Second Place Magazine Feature 2008
An Extra Set of Eyes
from Outdoor California
By Terry Hodges
The night was half gone when the three outlaws arrived. They appeared on the riverbank, heavy fishing outfits in hand. There to witness their arrival were five well-hidden California Fish and Game wardens peering at them through infrared-enhanced night vision equipment.
The three newly arrived outlaws were not the first that night to risk arrest, tempted to the Feather River by the big king salmon that had migrated there by the thousands to spawn. Just an hour earlier the wardens had finished citing and releasing six unlucky salmon poachers, sending them on their way minus their fishing gear and several large salmon they had illegally snagged.
The wardens were there that night in response to reports that recent Russian immigrants residing in the Sacramento area had discovered the highly vulnerable salmon in the upper Feather River near Oroville. They were reportedly coming in numbers and taking the big fish not only at night, which in itself is illegal, but they were intentionally snagging the fish as well.
Lieutenant James Halber, who supervised the wardens in the area, had recognized the problem and had called wardens together to deal with it. Halber was a field man through and through, and despite his 28 eventful years of pursuing wildlife-abusing violators he still loved the work. He was often in the field, alone or with other wardens, and he particularly enjoyed participating in any kind of group effort, as was now the case.
But Halber was not to have been with them on this night. His quarter-century of warden work had taken a toll on his body, and a little over a week earlier, he had undergone knee surgery. An orthopedic surgeon had cut and snipped and patched, doing his best to salvage one of Halber’s abused knees so that the aging warden might get a few more miles out of it. Following the surgery, the surgeon spoke with him.
“Stay off of this knee as much as possible,” the surgeon admonished. “Give it at least a month.”
Halber, however, remained involved, communicating often with his wardens. And when the night of the salmon-snagger operation arrived, a plan he had set in motion, he was finding it difficult to stay at home. His knee didn’t feel all that bad, and he found himself drumming his fingers on his desk, listening to his wardens on his home-office scanner, itching to be with them. Then a thought occurred to him.
Because the wardens were working on the west bank of the river, where the action would most likely occur, Halber reasoned that if he drove to the east side, he could sit in his patrol rig in a hidden spot and have a great view of the opposite bank. I won’t even have to get out of my truck, he thought.
The more he mulled it around in his head, the better it sounded, and soon he found himself pulling on his uniform, strapping on his gun-belt and heading out. It would be fine, he rationalized. He would be able to help his wardens and yet in no way aggravate his mending and very tender knee.
“I’ll just be an extra set of eyes for you,” he informed his wardens when he was on his way.
And so it was that Halber took up a nearly invisible position on the east bank of the river, his patrol rig hidden by darkness. He was there when the first poachers arrived, and his “extra set of eyes,” aided by his night-vision equipment, did indeed prove helpful. From his vantage point he was able to direct wardens to a hiding suspect and some hidden salmon as well.
By the time the wardens finished with those first six poachers of the night and sent them on their way, it was nearly midnight. But more outlaws would likely arrive, so the wardens, including Halber, held their positions. They were rewarded an hour later by the arrival of the three new suspects. But there was a problem: The three suspects had arrived on the east side of the river, Halber’s side.
Upon reaching the river’s edge, the suspects began wading out into the swift current. Their destination was obviously a small island about half the size of a football field and about four pickup-lengths from shore. It was actually little more than a large gravel bar with a scattering of willow bushes, but the main body of the river lay beyond it, deep water jammed with salmon. The suspects obviously knew that from the far shore of the island, they would be within casting range of the big fish.
But it was not easy to get there. Crossing the waist-deep channel through the swift current there was dangerous. Two weeks earlier a 14-year-old boy had lost his footing at this exact spot and had been swept away into deep water where he drowned. Authorities had yet to recover his body.
The wardens watched with interest as the three men made the crossing, ever so carefully, arms extended for balance as though walking a tight-rope. At one point one suspect lost his footing, but he was grabbed just in time by the other two. Upon gaining the island, they hurried to the far side and began casting.
