Daren Worcester - Open Season: True Stories of the Maine Warden Service

Open Season

True Stories of the Maine Warden Service

Daren Worcester

Published by Down East Books

An imprint of Globe Pequot

Distributed by NATIONAL BOOK NETWORK

Copyright 2017 by Daren Worcester

All rights reserved . No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote passages in a review.

British Library Cataloguing in Publication Information available

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data available

ISBN 978-1-60893-647-2 (pbk.)

ISBN 978-1-60893-648-9 (e-book)

The paper used in this publication meets the minimum requirements of American National Standard for Information SciencesPermanence of Paper for Printed Library Materials, ANSI/NISO Z39.48-1992.

Printed in the United States of America

To the men and women of the Maine Warden Service.

Thank you.

Contents

Acknowledgments

Thank you the wardens who contributed their experiences to Open Season : Bill Allen, David Berry, Dennis McIntosh, Gary Dumond, Glynn Pratt, Jim Brown, John Ford, John Marsh, Martin Savage, Mike Joy, Nat Berry, and Russ Dyer. Extra thanks to Nat Berry, John Marsh, and Mike Pratt for introducing me to the contributing wardens. Id also like to thank Linda (Belanger) Perkins, as well as the other wardens named in this book, for their correspondence.

More thanks to Laurie Holbrook for the proofreading and encouragement, Coach Kent for serving as a publishing cairn, and to Michael Steere and Stephanie Scott for their editorial guidance.

Most importantly, thank you to my family for their love and supportespecially my wife, Frances, who has survived countless Saturday-morning trips to the grocery store with potty-training children to grant me with precious time to work. I couldnt have done this without you.

Introduction

The clich of sportsmen telling tall tales is as old and worn as a favorite pair of L.L. Bean boots. That said, we still love to hear these stories because a friend or family members point of view gives life to the tales, but what is easily overlooked is theres often an untold perspective. For every campfire story about that whopper of a salmon grandpa caught, theres a warden whos quick to point out that Rapid River is fly-fishing only. And that trophy buck? Funny thing there, too. It turns out, spotlights arent permitted as scopes, and, this might be nitpicking, but antlers dont grow from duct tape. As a lifelong outdoorsman, Im clearly toeing a fine line between good candor and heresy. You see, when were talking about hunting down the truth in Maines woods, we need to clarify whose version of the truth were going with.

Call me crazy, but I tend to believe the storytellers who took an oath to perform their duties honestly and faithfully. The others are just full ofwell, you get the point. What you might not have known is that wardens can spin quite the unbelievable yarn themselves. This first dawned on me at my father-in-law Nathaniel (better known as Nat) Berrys retirement party. After thirty-four years of service, it was a fun-filled evening of conversations that began with Remember that time....

The highlight of the night came when a warden named Chris Simmons stood before the gathering and cleared his throat. He was joined by Warden Tom Santaguida, and from the get-go, it was obvious their toast wouldnt be filled with undying praise for the man of the hour. The giveaway? They were giggling so much that neither of them could complete a sentence.

After taking a moment to collect themselves, Chris began, Nat, you know we love you, but... He went on to explain that working for Lieutenant Berry wasnt all fun and games. On the contrary, if they asked for time off to attend an event together, they were often told that coverage was needed, so only one of them could go. The choice of who was up to them, which, in effect, meant they didnt get to go.

One day, after missing out on an evening of carousing in Portlands Old Port, Chris received a nuisance wildlife complaint. A plump skunk with an appetite for trash had taken residence in a cul-de-sac community. Anyone who dared discourage the new neighbor quickly learned the hard way that it had no intention of moving out. Needless to say, this aspect of a wardens job can flat-out stink. Chris and Toms moods were soured by the time they had caught the skunk and returned peace and aroma to the neighborhood. They came to the conclusion that the safest place to release the animal was into the wild of Lieutenant Berrys dooryard. Quite proud of themselves, it wasnt long before coverage was again needed during a bachelor party of a mutual friend, whereupon they figured one animal wasnt enough for a repeat offender.

That was worth two skunks and a beaver, Tom declared.

Set back from the road and surrounded by forest and a small duck pond, Nats backyard was an ideal place for animal relocation. Or so they continued to tell themselves.

By the third violation, theyd established a scorecard. This mischievous judicial system served its purpose for a couple of years, until the infractions were so numerous (or, perhaps, the judges had become too indiscriminate) that all nuisance wildlife was being released on Nats property. On one occasion, theyd gone so far as to deposit a raccoon directly into Nats new garage.

Dont worry, Chris said. We closed the door behind us.

You didnt? Nat shouted.

Oh, we did. We kept a tally, and I have the list right here. Chris pulled a piece of folded-up notebook paper from his pocket and made a show of opening it. At the top of our catch-and-release list are twenty-eight skunks.

Tom read the next one. Twenty-five raccoons.

And so on down the list of problem critters they went, until... Two opossums, Tom said, setting off another round of giggling. For a second, I thought this was the end, but then Chris raised his hand to say there was more. The room went silent.

And one... Chris said, pausing for dramatic effect, black bear.

The resulting ovation was interrupted by the fire alarmthe timing of which was highly questionable, to say the least. As the crowd shuffled out to the parking lot, the only person not in stitches was my mother-in-law (go figure, she being the one who was home alone with the girls while her husband was out on all-night poacher vigils).

For me, this was the moment the seeds for Open Season took root. I didnt know it at the time, but many of the men in attendance that night would contribute to these twenty stories from twelve game wardens. Altogether, their cumulative experience represents more than three hundred years of Maine Warden Service folklore. With all due respect to Mike Joywho is still an active-duty warden at the time of writing, and whose story of being stranded on a Sebago Lake ice floe was too unbelievable to pass up over an age requirementall other stories are from retired wardens.

Before reality TV, GPS devices, and dashboard computers, these wardens presided over a coming-of-age era for the Maine Warden Service. It was a time when a compass, map, and their wits were what mattered most in the field. Every day offered the potential for an exciting new adventure, many of which endangered the wardens themselves.