat. First asking the wife of the fisherman to step inside the camper, he stripped down to his briefs and dove into the frigid water, inhaling involuntarily. While the officer was stroking wildly toward the boat, the fisherman hollered he had to save this moment and ran for his camera. He was snapping photos as the warden reached the boat and gave a high plunge to get over the side. The warden made it halfway over the gunwale, but his briefs had slid to his knees as he cleared the water. This made for good photography material as the warden thrashed and squirmed into the patrol boat.

Although the fisherman never admitted to using the set line, he posted his fine money. He easily received his money's worth from the show.

CHRIS DAUBIN
Riverton Game Warden

WHAT SOME PEOPLE EXPECT YOU TO BELIEVE

During the fall of 1986, I was driving along the Grand Canyon Road in the Black Hills National Forest checking hunters. I spotted a pickup stopped about 50 yards in front of me. There was a man standing alongside it aiming a rifle at something on the hillside next to the road. He didn't have any hunter orange on. As I watched him for a couple minutes the woman passenger looked up, pointed towards me and said something to the man. With great haste, he took the rifle down and got back into the truck. As they started off, I stopped them. After the usual "Hi, how are you's", I asked what they were hunting. The man replied, "I have a deer license and my wife has a turkey license." I noticed she was dressed for church with high heels and nice slacks and was thumbing through a Good Housekeeping magazine. I asked what he was aiming at on the hillside. "I was just looking at some turkeys," he said. "Good thing you didn't shoot one from a public road without a license." I told him. "Oh, I wouldn't do anything like that," he promised. "Well, since you are only deer hunting, you are supposed to be wearing some fluorescent orange clothing," I said. He made a great show of looking around the truck cab for something and finally fished a Corral West orange shopping sack from behind the seat. Holding it up to me, he said, "I will wear this as a hat when I'm hunting." I asked him to put it on and as he did, I tried to keep a straight face. As I went back to my truck, "Good luck and be careful," was all I could manage.

MAC BLACK
(Retired Powell and Dayton Game Warden)

ESCAPING EVIDENCE

Game wardens Mac Black and John Steigleman were patrolling the area near Leiter during the deer season. There was about one inch of new snow on the ground. They met an older model car on a sharp blind corner. There were two people in the car, one wearing orange, traveling at a fairly high rate of speed. The wardens didn't try to stop them but continued on for about a quarter of a mile where there was blood in the middle of the road. A fresh drag mark showed where someone had loaded a deer and a quick look at the tracks, indicated that the vehicle they had just met had taken the animal, but there was no gut pile near the road. The wardens turned around and started chasing the car which had a several minute lead on them. Fifteen miles down the road they were able to stop the vehicle with two young men and a rifle in the front seat between them. Asked if they had been hunting, they replied they had, but hadn't killed anything. Their deer licenses were checked and the carcass tags were attached and still valid. The driver was asked to open the trunk so the wardens could take a look. When the trunk lid came up a wounded buck deer jumped out and struggled down the road at a trot. John took a look at the deer and back at Mac and shouted, "There goes our evidence trying to escape!" John took off after the buck and after a thirty yard dash overtook it and knocked it down. In a struggle for justice to be done, the animal's throat was slit and the evildoers were cited for their dirty deed.

ROGER BREDEHOFT
Laramie and former Wheatland and Jeffery City Game Warden

BIGHORN SHEEP POACHING

On October 3, 1984, two non-resident hunters from Illinois reported the possible poaching of a Big Horn Sheep ram on the Ferris Mountains. At the time of the call, I was out checking deer hunters. Dispatch had tried to contact me by radio but I had been out of my vehicle most of the day on foot and had not received the message. When I returned home the only information concerning the violation was a message from my wife: "Two hunters from Illinois camped in Miners Canyon near Sand Creek may have witnessed the poaching of a Big Horn Sheep and that the two hunters were leaving the next morning at first light." I received this information at 10:30 in the evening when I came home after checking deer hunters all day and camps for several hours that night.

I almost decided not to follow up on the report since Sheep season was currently open and the hunters were leaving at first light. I knew if I left for the camp at this hour it would be around 1:00 in the morning before I would get there. I decided to leave early in the morning and try to catch the hunters before they departed. Deer season was open in the Ferris Mountains and if I missed the hunters who reported the violation, I could always check deer hunters in the area.

I left the next morning at 4:00 for the two hour drive to the location of the non-resident hunters' camp. I arrived a little after 6:00 just as the two hunters were breaking camp. When questioned concerning the possible violation they witnessed, they told me that they were "On Stand" deer hunting when they saw 5 Big Horn Sheep rams run into some trees about a half mile away. They heard two shots and then saw 4 rams run out of the other side of the trees. While they didn't actually see anyone shoot any animals, one ram didn't come out of the other side of the trees. I explained to the hunters that Sheep season was open and it may have been a legal harvest. The two hunters said that all the rams appeared to by young and they didn't think any of the rams would have had a 3/4 curl (minimum legal ram in Wyoming). They also said they didn't see the hunters who had done the shooting and didn't go to the area as they didn't want to confront the poacher or poachers.

