A conservationist in action more than name, Tom Mullen has spent a lifetime stewarding wild spaces, often on his terms, and almost always with his boots on the ground. Born into a multi-generational Camp Fire lineage, he became a non-resident active member in 1980, following in the footsteps of his forefathers. From early on, he was driven not by titles or votes, but by a deep, personal sense of what conservation should be: practical, inclusive, and fiercely accountable.
Over the years, he’s played a role in launching and supporting multiple conservation chapters, including helping to establish his local DU Waterfowl chapter and serving for over four decades as a committee member of Ducks Unlimited. A champion of field-focused organizations, he’s long insisted that funds should flow to habitat, not overhead, a stance he believes Ducks Unlimited has upheld with integrity.
His home in Kempton includes acres of forest, swamp, and a brace of ponds (is this true?), where he actively manages waterfowl habitat by maintaining wood duck boxes and mallard nests. With a healthy respect for the balance of nature, he feeds deer for his wife’s enjoyment, while managing raccoons with a year-round live trap operation, transporting them humanely to nearby state lands (someone told me that about you)
His independent streak has earned him both admiration and misunderstanding. He’s not a “joiner” for affiliation, having stepped away from organizations when they stray from what he sees as common-sense conservation, whether through fundraising gimmicks, exclusionary policies, or misaligned priorities. His critiques are not without conviction: he opposed Save the Adirondacks’ motorized bans, arguing that outdoor spaces should remain accessible to all, and he stood against their opposition to predator contests, contending that ecological management demands pragmatism over optics.
He’s been a vocal critic at Camp Fire and an essential conscience. He challenged decisions around timber cuts, arguing that the wrong trees were being removed, and advocated for a proactive strategy against the hemlock blight. He opposed modernizing the main cabin to preserve its historic integrity and envisioned new structures near the upper lake better suited for emerging uses ( I think you told me that once…). And yet, when the Council Hall replacement came up, he was all-in recognizing the timing and need for action despite his concern over the added exposure to township oversight.
A proud early contributor to the rebooted Conservation Fund, he sees untapped potential in the current generation of members. He believes today’s challenges—bureaucratic inertia, loss of direct connection to land, and fragmented advocacy—could be met if the Club reignites its legacy of bold, member-driven leadership. “We used to set the agenda,” he says. “Now we wait to be invited.”
What he asks of the Fund, and of the Club, is to restore that founding instinct: to sit down together in Ernest, talk through what’s bleeding, and figure out how to stop it. The golden goose, after all, is not limitless.