Badges, Bears, and Eagles

by Steven T. Callan

  As was usually the case during organized bear hunts, three or four others showed up and tagged along. Searcy introduced Jack Russell (McDermott) to Millsap and Harder. Millsap was in his late fifties at the time, but his tendency to hunch over, along with his weather-beaten face, made him look at least ten years older. With good posture he would have stood about six feet tall.

  “Are you the guy they named that little dog after?” said Millsap.

  McDermott laughed. “That’s me!” he said. Seeing the joke as an opening, he made an extra effort to get acquainted. With his ten-gallon cowboy hat and slow Southern drawl, the six-foot-four-inch McDermott fit right in without drawing too much attention to himself.

  When everyone had arrived, McDermott and Searcy followed the caravan in McDermott’s pickup. The actual hunt began on an unpaved U.S. Forest Service road near Jerusalem Creek. Suddenly the two lead pickups, driven by Millsap and Harder, came to a stop. Buck Millsap removed his “strike” dog from the wooden box in the bed of his pickup. When the excited hound had finished relieving itself, Millsap lifted it onto a wooden platform mounted on the hood of his truck. As a rule, the “strike” dog had the best nose in the pack and was used to sniff out the first bear scent. Once the hound was tethered to the hood, the caravan proceeded down the road.

  After about forty-five minutes, the “strike” dog picked up a scent, and the chase was on. Most of the other dogs from both trucks were turned loose. Within an hour they had treed a bear. Everyone walked to the tree, with the exception of Buck Millsap. Millsap would hang back if there was any walking to do, McDermott observed. Harder led the way, followed by Cogle and the others.

  McDermott was still some distance behind when a shot rang out. Seconds later, he heard the hounds resume the chase. Apparently the bear had been wounded. A second shot was fired within a few minutes of the first. Again, the dogs took up the chase. McDermott arrived just in time to see the bear turn and face the oncoming dogs. When the dogs had come within striking distance, it swatted at them with its right paw and gave off a low-pitched moan. One of the men McDermott didn’t recognize lifted a rifle to his shoulder and fired the killing shot.

  Although Warden McDermott was not sure who had fired the first shot, the bear was eventually tagged by a large, heavyset man in striped overalls named Orville Samples. A big snaggle-toothed grin crossed Samples’s face as he pulled the tag from his pocket and began to fill it out.

  Harder, who always seemed angry for some reason, transported the bear to the road, where Millsap was waiting. McDermott watched carefully as Larry Cogle field-dressed the bear. Cogle removed the gallbladder, tied it off with a string and handed it to Buck Millsap. Millsap placed the gallbladder inside a utility box mounted behind the cab of his pickup.

  Some questionable things happened during Warden McDermott’s first undercover bear hunt, but none of them were specific violations. McDermott did, however, establish himself with the group and manage to confirm that Buck Millsap was collecting gallbladders.

  I was fiercely passionate about the natural resources that we were sworn to protect and believed that anyone who worked for a state or federal resource agency shared that same view. It didn’t matter if that person enforced the law, managed a wildlife refuge, drove a tractor, raised trout, mopped floors or sat at a desk, he or she was expected to be above reproach when it came to fish and wildlife laws. I soon learned that not everyone felt that way.

  On December 16, 1995, Warden Al McDermott, working in his undercover capacity, went on a bear hunt in eastern Shasta County. Sometime before 11:00 a.m., Buck Millsap released his hounds on a small set of bear tracks near Tamarack Road. The hounds pursued the little bear for over an hour before it crawled into a cave at the edge of a rock cliff.

  As was usually the case when a walk of any distance was required, Millsap stayed near his truck and sent his tagalongs after the bear. One of those tagalongs was a forty-year-old man with a butch haircut and a big handlebar mustache named Fred Belcher. The self-appointed leader of the hunt, Belcher asked who in the group had a bear tag and wanted to shoot the bear.

  “How big is it?” said another of Millsap’s tagalongs.

  “It ain’t very big,” said Belcher, spitting a wad of tobacco onto the dry ground.