I asked if they had seen or talked to any other hunters in the area that day. They told me that the only other hunters they thought were in the area were two hunters who had stopped to talk to them earlier. The two Illinois hunters said that two "Indian" looking subjects had talked to them along the road. These two hunters were driving a bright yellow Chevy pickup, and one distinguishing feature of the truck was it had "BIG" tires, "REAL BIG" tires and twin CB antennas on the back.

The two Illinois hunters were in a hurry to leave and they didn't want to take the time to walk back into the area where they witnessed the possible violation, but they did point to the general area. From their camp I could see trees up on the side of the mountain where they thought the ram may have been killed.
The area where the ram was last seen was on a slide rock type mountain which was accessible only by foot. It was over an hour's climb up the steep slide rock from the end of the road to the area where the violation may have taken place. I searched the area for most of the day with no success. Toward evening, my dog "Bear", a Chocolate Lab, ran down a steep chute in the middle of a slide rock area and when I called him, he would not come back. Try as I might, the dog stayed down in what appeared to be low growth evergreens. I finally went down the slide and upon reaching "Bear", realized there was a dead Big Horn ram under a bush. The "bush" turned out to be evergreen boughs that had been used to cover the ram. I went up to the head of the slide and there was no evidence of anyone pushing or sliding the ram down the chute. All evidence had been carefully covered up. In the area where the ram had been concealed, the slide marks could be seen where they had not been brushed over. That evening when I returned home, I called several informants in the area from Casper to Riverton to Lander to Rawlins, along with surrounding game wardens, in an effort to find a yellow Chevy 1/2 pickup with real large tires and twin CB antennas.
The next day, October 5, the Enforcement Specialist from Lander, Gary Good, and I returned to the location of the ram and necropsied the animal in an effort to obtain a bullet. We had no success since the bullet broke up on impact. We found numerous lead and brass fragments, but not enough to indicate what caliber of rifle was used. Gary and I carried the ram of the mountain to be used as evidence as necessary. When I got home that evening, there were no reports on the suspects' vehicle.

I went back up the following day and continued to look for any other evidence: footprints, cartridge cases, clothing, cigarette packs, and anything else that could tie the violators to the kill. I tied flagging high in a tree just above where the chute started (where the ram was shot), trying to figure out any angle from where the shots came from and searched the areas. "Bear" and I searched the area all morning and afternoon. I had pretty much given up and dejectedly sat on a rock. At my feet was a rifle case. I picked it up and identified it as a fresh .308 Winchester, manufactured by Federal. I knew the two Illinois hunters who reported the violation were both using .270 Winchester rifles and they had seen no one else in the area prior to the two "Indians" in the yellow truck. It was very likely whoever shot the ram had used a .308 Winchester rifle. I searched the area and found several good footprints that showed a wavy type print common to "Guide Boot" type hunting boots. It was unknown what kinds of boots the Illinois hunters had, but that information could be obtained.

When I returned home in the evening, I had two different reports of possible suspect vehicles. Both reports were from Rawlins, one from a reliable informant and one from Rawlins Game Warden Dennis Smith. Both reports were for the same vehicle and they had the license plate number. The vehicle was registered to an Omar Travisio. I called the Illinois hunters and found they both wore boots with cleated soles and neither had a .308 Winchester caliber rifle.

The next day, October 7, Dennis and I went to the address of Omar Travisio. No one lived in the apartment anymore. Dennis and I checked with the resident manager of the building who told us Travisio had vacated the apartment about two months earlier without leaving any forwarding address.

As Dennis and I drove out of the parking lot, we observed a yellow GMC pickup with large tires parked in the trailer park up the street. We went to the owner of the trailer park and he confirmed Omar Travisio did live at the trailer. We went to the trailer but the pickup was gone.

