Retired lawmen ride again

Retired police officers are monitoring forest land in Oregon to stop abuse from off-road vehicles.

ST. HELENS -- It's the kind of day Joe Schwab relishes.

"A little rain, some mud, a little sunshine . . . we're going to find someone up here today," he says cheerily, scanning canyons as he pilots a trademark white Oregon State Police pickup down a bumpy gravel road.

The route threads ridges topping thousands of acres of private timberland, intersected every few hundred yards by homemade trails.

The cancerous veins and gashes across stands of new and old trees form a maze of fun and games for dirt bikes and all-terrain vehicles . . .

. . . and a nightmare for land managers, fisheries managers, hunters and wildlife biologists.

An explosion of off-road use by all-terrain vehicles over the past few years has desperate landowners facing a tough decision -- prohibit to preserve.

But they're also getting some important assistance from Oregon's hunters.

Schwab, retired from the State Police fish and wildlife enforcement division, is among more than a dozen retirees helping private landowners protect their property from damage.

"We don't want to close our lands to hunting, or access," says Owen Wilson, chief of security for the Longview Fibre Company, who's along for the day's patrol. "We want to be good neighbors, and hunting helps us take care of deer, elk and bear damage. But at some point, there's a line where this kind of damage costs too much."

Schwab pulls the rig to a halt as a large red pickup approaches from behind, towing a trailer bearing two four-wheelers. Bright orange marker flags wave on wands from each ATV bumper, and a pit bull and chocolate Labrador retriever peer out from the open pickup bed as Schwab explains to the driver that he's passing through private property and that no off-road access is allowed in Columbia County.

"I'll just find a place to turn around," the man says after declining to have his photo taken.

Schwab and Wilson return to their rigs, coincidentally stopped next to a gash in the gravel road, leading down the slope and severing a young tree plantation.

Saplings have been chainsawed to provide a steep, challenging ATV path up the muddy slope.

Rainwater cascading down the county road has been sidetracked by the crevasse, which is subsequently deepened, narrowing the right of way to the point of danger.

The roadside is studded with beer and soda pop cans.

In the back of his rig, Wilson carries a collection of Longview Fibre no-trespassing signs. Each is riddled with holes caused by rifle bullets and shotgun pellets.

"I don't know why they even bother to print them," he says.

Despite the frustration, Wilson says patrols are making a difference, and, for the time being anyway, his company's land will remain open.

Retired cops such as Schwab are allowed to work up to 1,000 hours a year and still draw their pensions.

But there are limited numbers of qualified law enforcement officers available, says Nick Myatt, who coordinates 14 State Police retirees for the Oregon Department of Fish and Wildlife's Access and Habitat Program.

Oregon hunters pay a $2 surcharge on their licenses. The money is pooled to fund on-the-ground habitat improvements, direct payments to landowners who allow public hunting and, as in Schwab's case, law enforcement patrols for private landowners.

Myatt says 11 of the 14 troopers work across northwest Oregon, from the west slope of the Cascade Mountains to the coast, areas closest to population centers where the problems are the worst.

Even in retirement, troopers retain police powers and, beside enforcing trespass laws, typically handle the same array of social problems they did during their regular careers: drug use, poaching, etc.

"It's a huge area," Myatt says. "It's millions and millions of acres they're patrolling statewide -- a lot of law enforcement that wouldn't be there without the program.

"But the damage is still increasing; we would like to fund more law enforcement, but in some areas we're running out of retired troopers willing to do the work."

The problems are worse on private lands but still on the rise even on Tillamook State Forest, where land and trails are specifically set aside for responsible ATV use.

"We have some of the same problems," says Dave Johnson, Forest Grove district forester for the Oregon Department of Forestry. "The difference is we have a great relationship with clubs and get a lot of help from them to remove trails that pop up where they shouldn't, build bridges, volunteer to patrol and help with education."

Tillamook State Forest "gives (ATV riders) a place that doesn't compromise water quality and doesn't jeopardize our neighbors," Johnson says.

The forest also employs three Tillamook County deputy sheriffs whose sole beat is the forest.

Armed with a good staff, Johnson believes educating ATV users is the key to the Tillamook Forest success.

"Law enforcement is an educational tool, too," he says. "Private companies have issues. We have issues. We're trying to manage the situation rather than have it manage us."

Education might help more, Wilson says, if it came from the industry.

"Frankly, commercials contribute to the problems," he says. "It looks like fun. They tell the customer once you buy one of these things, the world is your oyster."

Almost on cue, Schwab rounds a tight corner to the sight of more than a dozen motorcycles and four-wheelers gathered on both sides of a 1,500-pound closed gate. One four-wheeler spins a muddy froth atop a rock berm at one end of the gate, moving rocks and mud aside as it crosses.

Schwab's sudden appearance sends machines scattering like a hawk diving into a flock of park pigeons.

Most take off at high speed past a sign warning "no motorized vehicles beyond this point," but Schwab manages to get five stopped.

Each receives the equivalent of a traffic ticket carrying a bail of $299.

Most were up there "following a friend" and claim they didn't know they weren't supposed to be off the road. One, covered with even more mud than his bike, insists he never left the gravel.

Another wonders why this ticket is $300 when the one Schwab gave him last year was only $75.

"The $75 was my mistake," Schwab says. "You'd better get a map."

Schwab spices his stern lecture with a little humor as he writes tickets and releases each rider.

None knows any of the riders who got away . . . or where they were headed.

"Well, you tell them if you ever see them again that this is all private property," Schwab says.

"Tell them there's a new sheriff in town."

Bill Monroe: 503-221-8231; billmonroe@news.oregonian.com