One Evening In Fundy – 1983

The day had been a routine one in Fundy, split between vehicle patrols to wave the flag and time spent in the office catching up on paperwork, the not so glamorous side of being a national park warden, completing occurrence reports and taking time to write up more of the summer’s resource management work.

            As I recall it, Alan Nicol was working the late shift until midnight and after staying a little longer than planned, probably just shooting the shit with Alan, I headed back to Wolfe Lake, taking my time to keep an eye out for anything unusual.

            Fundy’s weather could be notoriously unpredictable and while the little village of Alma on the coast could be blanketed in fog with no snow on the ground, there could be several feet of snow at the Wolfe Lake Warden Station, roughly twenty kilometres away.

            Such is the influence of the Bay of Fundy, with the transition in road conditions from the shores of the bay to the Caledonia Highlands Plateau often quite gradual or sometimes abrupt. On this particular evening it was the latter with a layer of black ice coating the highway as I crested the top of the plateau.

            Touching the brakes to test the road, the warden truck skidded slightly sideways, forcing me to slow down for the trek back to Wolfe Lake. In the looming darkness of late autumn, I took my time, hoping to make it back to the lake before it started to snow, making the ice-covered road surface even more treacherous.

            Passing the now-closed entrance to Chignecto Campground, I scanned for vehicles and seeing nothing continued on my way. Driving past Kinnie Brook picnic area I noticed the silhouette of a vehicle half-hidden behind an island of trees in the parking lot. Easing the truck to a stop I cautiously turned around and drove back toward the entrance, slowly entering the picnic area and pulling up slightly behind but angled toward the vehicle, not ideal positioning but it often never is.

            With my headlights shining into the driver-side mirror of the late-model pickup I could make out one person sitting behind the steering wheel and wondered if there was a passenger, now somewhere outside of the truck.

            For the life of me, I can’t recall if I radioed Alan to say I was checking a vehicle or not, but flashlight in hand, I exited the warden truck and approached the vehicle from the rear, along the driver’s side.

            Tapping on the side window I motioned for the driver to roll it down, indicating I was a national park warden doing a routine hunting patrol. At that moment I could see an uncased rifle laying across the driver’s lap, its barrel angled directly toward me. Stepping back slightly I reiterated my request, but to no avail.

            Completely ignoring me, the driver started his vehicle and began to pull away, almost catching me between his truck and my own. Squeezing my body against the warden truck I barely managed to avoid getting crushed or caught on the other vehicle’s bumper and dragged out onto the highway.

            As the now-suspect vehicle turned onto Highway 114, I quickly climbed back into the warden truck and gave pursuit, radioing Alan that I was now in hot pursuit of a suspected poacher. Since the vehicle was headed north toward Sussex and the Trans-Canada Highway, I asked Alan to contact the New Brunswick Highway Patrol to try and intercept, advising him that Highway 114 through the park was ice-covered and very slippery.

            The words were barely out of my mouth when I saw a flash of light against the low clouds and suspected that the driver had spun out of control and gone off the road. When I rounded the next turn, my suspicions were confirmed. The pickup was right-side up but had slid well off the road and was stuck, as the driver spun the wheels to try and extricate his vehicle and escape.

            Radioing Alan I updated him on the situation and sat for a moment, evaluating my next move. After all the man was armed and I had, well, a flashlight.

            At that moment the driver got out of his vehicle … without his rifle.

            It was immediately obvious to me that he was under the influence as he staggered toward me, trying his best to stay upright as he negotiated the highway’s icy surface.

            I got out and carefully walked toward him, quickly realizing he was significantly bigger than me; taller and broader with a reach I couldn’t match. As he continued toward me, he kept wind-milling his arms in slow motion, trying to grab me as he appeared to consciously test his footing, largely ignoring my explanation that I was a national park warden, and he was under arrest for having an uncased firearm in the park.

            At the time it seemed almost comical as I easily evaded his moves, all the while asking him to get in the warden truck. I advised him that New Brunswick Highway Patrol was enroute and there was nowhere he could go.

            After a few minutes he finally conceded and using the truck for support, walked to the passenger door and got inside. I had no intentions of getting in with him but opened the driver’s side door and spoke with him until the Highway Patrol finally showed up and took him into custody.

            I later found out he was known to our Park Commissionaires as he had served in the military.

            A few months later he pleaded guilty in Sussex court and was fined both for impaired driving as well as the lesser charge (at the time) of having an uncased and loaded firearm in the national park.

            In hindsight I know this could have turned out much worse than it did. If road conditions had been different, I have no doubt we would have been involved in a high-speed chase until the suspect either went off the road or was stopped by the highway patrol. And if he didn’t have to contend with an icy road and could have gotten his hands on me, or if he exited his vehicle with the rifle, well I don’t even want to think about how things might have ended.

            But on this night, it ended well.