As the suspects actively began snagging for salmon, they were in full view of the wardens across the river. But due to the heavily wooded nature of the east bank, they were out of Halber’s view. He would have to move to see them, but there was no good place to park his vehicle from which he could see the island.
Halber cursed his luck and considered his options. If he stayed in his vehicle he would protect his knee, but he would be out of the action. If, however, he walked the equivalent of a city block to higher ground, he would be able to see everything. But the short walk would be over treacherous ground with loose cobbles.
Two minutes later Halber was hobbling along through the darkness, leaning heavily on a walking staff, night-vision scope dangling from a strap around his neck. Upon reaching the high ground, he sat down and brought the night-scope into play.
Halber adjusted the scope’s focus and the three suspects sprang into view, one fighting a large fish and the others doing their best to snag one. Through the yellow-green glow of the scope, Halber watched as a salmon the length of his leg lost her battle with one of the snaggers and was dragged ashore. Then another fish came flopping ashore, snagged by another of the suspects.
Halber took careful notes on what he observed, recording each fish as it came ashore. After about two hours, when the suspects had collectively landed six fish, which would have been a legal daily bag limit for the three of them, Halber expected them to stop. But they kept at it.
In the meantime, things were happening on the opposite side of the river. Two vehicles had arrived and shadowy figures appeared to be readying fishing gear. But the main center of attention for the wardens remained the three suspects on the island. They continued to periodically drag in more large salmon.
It became a dilemma for the wardens. At what point should they step in and stop the carnage? The problem was that if the wardens made their move when the suspects were still on the island, the wardens would have to wade the deep channel to get to them. The suspects would undoubtedly see them coming and have time to toss the salmon, critical evidence, into deep water. It was also likely that one or more of the suspects would try to escape by swimming the river.
Halber made the decision to play it safe and wait for the “package deal,” when the suspects were in whatever vehicle they had arrived in and the evidence salmon would be with them. But Halber knew that even then things rarely went exactly as planned.
Halber now faced another decision. He would need help on his side of the river, but because it appeared that a number of suspects would soon be illegally snagging on the other side, he had to decide what to do. Reaching for the handset radio on his belt, he made the call. He directed Warden Steve Owen on the other side to slip away from the others and make the half-hour drive to Halber’s side.
It was about 4:00 a.m., after the suspects had caught and killed 12 big fish, that two of the suspects grabbed two fish each and made the perilous wade to shore with them. They then disappeared into the cottonwood and willow thickets.
About the time the wardens were expecting the two suspects to reappear to go to the island for more fish, Halber heard a car engine start and headlights appeared in a cottonwood grove not far from him. He dropped to the ground as a car came his way, passing just a few yards from him, headlights sweeping over his head. When it was beyond him, he could see that it contained two people.
Halber’s first thought upon seeing two of the suspects leave in the car was that they were making a “dry run,” that is they were making a false departure intended to lure out any wardens that could be in the area. If stopped, they would have no fish or fishing gear in the car and would therefore be unchargable.
Most suspects making dry runs would assume that any watching wardens would pounce on them immediately upon their departure. They would therefore go only short distances before returning for the incriminating evidence. But the smart ones were more careful.
Halber radioed Owen and directed him to position himself where he could watch the intersection where the gravel road leaving the river reached the highway. Halber, however, never expected the suspects to go that far, for it was a full two miles to the highway.
But he was wrong. Six minutes after their departure, Warden Owen watched the suspects turn south onto the highway toward Sacramento. Halber directed him to wait a full minute before following them. Owen stayed over a mile behind them, only occasionally catching a glimpse of their tail lights.
Halber nervously checked his watch as the minutes ticked by. The two suspects had to be 10 miles away, far more distant than Halber had ever known suspects to travel on a dry run. At this point, Halber had to conclude that the two suspects were not on a dry run but actually on their way home. As for the third suspect, the one still on the island, Halber reasoned that the man must have another vehicle stashed in the area. Halber, however, was again wrong.