  They were all hemming and hawing, shifting from foot to foot outside the cave, when Bruce Vanosek, a middle-aged, average-height man with a thick, salt-and-pepper beard, spoke up. “I have a bear tag, but my son is going to shoot the bear,” said Vanosek.

  Vanosek’s twenty-two-year-old son, Darrel, was about the same size as his dad, without the beard and the pot belly.

  With no apparent reservations, Darrel Vanosek stepped forward and walked toward the cave entrance. He was carrying a large caliber rifle; McDermott thought it was a 30-06. Bruce Vanosek maneuvered into position so he could photograph his son shooting the bear.

  “How we gonna get the bear outta that cave?” asked one of the tagalongs.

  “I got somethin’ in my truck that’ll do the trick,” replied Larry Cogle.

  On that particular day, there were ten people in the hunting party, including somebody’s wife. They waited outside the cave entrance as Cogle walked back to his truck. While everyone stood around, Warden McDermott overheard someone say, “Is that Fish and Game guy’s kid gonna shoot the bear?”

  When Warden McDermott heard these words, the hair stood up on the back of his neck. Are they talking about me? After listening for a while longer, McDermott learned that Bruce Vanosek worked at a state fish hatchery.

  What a mess this is turning out to be, thought McDermott. The older Vanosek is going to illegally tag the cub bear that his kid shoots and his kid doesn’t even have a bear tag.

  Larry Cogle returned to the cave carrying a handful of road flares. “Pull the dogs back,” shouted Belcher, as Cogle lit a flare and tossed it into the cave. For a minute or two, the hounds stopped barking and people standing around could hear a faint huffing sound coming from inside the cave. Houndsmen in the crowd recognized it as an expression of fear or agitation, sometimes made by treed or cornered bears.

  Cogle tossed a second flare into the cave. “It’s comin’ out!” shouted one of the tagalongs. A small, cinnamon-colored bear slowly exited the cave, one careful step at a time. Members of the party fell back, allowing room for the younger Vanosek to shoot. Had this been an average-sized adult bear, the crowd would have scattered like a covey of quail. Since the frightened animal was no bigger than a good-sized cub, they showed no fear and stood their ground.

  If this little guy weighs more than fifty pounds it won’t be by much, thought McDermott. California hunting regulations prohibit the take of cub bears at any time—a cub being a bear weighing fifty pounds or less.

  With no tree to climb, the petrified little bear had nowhere to go. It started to run back into the cave but stopped when it saw the smoke. A sharp report from Darrel Vanosek’s rifle echoed across the hillside. At a range of fifteen feet, he couldn’t miss. Vanosek’s bullet hit with such force that it knocked the bear backwards, killing it instantly. Warden McDermott felt a mighty urge to walk over and arrest both Vanoseks on the spot, but for the time being he had bigger fish to fry.

  Bruce Vanosek was busy photographing his son’s ill-gotten trophy when the only woman in the crowd bent over the dead cub and said, “He shot Winnie the Pooh!” Everyone in the crowd laughed, except the Vanoseks.

  Warden McDermott put on a good acting job and laughed along with the rest of the demented group. Inside, he was fuming.

  One of the tagalongs picked up the small bear and carried it back to the pickups where Buck Millsap was waiting. Stan Harder found a hunting knife and began gutting the bear as the elder Vanosek reached for his bear tag and started filling it out. Since he had not killed the bear himself, every hand-written entry on the tag would be considered a false statement, constituting license fraud.

  “Do ya want the goodies?” asked Harder, as he carefully removed a small gr
een gallbladder and held it up for the older Vanosek to see.

  Bruce Vanosek’s cheeks flushed as he shook his head side to side in refusal. He did, however, hand Harder a plastic bag to put it in.

  That’s interesting, thought McDermott. It looks like Vanosek might have done this before. Harder tied the gallbladder off with a string and placed it inside his dog box. When Harder had finished gutting the bear, Darrel Vanosek picked it up by the scruff of the neck and lifted it into the back of his father’s pickup. If this guy can pick up the bear that easily, it can’t weigh over fifty pounds, thought McDermott.

