The Spectacular Adventures of the Montana Department of Fish, Wildlife and Parks
Across the majestic expanse of Gallatin County, where innocent people live in constant fear of wildlife code violations and offseason hunting accidents, only one quasi-judicial state agency can repel the darkness of unregulated backcountry villainy. Some call this secretive group the Montana Department of Fish, Wildlife and Parks, but to the faithful upholders of the tripartite creed — Safety, Service and Sustainability — they are something else: The intrepid Rocky Mountain Restorers! Led by District 1, Missoula sector representative Frederick Wolfe, AKA the Wolfman, our heroes must band together to combat butterfly poaching, snag fishing, and unfettered trail erosion, no matter the cost!
Today finds Wolfman lost in thought, meditating on recent accounts of ill-secured camping supplies at sites throughout the North Quadrant. After striding into the Glade of Valor, an awesome expanse of meadows showcasing Montana’s diverse prairie ecosystem, Wolfman bellowed into the breathtaking montane landscape: “Rocky Mountain Restorers — ASSEMBLE! For fish, game, and recreational fun, I summon you all, everyone! Red Falcon! Report!”
“Coming in hot Wolfie!” shouted Chairman Stan Heatherton, plunging towards the Glade on the golden eagle Nightscreech, his trusty steed and lifelong companion. Once a mild-mannered wildlife commissioner, a freak turbine accident gave Heatherton the ability to harness the region’s prodigious wind energy, powering millions of homes and an insatiable desire for justice. Flipping off the eagle’s back and landing softly on a patch of hardy native grasses, Red Falcon took Wolfman in a firm embrace.
“Sorry for the delay Wolfman! I was halting some unlicensed logging activity by the Hoodoo Cascade — they put up a good fight, but they were no match for Nightscreech’s Regulatory Roar!”
Wolfman laughed. “Oh Red Falcon! You never do know when to quit! Outstanding work — from you and Nightscreech!”
Soaring on the distant horizon, Nightscreech let out a joyous shriek.
“Now to business, Red Falcon. Where’s Shovelnose?”
“Look out Wolfman!” Manifesting himself from the unpolluted groundwater reservoir crucial for the upkeep of any healthy alpine habitat, Vice-Chairman Harold Garrett, AKA Shovelnose, emerged from the meadows’ innermost, moist chambers.
“Sorry gang, I was redirecting sewage outflow from a local salmon rookery!” exclaimed Shovelnose, who had once been a man, but was now a man-sturgeon hybrid. “What’s the sitch?”
The Wolfman examined his friends — the most powerful team of conservation officials ever assembled within twenty miles of Bozeman — and smiled. But in a moment, the smile vanished — Wolfie needed to steel himself for the task ahead.
“Dire news, heroes. Sharon in HR confirms that a backpacker has failed to secure his food at the Big Timber campsite, putting countless curious species at risk of human-animal interaction.”
“Who’s the perp?” Shovelnose demanded.
“Dan Kowalski, AKA Earthkiller. Real scumbag. We’ve booked him once before, but now we can stop this lowlife in his tracks — for good this time. Let’s move!”
Red Falcon beckoned for Nightscreech and Shovelnose whisked Wolfman into an underwater stream. In minutes, the Restorers had arrived at the camp. A scan of the terrain showed the villain reclining in a lawn chair, next to a cooler filled with meats, beer and condiments — smelly time bombs that could spell death for thousands of creatures.
“Human filth,” Wolfman snarled, eyeing the criminal from a nearby bush. “Red Falcon, strike!”
In one deft movement, The Crimson Bird leaped off Nightscreech, driving a bone-crushing kick into Earthkiller’s chest. The felon slammed against a tree, and in seconds, Wolfman had him pinned.
“Do you know how many bears your food could have attracted?” Wolfman growled, digging his foot into the coward’s throat. “Frequent human-bear contact puts both man and beast in grave danger! If you commit another offense — almost all of which are listed online under Title 87 of the Montana Code — we will find you, and you will pay a steep fine. Restorers! Back to the Glade! I think this miscreant has learned his lesson.”
Wolfman released Earthkiller and dove into the scenic Tom Miner Creek, leaving the scoundrel to nurse his broken ribs and bruised windpipe. But though his physical pain must have been great, Wolfie knew that Earthkiller had to suffer something far more terrible—the knowledge that his misdeeds had put wildlife in danger, and worsened the camping experience for all.
Shovelnose pulled Wolfman from the creek as Red Falcon alighted in the center of the Glade. The staunch conservationists looked on each other with renewed pride, knowing the protected areas of Gallatin County would never be in want of true guardians, or even truer friends.
“What’s next Wolfman?” Red Falcon grinned. “Shall we find Shovelnose a wife?”
“Not with this face!” Shovelnose chortled, his gills vibrating with delight.
The brave comrades threw their head backs and laughed uproariously. High above, Nightscreech squawked with glee, flapping his wings against the beautiful south Montana sun.
