The Great Sand Fracas of Ames County (26 page)

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fter the community meeting, both Emerson Evans and Karl Adams agreed to allow things to cool off a bit before the company resumed preliminary exploratory drilling at the proposed mining site. Evans returned to La Crosse, and Karl stayed on in Link Lake, working with the Ames County Sheriff 's Department to help determine the cause of the explosion. The sheriff 's department brought in a specialist to help determine the type of explosive device used, which they thought might lead them to the perpetrator. After an extensive search of the area that resulted in no evidence of explosive materials, and the inability to locate witnesses who might have seen something suspicious in the park the day previous to the explosion, the investigation reached a dead end.

The village brought in a tractor with a front-end loader, filled in the crater made by the explosion, and planted the area with grass seed. Park visitors soon returned, children played on the playground equipment, and picnickers enjoyed the view of the lake on sunny summer afternoons. No protest marchers were in evidence.

A Fish and Wildlife Services officer, Gretchen Kimberly, arrived to investigate the killing and injuring of the bald eagles and the destruction of the eagle nest, all federal offensives. Trying to put the incident in some kind of context, she talked with Emily Higgins from the historical society, who along with the nature club at Link Lake High School had sponsored the highly popular eagle cam.

“All I know,” Emily told her, “is when the machine blew up the camera blew up, the nest blew up, and the eagles were killed.”

“Any idea who did it?”

“Nope, nobody seems to know. Sheriff 's office and the local police are baffled. Terrible to see what happened to that eagle nest, and to think three eagles were killed. Just awful.”

Officer Kimberly next stopped by the supper club to talk with Marilyn Jones; Karl Adams happened to be in Marilyn's office as well. After introductions all around, Kimberly asked, “Why was the bald eagle nest destroyed? And who did it?”

“That's easy,” said Marilyn with anger in her voice. “Some wild-eyed, save-everything historian did it—but nobody's talking. I tell you, if the historians ever get control of things in this country we'll all starve to death. What a bunch of obstructionists they are. We're trying to bring jobs to little Link Lake. What are they trying to do? Save a damn old bur oak tree that'll probably die in a few years anyway.”

“Can we get back to the eagle nest?” asked Kimberly.

“Well, sure. It's obvious. Whoever blew up the Alstage drilling machine killed the eagles. Why aren't more people talking about the machine that blew up? It was worth a million dollars. What's an eagle nest worth?”

Officer Kimberly left the last question hanging. “You, sir,” said Officer Kimberly, as she turned to Karl, “what do you know about all this?”

“Not any more than you've probably picked up by talking to the sheriff and our local police, which I assume you've done,” said Karl.

“Yes, that's where I started. But I'd like your take on what happened.”

Karl explained his role as advance man for the mining company and said he believed the community had quieted down from the early debates about whether a sand mine should come to Link Lake.

“Everything changed when our company brought in a drilling machine to do some preliminary exploration,” Karl said.

“How so?” the officer asked.

Karl went on to explain the defacing of the map, the increase in the number of protestors, and then how he was awakened by an explosion that shook the cabin where he was living.

All the while the officer was taking notes.

“What can you tell me about the eagle nest and the dead eagles?”

“Not much, except as the military is prone to say, the eagles appear to be collateral damage. One of the little eagles survived—you knew that, right?”

“Yes, I heard a vegetable farmer just out of town knows how to take care of wild animals.”

“Tell you what,” said Karl. “I'll take you out to his farm. I was out there for a thresheree a few weeks ago. I know him slightly.”

W
hen Officer Kimberly and Karl Adams arrived at the Ambrose farm, they stopped at the little roadside vegetable stand. A young boy sat behind the little counter.

“Can I interest you in some fresh vegetables?” he said. “We picked them just this morning; nothing better than fresh-picked garden vegetables.”

“What is your name, young man?” asked Karl.

“It's Noah Drake,” he said, smiling. He grabbed up an empty paper bag and was prepared to fill it with vegetables.

“We need to talk with Mr. Adler. Do you know where he is?”

“He's up at his house.” Noah pointed to the house at the end of the driveway. “He said he wasn't feeling well this afternoon and he asked me to tend to the vegetable stand.”

“Thank you,” said Karl. “Sell lots of vegetables.”

“I'll try,” said Noah.

Karl knocked on the door.

“Y . . . yes?” said Ambrose when he opened it.

“I'm Karl Adams and this is Gretchen Kimberly with the Fish and Wildlife Service.”

“Come in,” said Ambrose, standing aside as they entered his modest but tidy kitchen.

“Ambrose, you probably don't remember me, but I talked with you at the Trail Marker Oak Days, and I was out here for the thresheree,” said Karl.

Ambrose looked carefully at Karl. “Yes, I . . . remember. What can I do for you?” he asked, trying hard for the words.