Dennis and I went to the County Attorney and secured a search warrant for the trailer for a .308 caliber rifle, Federal ammunition and a pair of hunting boots or shoes with the wavy tread. We enlisted the aid of a Carbon County Deputy, and the three of us went to the trailer and attempted to serve the warrant. Omar was not home and his wife said he would not be back until late. She wasn't sure where he had gone, but she thought maybe to his sister's house. The warrant was not served, but Omar's wife was told what we were looking for. She said, to her knowledge, none of the items were in the trailer and Omar didn't own or borrow any of those items. The decision was made not to serve the warrant until Omar was present. I had my doubts Omar's wife was telling the truth. We drove back to the Sheriff's office were my truck was parked. As fast as I could, I drove back to the trailer park and parked about two blocks way from the trailer. I had been observing the trailer about 10 minutes when Omar's wife came out carrying something that appeared to be a rifle wrapped in a blanket. She saw my truck and went back into the trailer with the item. I called Dennis on the radio and we again interviewed Omar's wife. We told her we would serve the warrant at this time if she didn't voluntarily give us the items we requested. She walked back into the trailer and came out with a rifle (.308 Winchester caliber), a pair of "Guide Boots" with wavy tread and a partial box of Federal .308 Winchester ammunition.

Omar's wife continued to insist she didn't know where Omar was, maybe with his sister, and she didn't know when he would get home. She also said Omar was working on the day of the violation and couldn't have been up in the Ferris Mountains. Omar worked for an oil field service company out of Bairoil. Dennis and I properly tagged and receipted the evidence and left the trailer. We drove by the sister's address, but no one was home.

The next morning I drove to Bairoil and talked to Omar's employer. According to their records, Omar was an operator on one of their rigs, but on the day in question, Omar's rig was down and he hadn't worked that day. Several people in the shop where Omar worked had heard him say he was going deer hunting in the Ferris Mountains since he didn't have to work. One of the shop hands said Omar had mentioned Miners Canyon, the place where the poaching occurred.

Warden Smith and I went back to Omar's trailer about 6:00 that evening and again Omar was not home. We interviewed his wife again. Again she said she didn’t know where Omar was and didn't know when he would be home. She also insisted Omar had worked that day and he couldn't have committed the violation. I told her Omar had gone to work, but did not work that day, that several co-employees had heard Omar say he was going hunting in the Ferris Mountains, that Omar's rifle matched the caliber of the rifle that killed the ram, that the manufacture of the ammunition Omar used was the same as the manufacture of the ammunition that killed the ram and that the tread on the boots Omar wore to work that day matched the footprints found at the scene where the sheep was killed.

After Omar's wife found out Omar had not worked that day, she went to the telephone and made a call and said Omar would be there in 10 minutes. Omar came into the trailer and after a short interview, admitted to having killed the Big Horn ram and leaving it to go to waste. He said he thought it was a mule deer. Omar, at first, did not want to tell who the other person with him had been, but finally said it was a member of his crew, Hector Lopez. Hector and he had discussed what they were going to do with the illegal sheep and they decided to hide the ram and leave it. Omar gave us Hector's address. Dennis transported Omar and his wife down to the Sheriff's office for a formal statement.

I went to Hector's house, another trailer park and asked for Hector. According to the young woman who answered the door, Hector was not there but was expected soon. I waited and watched the trailer from a block away. In about 30 minutes a pickup pulled up and a male subject got out and entered the trailer. As I started to go to the trailer to see if that person was Hector, the male ran out of the trailer and jumped into his pickup and drove off. At first, when I attempted to stop the pickup, the driver refused to stop and only after turning on my siren did the guy stop the truck. I approached the driver and asked for some identification. The driver, Hector Lopez, was only concerned about one thing, that he was legal in the United States and kept giving me his Green Card. I finally calmed Hector down and explained I was a Game Warden and not with Immigration and Naturalization. When Hector finally understood all I wanted was information on the killing of the Big Horn ram, he was so relieved that he was more than willing to give a full and accurate account of what had happened on his deer hunt with Omar on October 3. Hector said he and Omar had been hunting and he and Omar had both shot at the Big Horn ram, but it was Omar who had hit and killed it.
I took Hector down to the Sheriff's office and he gave a formal statement of what had happened on their hunting trip. Both Omar and Hector made statements that on the afternoon of October 3, Omar had shot and killed the Big Horn ram and both decided to conceal the ram and allow it to go to waste.

As a result of these statements, Omar Travisio was charged with Wanton Destruction of a Big Horn Sheep and taking a Big Horn Sheep without a license. Hector Lopez was charged with Accessory to Wanton Destruction of a Big Horn Sheep. Both Omar and Hector were represented by counsel and as a result of a plea agreement the court found the following:

Omar Travisio - Fined $1,000.00 and court costs

30 days in jail with 16 days suspended
6 months probation
Suspension of Game and Fish privileges for 2 years
Surrender all firearms to the Carbon County Sheriff and not be in possession of firearms during his probation

Hector Lopez - Fined $500.00 and court costs

30 days in jail with 23 days suspended
6 months probation
Suspension of Game and Fish privileges for 2 years

FIELD GUIDE TO WARDEN'S WORDS – circa 1960s
by
ANONYMOUS

I recently made the mistake of referring to a game biologist as a game warden. So that you may be spared the pain and embarrassment sure to follow a similar error, I have prepared the following glossary of official terms. Never go afield without it.

