Home Forums Hunting & Shooting Hunter's Campfire Choose your Battles.

Choose your battles...A few years ago, I was camped by myself in my old sheepherder tent on a sage knoll with a nice view of Mt Shasta, in May, no seasons open. On the morning of day 3 a Calif game warden drove up the primitive 2 track a hundred yards or so from camp. He stopped, shut off his rig and got out to approach my camp. I set down the frying pan I was cleaning and unarmed met him halfway. As background, I admit I do not inspire confidence by my appearance, I wear rough work clothing, don't fuss much with grooming, maybe in some minds appear 'different'. So, I understand suspicion, within reason. This warden had a huge chip on his shoulder that morning, body language all wrong, tense, very rude, hostile manner interrogating me on what I was doing there. As my answers came off a little sullen, no cursing, just one word vague replies, cooperating but not helpful, he became more agitated, and reached from where he was resting his hand on his sidearm to unsnap the retainer strap on his holster. Well, that got my attention, I began to feel real fear rather than resentment. I was wearing a badly beat up old Stetson with a brown and white wing feather in it, he focused on the feather, stating, that is a hawk feather, where did you get it? That wide spot where this track comes off the highway, you drove right by it. Then he quotes Calif law on possessing non game animal parts. I see where this is going, pull the feather out of the hat and set it on a sage and back away, no more eye contact, I'm watching his gun hand. He approached picked up the feather, with his weak hand, and tells me he appreciates the gesture, saying he didn't want this to turn into a confrontation. So I stand still, he works his way back to his rig, keeping me in his peripheral vision. I tend to talk to myself now and then, it is cold and still that morning, and I mutter to myself, f...ing land of the free, home of the brave. He wheels from getting into his rig, clearly in a rage, what did you say? Nothing, I said nothing. He stares lasers at me for a good ten seconds. Finally drove off. Yes, I folded like a paper bag, but I also wondered if I saved my life by knuckling under. I honestly think he wanted a fight. It bothers me to this day, the way I folded, but it also occurs to me, I might not be here. He didn't go to his taser, he went straight to his sidearm. He may have been dead serious. Water under the bridge now.