  The hunting party began to disperse. Warden McDermott managed to hang back, claiming to have stepped in something left by one of the hounds. “You guys go ahead,” said McDermott, “I gotta clean off my boot.” Warden McDermott walked around, pretending to look for a stick until the last cloud of dust had disappeared over the horizon. When the others had gone, he walked over and began picking up bits and pieces of hair and tissue from the unlawfully killed cub bear. He carefully bagged the evidence, walked back to his truck and sat in the driver’s seat, thoroughly disgusted by what he had just witnessed.

  Two days before Christmas, the boys were at it again. Although Buck Millsap was never that friendly, he seemed to tolerate Al McDermott being around. Al happened to be standing near him when one of the tagalongs approached.

  “Buck, I hear ya killed a cat this week.”

  “Yep,” said Millsap.

  “How big was it?”

  Millsap indicated that it was about seven feet long.

  They could only be talking about a mountain lion, McDermott thought. McDermott began pumping Millsap for clues: “Are you going to have it mounted?” he asked, knowing full well that mountain lions were protected in California and could not be possessed. Millsap answered that he had left the lion in the woods.

  Now that the cat was literally out of the bag and the new guy had overheard the conversation, Millsap apparently felt that he needed to cover his tracks. This was also a sign to Warden McDermott that Millsap did not completely trust him. “I killed it under one o’ them depredation permits,” declared Millsap.

  Later that day, McDermott told me what Millsap had said. I checked all the depredation permits that had been issued during the previous two months. Only a couple had been issued and none of them had anything to do with Buck Millsap. We preferred not to issue depredation permits, but they were sometimes unavoidable when a mountain lion killed livestock.

  A week later, Warden Al McDermott and Dan Searcy joined a group of hunters on Jackass Springs Road, in Trinity County. Stan Harder released one of Millsap’s hounds on a fresh scent. A few minutes later, Fred Belcher followed suit and released another of Millsap’s dogs. Millsap had gone on ahead with two suspected clients and was not in the area at the time. The two hounds immediately started baying, having picked up a fresh scent. They released the rest of the dogs and within minutes, they had treed an animal.

  Harder, Cogle, Belcher and Samples ran up to the tree, with Harder yelling, “Go get my .22 rifle.” Belcher and Samples returned to the trucks, where Belcher grabbed his own .22 caliber rifle. McDermott and Searcy followed Belcher back to the tree. Belcher was about to hand the rifle to his wife when Harder shouted, “No, I’ll do it!”

  McDermott looked through the tree branches and saw an adult mountain lion peering down at the crowd. He was able to take a quick photograph of the terrified cat, approximately fifteen yards away.

  At exactly 12:45 p.m., Warden Al McDermott and Dan Searcy watched Stan Harder aim a .22 caliber pump action rifle at the mountain lion and fire. The bullet hit the lion in the lower head region, causing tissue and bone matter to fly off in all directions. Instead of falling to the ground, the wounded mountain lion climbed down from the tree and ran off.

  “I shoulda used my own rifle,” complained Harder. “Those round-nosed bullets ain’t powerful enough.”

  Within minutes, the dogs had treed the same lion again. McDermott could see blood dripping from its head, just below the right eye. “Let Larry have the first shot this time,” shouted a member of the group, his voice barely audible over the constant barking of the hounds.

  It was as if they were all taking part in some kind of recreational turkey shoot, and it was now Larry Cogle’s turn to have a go. Cogle aimed his .30-.30 rifle and fired at the mountain lion, hitting the already wounded cat in the neck. Once again, the lion jumped to the ground and fled. Several members of the group attempted to locate the seriously injured mountain lion, with no success.

  What a tragedy, lamented McDermott. As badly as that cat was wounded, it will surely crawl off and die somewhere.

  McDermott took some consolation in knowing that Stan Harder and Larry Cogle would eventually pay for their crimes.

  The next day Warden Al McDermott, Warden Dave Szody, U.S Forest Service Special Agent Frank Packwood and I returned to the scene of the crime. Concerned about blowing Warden McDermott’s cover, we traveled in an undercover vehicle and kept him out of sight. Though we searched for several hours, we never found the wounded mountain lion.

