METH LABS ARE SPREADING RAMPANTLY ON STATE LANDS

With drug makers flocking to wilderness, conservation officers are
being forced to serve in nontraditional role.

When Duayne Englert became a conservation officer, he was ready for
poachers.

What he didn't expect was to be busting illegal drug
labs.

That's because drug peddlers and methamphetamine labs are invading the
dark recesses of state properties in southwestern Indiana.

In the past year, the Indiana Department of Natural Resources has
raided four meth-making labs, resulting in 14 arrests. Others are
under surveillance in hopes the suspects can be caught in the act.

The increase in illegal activity on state lands coincides with a
prediction from other law enforcement experts of the explosion in
makeshift meth labs across the rural Midwest.

Indiana State Police confirm the number of meth labs across the state
has doubled each year since 1994. This year's tally is expected to
exceed 300.

"I could easily spend a couple hours a day -- maybe as much as four
hours a day -- if I went to all of the places where I know they are
cooking meth. I don't have time to do that every day," said Englert, a
15-year conservation officer.

Other states, such as Iowa and Missouri, have been averaging 600 to
900 raids a year for the past three years.

Though Englert works closely with local law enforcement, making
referrals and calling for help when necessary, the basic nature of his
job has changed.

"Anymore, we have to think drugs when we are checking on a hunting or
a fishing license."

Training is a must, says a national association of law enforcement
chiefs whose troops are facing these new risks.

Larry Closson, president of the National Association of Conservation
Law Enforcement Chiefs, said drug busting is a departure from
traditional duties, a new detail that's forcing everyone to scramble.

"An officer gets a fishing or poaching complaint, and when they go
down, they find the guys are cooking (methamphetamine) in the back of
a truck," he said of his experience in Illinois.

Indiana's Englert often finds people making the drug -- also known as
crank, speed, glass or ice -- camped along rivers or parked along
isolated highways both on and off of state property during his patrols.

Conservation officers, who only recently began keeping statistics on
labs, are finding the operations more concentrated in rural areas
south of Terre Haute.

David Vice, a deputy director for the natural resources agency, said
there is no current plan to increase state resources to target the
labs. He doesn't deny the problem exists but says drug detail simply
isn't what his officers are paid, or trained, to do.

That's a job for the police, Vice maintains.

"Our major responsibility has to be fish and wildlife issues," he
said.

Closson said it's difficult to battle drug makers on state lands
because of the way most agencies, including Indiana, are financed.
States depend on revenue from hunting and fishing licenses, making it
difficult to add more enforcers.

In Indiana, $14 million is budgeted for the state's 215 conservation
officer salaries and support staff. About half of that amount comes
from various license fees.

Conservation officers, untrained and unable to handle the hazardous
materials used as the basic building blocks of methamphetamine, can
quickly find themselves in a dangerous situation.

Rod Slings, a recreational safety officer for the Iowa Department of
Natural Resources, stumbled on a lab while checking on goose hunters
near a wetland.

"The fumes overtook me. I had a headache for three days. We had to
have a lab team with a motor home come in and do the cleanup," Slings
said.

Conservation administrators liken making meth to making
moonshine.

Many of the key ingredients for the drug are easily found in rural
areas. One found in particular abundance is anhydrous ammonia, which
is used as fertilizer by farmers.

A lot of the "cookers" pick wilderness areas where they hunt or fish
because they know the remote terrain. And operating in remote sites
makes it less likely someone else will stumble on the stash.

"Cooking" involves few sophisticated skills. Inexpensive chemicals and
equipment are the tools. And the operation can easily be moved and
quickly broken down. One batch can cost as little as $60 to produce.

The typical rural meth maker in Indiana is a white male, 25 to 35
years old. Some have been arrested before for growing marijuana on
state property. They usually aren't armed. Most are local to the area.
And many are users.

State officials say they are concerned about the safety of their
employees, including property managers who wear uniforms but are unarmed.

Next week, a small group of Indiana property managers -- workers who
don't have arrest powers or carry weapons -- will be schooled to spot
the tell-tale paraphernalia of drug makers.

"We're trying to educate our civilian property people," said Lt. Col.
Jeff Wells, who oversees conservation officers. "They are finding
remnants (of labs) and seeing activity associated with it, and they
may not be making the connection."

Property managers admit it's often difficult to identify the littered
remains of meth making. Is it garbage, or a dangerous clandestine lab?

"We know it's not for us to mess with," said Doug Brown, property
manager for Ferdinand-Pike State Forest.