“Go ahead and make the stop,” said Halber, addressing Owen over the radio.
Owen accelerated until he was fast gaining on the suspects. Upon coming up behind them, he hit his red lights and siren. The sedan bearing the suspects pulled over and stopped. Owen walked forward, flashlight in hand, and carefully approached the driver’s window.
“Why are you stopping us officer?” said the driver in heavily accented English.
Owen identified himself and explained that he needed to talk to the two men concerning their fishing activities that night. The suspects of course denied everything.
“We’re just out for a drive,” the driver said.
Owen, in the meantime had swept his flashlight beam over the vehicle’s interior and saw nothing of interest.
“Can I have a look in the trunk, sir?” Owen asked.
The driver readily consented and stepped out and unlocked the trunk. It was empty.
“They’re clean,” said Owen into his radio. “No fish, no gear.”
Halber was furious with himself for having been duped, but he thought for a moment and replied, “Smell their hands.”
“Sir, may I see your hands?” said Owen, addressing the driver who was still out of the vehicle.
The man reluctantly held out his hands. Owen bent over and sniffed, then wrinkled his nose. There it was, the strong and unmistakable smell of freshly caught salmon.
“Keep them there,” said Halber when Owen told him the news. Halber now turned his attention to the third suspect still on the island. He scanned with his night-vision scope but saw nothing. He activated his infrared illuminator and scanned again, his view now greatly enhanced. But he still saw nothing resembling a human being.
“Where’s the third guy?” Halber inquired of the wardens on the far bank. One of them responded.
“We haven’t seen him in a while. But he must be there, or we would have seen him leave.”
Halber now thought through the present situation and concluded that someone was going to have to wade out to the island and search out the third suspect who now must be hiding among the willow bushes. But who?
Owen was tied up with two of the suspects a dozen miles away. The other wardens were at least a half-hour away and appeared to have suspects of their own at the water’s edge, preparing to do bad things to the fish.
This left only Halber, with a knee that had swollen a bit and was beginning to throb. Maybe if I take it real slow, Halber thought. Soon thereafter he had hobbled to the water’s edge and stashed his wallet under a rock. He then slipped off his gun belt, buckled it again, hung it over his head and stuck his left arm through it. The black basket-weave gun-belt now hung across his chest, holding his Glock semi-automatic pistol just under his left armpit.
Halber informed the wardens across the river what he intended to do, then scanned the island one more time with his night scope. Still no one visible. He then hung the night scope strap around his neck, grabbed his hiking staff and headed out into the water.
Halber felt the cold water as it seeped into his boots and soaked his socks. He carefully worked his way along in the darkness, using the staff like a third leg. Knee-deep, thigh-deep and finally waist-deep, slippery cobbles rolling beneath his feet, with the swift water threatening to sweep his legs from beneath him. Then it began getting easier as he approached the island.
Upon reaching the island, he laid his staff and night scope aside, slipped his gun belt off of his neck and strapped it on over his dripping uniform pants. When satisfied he was ready for whatever might await him, he set out to search the island. He limped along, periodically scanning with his night scope, but he mainly relied on the dim light of a quarter-moon to guide him along.
Then he spotted something that didn’t belong there, something low and dark. Drawing a Stinger flashlight from his belt, he lit it up. It was a sleeping bag, totally unzipped and spread out like a big blanket. Beneath it was a large lump. Approaching carefully, Halber addressed the large lump.
“State game warden!” shouted Halber about the river sounds. “Get up and keep your hands where I can see them!” No response.
“I said get up!” shouted Halber again, edging closer. Again no response.
With his gun-hand free and resting on his holster, he bent down and reached with his left hand that still bore the bright little flashlight. Then with two fingers of that hand he grasped one corner of the sleeping bag and flung it back.
