Minnesota conservation officers know a thing or two about 'family law'

OSAKIS, MINN. – Thickening midday heat and a haze owing in part to Canadian wildfires gave a recent afternoon in west-central Minnesota a sleepy quality. Just beyond a public boat access lot on the edge of downtown, 25-plus-mph wind gusts produced white rollers, undeterred across Lake Osakis. Anglers were quiet, too.

Still, while it wasn't a day to make her rounds on the water, it remained one full of possibilities for Felicia Znajda — the modus operandi of a Minnesota conservation officer.

"It can be something new every day," she said.

Soon thereafter came proof. Znajda drove to speak with a resident who suspected he had an injured osprey on his lake property. On cue while the two went in search, the bird materialized and perched on a grounded dock, before lifting off for some faraway treetops. She had prepared to enlist a local veterinarian clinic, contracted with the Raptor Center, if needed, but the bird appeared fine.

Back on the road and between inspecting smaller lakes in the area, Znajda (pronounced za-NAY-da) pulled over to gather string from the new report of two dead grouse, believed shot, on a back road near Nevis. The incident was out of her territory, but she knew her colleagues in that area were off-duty. Getting some details fresh from a resident who came upon the grouse could aid any investigation later.

Znajda, even-keeled and thoughtful, embraces all of it. The work is in her DNA. In her first year on the job, she is a third-generation conservation officer (CO), following the path of her father Pat and grandfather Ted.

"It's honestly been above and beyond my expectations," said Znajda, 28, whose journey to Osakis began with an undergraduate degree in criminal justice from the University of North Dakota and work as a police officer in East Grand Forks, Minn. She graduated from the CO academy last September and, after four months of field training, was assigned to Osakis.

Closer to the truth: her journey began in the orbit of her father and for a brief time her grandpa. Ted Znajda worked for three decades stationed in Warren, Minn., beginning in 1959, where he and his wife raised their family. He died in 2000 at age 76.

After a stint in police departments and a long career in the State Patrol, Pat began as a CO at the Karlstad station, southwest of Roseau. He became a lieutenant and later was a captain supervising officers in District 1 in the Baudette area. He was a program manager handling the DNR Enforcement Division's mobile response team when he retired last October.

The Znadjas' story is unique but not uncommon. Like some professions, familial connections abound among conservation officers, still known as game wardens depending on the generation. In the past 20 years, there have been nearly 20 cases of multiple generations of Minnesota families, from fathers and sons to grandfathers and grandsons, according to the Enforcement Division. Too, there have four married couples in the field.

Pat, who also has a son, Taylor, in the State Patrol, said he never nudged his children toward law enforcement, but he was inspired unequivocally as a little kid shadowing his father.

"There was no doubt my dad was my hero, and I wanted to be a game warden," Pat said. "It took me a while to get there, but that is truly what I wanted to be." He worked for two police departments and was a state patrolman before becoming a CO in 2005.

Pat's collection of vintage game warden badges is a tangible reminder that, like them, the job has evolved. Hunting and fishing enforcement was his father's bread and butter, and for him early in his career. He recalled, too, that his dad's purview involved picking up roadkill and, for example, destroying the occasional problematic beaver dam. Pat's career overlapped with the rise of recreation around all-terrain vehicles, snowmobiling and personal watercraft.

"All of that constantly changes. Who knows what the future will bring?"

Regardless, Felicia finds fuel out of uniform, too. Her grandfather balanced his law enforcement life with regular and frequent hunting and fishing trips to Alaska, beginning in the 1980s. The seeds were planted in his kids and grandkids, and she has continued that legacy — she recently returned from a monthlong trip to fish coho salmon on the Kenai Peninsula, where she basecamps on a friend's property.

In fact, she saw herself as a possible wildlife officer in Alaska during her college years. Then, as her career in law enforcement crystallized, she realized she could feed her love of both Alaska and Minnesota. Staying home felt right.

"Being a Minnesota game warden while being able to enjoy the outdoors in Alaska is truly like a dream," she added.

For now, she continues to learn where the good fishing spots are — in any season — and where violations might pop up. That education comes from cultivating relationships with superiors and colleagues and establishing a good rapport in the Osakis community. Some parts of CO work are elemental to success, the era irrelevant.

Advice passed down from grandfather to son to grandchildren resonates.

"They've always preached, treat people how you wanted to be treated, even if they don't treat you that way. And I have always lived by that and go by that," Felicia said.

"When I was a cop, that [experience] was some people's worst day of their lives. Even if they weren't treating me the best, I always treated them how I would like to be treated."