  The 1995 bear season eventually ended but Warden Szody and I instructed Warden McDermott to continue his friendly relationship with Buck Millsap. McDermott was able to convince Millsap of this cover story—that he was making periodic trips out to California from Montana to buy cattle for the ranch he managed. During the first few months of 1996, Big Al stopped by occasionally to see his new hunting buddy. With little else in common, they usually got around to the subject of bear hunting and gallbladders.

  Although Millsap remained cautious, he eventually opened up to McDermott and began telling him about his involvement in the gallbladder business. According to Millsap, a man would come up from Southern California to buy gallbladders from him. “Ya need ta have at least ten before he’ll show,” said Millsap. The houndsman went on to say that he had to be extra careful because of the new law. He described a newspaper article that he had read recently, explaining California Fish and Game Code Section 12012 (effective January 1, 1996), which provided for a maximum $30,000 fine and one year in jail “for selling bear parts or taking wildlife for commercial purposes ….”

  “I was charged with a bunch a bear crimes by this undercover game warden back around 1980,” said Millsap. “The guy didn’t know what the hell he was doin’ or they coulda hung my ass.”

  “That undercover game warden was wearin’ a wire,” said Millsap’s wife, listening in. She was a bit younger than him and had long gray hair pulled into a tight ponytail. With her aggrieved scowl and puffy eyes, it was hard to imagine the young woman she had been. “It cost us ten thousand dollars to get out of it.”

  Warden McDermott jokingly said that he wasn’t wearing a wire and offered to show Millsap and his wife. Fortunately the Millsaps declined his offer, because McDermott was, in fact, wearing a wire at the time.

  “Be careful Al,” I cautioned. “Don’t give these people any ideas.”

  Of course McDermott couldn’t hear me—Warden Szody and I were sitting in the dark, a few blocks away, eavesdropping on the conversation.

  By now it was clear to Szody and me that our suspect was heavily involved in the buying and selling of bear gallbladders. Warden McDermott had provided us with a series of incriminating tape-recorded conversations. Now it was time to bait the hook. We had accumulated a supply of bear gallbladders from road kills, depredation bears and the Sacramento Fish and Game Evidence Lab.

  “Each time you visit Millsap,” I instructed McDermott, “bring him a couple gallbladders and see how much he offers to pay you for them. Tell him you’re getting them from a friend who doesn’t want his name mentioned.”

  Over the next three months, Warden McDermott would arrive at Buck Millsap’s residence with a small number of gallbladders. Each time McDermott dropped by, Millsap offered to take the gallbladders off his hands for one hundred dollars apiece, payable when his buyer came up from Southern California a
nd paid him. Buck Millsap also provided McDermott with another important piece of information: his buyer was Korean.

  We thanked Warden McDermott for the outstanding job he had done. With no previous undercover experience, Al had given an Academy Award-winning performance and played a critical role in our ongoing investigation. Now he could go back to his own district until it was time to testify in court.

  Warden Szody and I had a lot of new information to sift through and we were absolutely determined to reveal the identity of our mysterious Korean gallbladder buyer. We researched all recent Department of Fish and Game records related to bear hunting. For several weeks, Szody and I waded through stacks of hunting guide applications, guide logs and bear tag returns.

  Like a complicated thousand-piece puzzle, a picture of our suspect slowly came into focus. We were a little embarrassed to find that this man had been right under our noses the entire time. He was not only a licensed guide, but he was also a Fish and Game certified hunter education instructor.

  “Now that we know who this guy is,” I said to Szody, “we have to catch him.”

  IV

  Jason Lee was his name. At least that’s what he called himself. Lee held a California Guide’s License and had been arranging guided bear hunts for some time. Based on the guide logs that Szody and I examined, all of Lee’s clients were of Korean descent and most of them lived in the Los Angeles area. Jason Lee’s real name was Chung-Hee Lee. He’d picked out the name Jason to make it easier on his American business associates.