There was an instant explosion of activity as a large man sprang to his feet and bolted for the river. The little flashlight went flying as Halber tackled the man from behind and they both slammed hard onto the wet cobbles at the river’s edge. The wardens across the river then watched helplessly as their lieutenant and the suspect became a tangle of flailing arms and legs as the two men fought half in and half out of the water.
Then Halber managed to pin the suspect, wrenching one of the man’s arms behind his back in a painful hold. The suspect shrieked and apparently cursed in some foreign tongue as he continued to twist and buck. Halber applied more pressure and the suspect screamed and went limp, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Halber, too, was out of breath, and for many seconds neither man moved beyond drawing in great gulps of air.
Halber was finally able to draw his handcuffs and snap one of them onto the wrist he held behind the man’s back.
“Now give me your other wrist!” Halber shouted into the man’s ear. The man responded with a burst of foreign words that rang of profanity.
“Give me your other wrist or I’ll break your arm,” said Halber, applying more pressure on the arm in question. More foreign and certainly foul words followed before the man reluctantly put his other hand behind his back. Halber applied the second steel cuff and welcomed the pleasant rasping sound as the metal snapped into place over the beefy wrist. The fight was over.
“I’m code four,” said Halber into his radio, informing the other wardens that he was still in one piece. He then pulled the suspect up into a sitting position, the man’s arms securely locked behind his back. “Now sit here and don’t you move,” Halber instructed.
Halber now faced the problem of getting the man and eight large salmon back to shore. But just then he noticed headlights at a boat ramp a quarter-mile down river on the opposite bank. A fisherman was launching a boat, obviously intending to fish for salmon nearly two hours before legal fishing time. Halber reached for his radio.
“There’s somebody launching a boat at the ramp down below you guys. He’s obviously up to no good. You need to commandeer that boat and bring it here to the island.”
“Does this mean you’re done being our extra set of eyes?” one of the wardens responded, and Halber could all but hear their laughter.
Just then Halber heard a splashing sound behind him, and he looked around in time to see the handcuffed suspect lunging out into the channel, attempting an escape through the treacherous current. For an instant Halber had a clear vision of Search and Rescue people recovering a drowned body wearing his handcuffs.
Halber lurched after the man, his swollen and abused knee feeling like a giant toothache. Not quite half way across the channel the suspect lost his footing and went down, but Halber was there to grab him and drag him back to the island.
Soon thereafter, a small boat approached the island, a stranger manning the outboard motor and Warden Gayland Taylor perched up forward. Taylor helped Halber locate the eight evidence salmon and load them and three fishing outfits into the boat. Halber then removed his handcuffs from the suspect and sat him in the boat, taking a seat beside him. Taylor climbed in and instructed the boat’s owner to take them to the east bank, where Halber’s vehicle was stashed.
“Anything you say, officer,” the man replied, vastly relieved that he had dodged the bullet that morning and was not to be cited for the illegal deeds he had intended to do.
Upon stepping out on the east bank, Halber radioed Owen.
“Tell your suspects that if they don’t want their friend to walk home tonight, they have to drive back here. But get their ID and have one of them ride with you.” Owen complied and soon he and the two milk-run suspects were on their way back to Halber.
Upon their arrival, Halber ordered them to lead him to the four salmon that they had obviously stashed somewhere nearby. But they denied knowledge of any salmon.
“Last chance,” said Halber. “If you fail to show us those fish, it will mean an extra charge against you.” But they again denied knowledge of the salmon.
Owen and Taylor searched for the salmon and soon came up with them, four beautiful king salmon, hidden in high grass. With all 12 evidence salmon now accounted for, the wardens now wrote citations for the three men and processed the evidence.
As Halber examined the wallet and ID of the wet suspect he had battled on the island, he was astounded to note that the man’s driver’s license photo looked exactly like President Bill Clinton. Halber looked in amazement at the photo then up at the suspect, then back to the photo again before he spoke to the suspect.
“Did you know that you look exactly like the president of the United States?”
Without hesitation the suspect responded in his deep, Russian-accented voice.
“He is my father!”