News (Media Awareness Project) - US WA: Meth In The Wilds |
Title: | US WA: Meth In The Wilds |
Published On: | 2001-05-13 |
Source: | Register-Guard, The (OR) |
Fetched On: | 2008-01-25 20:07:44 |
METH IN THE WILDS
ASHFORD, Wash. - With sunlight trickling through the tall pines and
snowy Mount Rainier looming above, the secluded dirt roads of Tahoma
State Forest beckon to hunters, hikers - and meth cookers.
The recent discovery of a methamphetamine lab here forced the closure
of the entire 26,000-acre forest until at least June 10. Now men in
moon suits hunt for contamination and clues in the mossy woods, roping
off sickly brown "dead zones" where people dumped the poisonous
byproducts of meth-making.
As police crack down on the highly addictive drug in cities and towns,
meth manufacturers are moving to isolated campsites in vast, lightly
patrolled state and federal forests.
The number of busted meth labs increased tenfold over the past year in
Washington state alone, mirroring a national trend.
The meth epidemic is changing the job description for rangers and
foresters, and creating environmental wounds that will take years to
heal.
"It poses a danger to anyone out there in the woods," said forester
Bob Brown, as he drove down a dirt road toward the Tahoma meth lab.
Every campfire attracts his suspicion. Brown looks for the innocuous
household items that signal a meth lab: empty cold pill containers,
coffee filters, lithium batteries.
The simplicity of making meth has fueled its popularity as the new
crack cocaine: cheap to produce, and with a potent high. But the
downside of the drug strikes quickly: irritability, paranoia and
violence. They don't, in the words of one investigator, make good
environmental stewards.
In the Tahoma State Forest, investigators found open containers of
solution with a pH of 14 - corrosive enough to burn flesh off bones. A
blast of anhydrous ammonia, a substance that leaches moisture from
whatever it touches, could "take your eyeball and shrink it down to
the size of a raisin," says Ashford Fire Chief Jim Gregory.
His rural fire district outside Mount Rainier National Park is
struggling to deal with an onslaught of meth.
"This is the only place we've done a look-see," he said, as he walked
through the Tahoma forest with Brown and investigators. "I'm sure if
we went across the road and started rooting around in the trees, we'd
find a lot more."
Despite thin resources - seven investigators for 2.1 million acres of
forest - Washington state has been finding a lot more meth.
From 1996 to 1999, foresters found about two active meth labs per
year on state forest land, according to DNR environmental specialist
Phil Clark. In the past year, they've found 20.
The trend is national. The U.S. Forest Service found 107 meth labs and
dump sites in national forests in 1999, said Kim Thorsen, deputy
director for law enforcement and investigation at the Forest Service.
Last year they found 488, a 356 percent increase.
Mark Twain National Forest in Missouri is the biggest meth trouble
spot, Thorsen said, but drug cookers are putting down roots in forests
across the country.
"There are a lot of resources focused on cities and towns. Law
enforcement drives those folks into rural areas, where there are fewer
cops and they're not as easily detected," Thorsen said.
Meth creates new dangers for rangers, foresters, game wardens and
firefighters. Washington foresters, who don't carry weapons, have been
trained on how to recognize the signs of a meth lab and what to do
when they find one. In California, every state firefighter knows how
to respond to a fire caused by or near a suspected meth lab.
"A lot of our training is starting to emphasize more and more that we
have a good chance of running into drugs and especially these
methamphetamine labs because they're so easy to set up," said Randy
Hancock, president of the North American Wildlife Enforcement Officers
Association and a game warden in Colorado.
Drugs in national and state forests are nothing new. Vast, uninhabited
acres have always attracted illegal activity, from moonshiners to
marijuana growers. But officials say the meth cookers - who often
sample their products - are a new breed.
"They're less grounded mentally. They can go off at any second," said
Dennis Heryford, chief investigator for DNR law enforcement. Marijuana
growers are likely to cut and run when discovered, he said, while meth
cookers often come out shooting.
Likewise, marijuana plants are simple to eradicate - just pull them up
by the roots. Getting rid of a meth lab is dangerous and expensive.
Meth cookers dump battery acid, solvents and other toxic materials
into rivers or the ground. Much of the waste is highly flammable and
explosive - another danger anticipated for the summer forest fire season.
The Washington State Patrol describes the Tahoma meth lab as
medium-sized, capable of producing about 2 pounds of meth a day, worth
up to $16,000 on the street. The costs of cleaning it up are still
mounting. A much smaller operation found last year at a nearby lake
cost the state $40,000. All the labs suck up time and resources of
people who would rather be elsewhere.