“Officer Kimberly is here about the little eagle,” said Karl.

“Yes,” joined in Kimberly. “We so much appreciate that you were able to take in this injured bird.”

“Glad to do it,” said Ambrose as he walked to a far corner of the kitchen and picked up a cage he had built to house the injured bird.

As Ambrose was retrieving the eagle, Karl's eye caught a framed photograph of a young woman hanging on the wall next to the door. He looked carefully at the photograph and thought,
There's something very familiar about that woman
.

Ambrose handed the cage to Officer Kimberly with a big smile. “This little guy is doing well,” he said.

“Thank you so much for taking such good care of him,” said Officer Kimberly. “I'll take him off your hands. We have an eagle rehabilitation center in Dubuque, where they'll take him until he can be released back in the wild. You've done a great thing, Mr. Adler.” She shook Ambrose's hand. “A very important thing.”

Karl and Officer Kimberly put the caged eaglet in the back of the officer's car and headed back toward Link Lake. As they drove, Karl couldn't get the photograph he saw on Ambrose's wall out of his mind. He thought,
I can't believe it. But that woman looks a lot like my mother did when she was young. There is a striking resemblance.

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egions of Stony Field fans wrote hundreds of letters to the Link Lake Economic Development Council, to the Link Lake Village Board, and to the mayor. All pleaded, many insisted, some even threatened—and all had one message. “Reverse your decision. Tell the Alstage Sand Mining Company to get the hell out of Link Lake,” as one writer bluntly put it. The letters, which arrived in bundles and boxes, were mostly unopened and unread. The village officials, with the backing of the Link Lake Economic Development Council, had made up their minds. Since the ruckus over the blown-up drilling machine and the killed eagles, village officials dug in. As one of them said, “By God, we make our own decisions. We sure as hell aren't going to listen to those wild-eyed liberal agitators that this tailender Stony Field stirs up on how we run our village.”

Other than the letters pouring in from all parts of the country, which only a few people knew about, the Village of Link Lake was mostly back to its quiet, bucolic self. Ambrose Adler continued brisk sales of vegetables at his stand with the able assistance of Noah Drake. The Link Lake Supper Club, with its new Lake Coffee Bar, became increasingly popular as bicyclists traveling the bike trail through town stopped for coffee, some pastries, and free Wi-Fi.

About the only change at the Eat Well Café was customers could no longer watch the eagle cam that had become one of the popular attractions. After a few days of discussion about the explosion, the destruction of the eagle nest, and the apparent inevitability of a sand mine coming to the park, most early morning customers at the Eat Well turned to other topics such as wondering who the next president was going to be and whether there was any rain in the forecast.

But not Fred Russo and Oscar Anderson.

“Fred, I don't like it. Don't like it one bit,” said Oscar.

“You complaining about your coffee again, Oscar? I happen to think the coffee is pretty damn good,” said Fred.

“I'm not talkin' about the coffee. I'm talkin' about a feeling I've got.”

“Oh, so now you wanna talk about Old Arthur. You know I got enough of Old Arthur for both of us, you don't have to tell me about yours,” said Fred.

“Dammit, Fred, it's not my arthritis that's keeping me awake these days.”

“Something keepin' you awake, huh? Know what, I got this damn whip-poor-will that sits right outside my bedroom window and calls ‘whip-poor-will, whip-poor-will' all night long.”

Oscar laughed then picked up his coffee cup and took a long drink.

“Remember that column Stony Field wrote asking people to write to the mayor and the village board and some other folks? Have we heard if they got any letters? No, we have not. We don't know if they got one letter or five hundred. I don't trust that bunch. Don't trust any of 'em,” said Oscar.

“So?” said Fred. “Who cares?”

“I, for one, care. And I'll bet Emily Higgins and the rest of the historical society membership cares. Those backers of the sand mine have put a lid on things, and I don't like it. Don't like it one bit,” said Oscar. “I've got a feeling this whole thing is not over—we got us a few weeks before October, which is when the mine is supposed to open. Lots could happen between now and then.”

“Like what?” asked Fred.

“I don't know,” said Oscar. “But I got a feeling. Got a strong feeling.”

“Say, Oscar,” said Fred, changing the subject. “You see that Karl Adams fellow lately? Used to eat breakfast here every morning.”

“I suspect he went into hiding,” said Oscar, chuckling. “A bunch of folks here in Link Lake were fooled by this guy, him not telling us that he worked for the mining company. People around here don't like to be fooled. You bet they don't.”

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ince the big community meeting when everyone learned that Karl Adams worked for the mining company, he ate breakfast every morning at Marilyn Jones's new Lake Coffee Bar, where he didn't have to worry about running into any of the locals. The coffee bar customers were mainly bicyclists passing through town and a growing group of Milwaukee and Chicago people who owned second homes on the lake.