November 3, 1997. Maine's fall election campaign was in its last gasp and a surfeit of warm air blew over the entire state. At 8 o'clock that morning, Gus Libby, in his shirtsleeves, turned a long-handled wrench to open the drain valve and begin the much-anticipated restoration of Colby's Johnson Pond.     Supervisor of mechanical services and wise in the ways of rusted gears, Gus was ready. For days he had been dosing the apparatus with Kroil ("The Oil That Creeps"). That, plus some heat from an oxy-acetylene torch and a few good whacks with a brass hammer, got the water flowing through a 20-inch underground pipe to the far side of the soccer field where it surfaced in an old gully and gushed on to the Messalonskee Stream.     Back at the outlet, a single ring-billed gull back-pedaled in the current, watching Gus with a wary eye. It was easy to tell she was disgusted. [CONTINUE] Text and Photos by Earl Smith