"Those foresters have an awfully difficult job out there," Heryford
said. "Let us get back to our trees."
ASHFORD, Wash. - With sunlight trickling through the tall pines and
snowy Mount Rainier looming above, the secluded dirt roads of Tahoma
State Forest beckon to hunters, hikers - and meth cookers.
The recent discovery of a methamphetamine lab here forced the closure
of the entire 26,000-acre forest until at least June 10. Now men in
moon suits hunt for contamination and clues in the mossy woods, roping
off sickly brown "dead zones" where people dumped the poisonous
byproducts of meth-making.
As police crack down on the highly addictive drug in cities and towns,
meth manufacturers are moving to isolated campsites in vast, lightly
patrolled state and federal forests.
The number of busted meth labs increased tenfold over the past year in
Washington state alone, mirroring a national trend.
The meth epidemic is changing the job description for rangers and
foresters, and creating environmental wounds that will take years to
heal.
"It poses a danger to anyone out there in the woods," said forester
Bob Brown, as he drove down a dirt road toward the Tahoma meth lab.
Every campfire attracts his suspicion. Brown looks for the innocuous
household items that signal a meth lab: empty cold pill containers,
coffee filters, lithium batteries.
The simplicity of making meth has fueled its popularity as the new
crack cocaine: cheap to produce, and with a potent high. But the
downside of the drug strikes quickly: irritability, paranoia and
violence. They don't, in the words of one investigator, make good
environmental stewards.
In the Tahoma State Forest, investigators found open containers of
solution with a pH of 14 - corrosive enough to burn flesh off bones. A
blast of anhydrous ammonia, a substance that leaches moisture from
whatever it touches, could "take your eyeball and shrink it down to
the size of a raisin," says Ashford Fire Chief Jim Gregory.
His rural fire district outside Mount Rainier National Park is
struggling to deal with an onslaught of meth.
"This is the only place we've done a look-see," he said, as he walked
through the Tahoma forest with Brown and investigators. "I'm sure if
we went across the road and started rooting around in the trees, we'd
find a lot more."
Despite thin resources - seven investigators for 2.1 million acres of
forest - Washington state has been finding a lot more meth.
From 1996 to 1999, foresters found about two active meth labs per
year on state forest land, according to DNR environmental specialist
Phil Clark. In the past year, they've found 20.
The trend is national. The U.S. Forest Service found 107 meth labs and
dump sites in national forests in 1999, said Kim Thorsen, deputy
director for law enforcement and investigation at the Forest Service.
Last year they found 488, a 356 percent increase.
Mark Twain National Forest in Missouri is the biggest meth trouble
spot, Thorsen said, but drug cookers are putting down roots in forests
across the country.
"There are a lot of resources focused on cities and towns. Law
enforcement drives those folks into rural areas, where there are fewer
cops and they're not as easily detected," Thorsen said.
Meth creates new dangers for rangers, foresters, game wardens and
firefighters. Washington foresters, who don't carry weapons, have been
trained on how to recognize the signs of a meth lab and what to do
when they find one. In California, every state firefighter knows how
to respond to a fire caused by or near a suspected meth lab.
"A lot of our training is starting to emphasize more and more that we
have a good chance of running into drugs and especially these
methamphetamine labs because they're so easy to set up," said Randy
Hancock, president of the North American Wildlife Enforcement Officers
Association and a game warden in Colorado.
Drugs in national and state forests are nothing new. Vast, uninhabited
acres have always attracted illegal activity, from moonshiners to
marijuana growers. But officials say the meth cookers - who often
sample their products - are a new breed.
"They're less grounded mentally. They can go off at any second," said
Dennis Heryford, chief investigator for DNR law enforcement. Marijuana
growers are likely to cut and run when discovered, he said, while meth
cookers often come out shooting.
Likewise, marijuana plants are simple to eradicate - just pull them up
by the roots. Getting rid of a meth lab is dangerous and expensive.
Meth cookers dump battery acid, solvents and other toxic materials
into rivers or the ground. Much of the waste is highly flammable and
explosive - another danger anticipated for the summer forest fire season.
The Washington State Patrol describes the Tahoma meth lab as
medium-sized, capable of producing about 2 pounds of meth a day, worth
up to $16,000 on the street. The costs of cleaning it up are still
mounting. A much smaller operation found last year at a nearby lake
cost the state $40,000. All the labs suck up time and resources of
people who would rather be elsewhere.
"Those foresters have an awfully difficult job out there," Heryford
said. "Let us get back to our trees."
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