AERIAL SURVEY - Using an airplane, instead of a truck, to determine that game is scarce.

ANTERLESS - Any animal without horns, such as a bear.

ARTIFICIAL PROPAGATION - When you're raising something and not having much luck.

AQUATIC MEDIUM - When added to bourbon, this is called a bourbon and water.

BIOLOGIST - A game warden who wears a neck tie.

ECOLOGIST - A game warden who wears a sport shirt, and does not work on Saturday.

BAG CHECK - A ticket attached to your duffle, also a raid on a burlesque house.

BREEDING GROUND SURVEY - Extensive investigation of matters over which there is little or no control.

BROOD COUNT - Found by subtracting your hits from your misses.

CONTROLLED BURNING - A wildfire started accidentally by a forest ranger.

COO COUNT - Begin before dawn, count all mourning dove coos for two minutes, at one mile intervals, along a 20 mile route. Do this each spring for 25 years. Let us know what you find out.

CREEL CENSUS - A method used in determining whether the creel population is up or down.

DATA - Information collected by a biologist.

POOP - Information collected by a game warden.

DEPARTMENTAL ORGANIZATION - A system in which each employee is given a definite assignment; for example, one man lays the eggs, while another eats them and destroys the nest.

DOE/FAWN RATIO - There is really nothing you can do about this, so simply purge it from your mind.

FISH CULTURE - Raising trout on pellets rather than horse meat.

FORBS AND BROWSE - Names used to describe weeds and bushes, by those who have attended college.

GAME - An activity that is so many times interrupted by hunters.

GESTATION PERIOD - The length of time it takes a man to determine when fawns are born.

HABITAT - A weed patch to which another hunter has out run you.

GOOD HABITAT - The same patch, if he gets a bird out of it.

HABITAT IMPROVEMENT - When that fellow goes home.

HARVEST - A term always used when describing hunting or fishing to a member of the Audubon Society.

HUNTING PRESSURE - The combined weight of all hunters. Usually increases after lunch.

HUNTER SUCCESS - A euphemism coined by the positive thinking crowd.

INVESTIGATION - A scientific process through which it is learned that there is no answer to the problem.

KILL RATIO - Determined by the number of empty bottles around a hunting camp.

LIFE HISTORY - Something known by animals for thousands of years, and recently discovered by a biologist.

MORTALITY - This occurs when something dies and nobody knows why.

MARSH - This costs about $250 an acre.

SWAMP - This costs about $25 an acre.

NEST COUNT - By counting the number of nests in an area, you can predict the number of pheasants that will be available in the fall. NOTE; Never count quail nests as these birds are incapable of rearing pheasants.

PLANTING RECORD - A notebook kept by Indians who spaced a trout in each hill of corn. Planting records are kept by sextons, also.

POPULATION - A word used in describing wildlife, when you don't know how many there are.

PROJECT - A job started by a biologist.

PUBLIC HUNTING AREA - Any area devoid of game.

QUESTIONNAIRES - Postal cards sent to people you don't know. These people then inform the Game Department whether or not you got a deer last fall.

RATIO - A patio for muskrats.

REHABILITATION - This is done to game ranges as well as lakes and streams. Begin by killing all plants and animals in the area.

SEX RATIO - A method used in showing that there is always more illegal than legal game in an area. What did you thought it meant.

SPECIMEN - A loathsome object collected by a biologist, wearing rubber gloves.

YEOW! - A specimen found curled up in your sleeping bag.

SPORTSMAN-FARMER RELATIONS - This has just got to stop, really!

SCIENTFIC LITERATURE - Material used in sleep teaching.

STATISTICS - Sets of figures too complicated to understand, but too impressive to throw away. They are often used to calm mobs of angry sportsmen.

SURVEY - An activity undertaken by desk workers in conservation offices on opening days.

TRANSECT - Trans means across, sect is self explanatory. When a Baptist marries a Methodist, you have a transect.

TREND - This is a line, it may point up, point down, or remain constant. For best results, draw it in ink and lengthen it each year.

WILDLIFE MANAGEMENT - The process whereby men are paid for something animals do.

WILDERNESS - Any area with only one television station.

ZOOGEOGRAPHY - "But, Jobson said this was where they were!"

SETTING SEASONS
by
ANONYMOUS

The snow is melting and the geese are returning,
the rainbows are spawning, the water is churning.
Now comes the time to set big game seasons,
let the warden and biologist give their reasons.

As time goes on and the winters grow longer,
I think of times when I was stronger.
Instead of a fight over big game seasons,
I will listen this time to the biologist's reasons.

Additional warden stories can be found in the WGFD Stop Poaching Books, Volumes 1 and 2, with a Volume 3 in the works.