Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 73947 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 370(@200wpm)___ 296(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73947 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 370(@200wpm)___ 296(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
The question is why.
We break for lunch in a sheltered patch of sun below the junction, and like the previous days, the brothers eat like men accustomed to taking fuel where they can get it. No fuss, no time wasted.
Right after I finish the last bite of my sandwich, Boone hands me a packet of dried mango. “I brought too much.”
I don’t believe him, but I take it anyway. “Thank you.”
He studies me. “You sound like it pains you to accept it.”
“I don’t like taking other people’s supplies.”
“You’re not. I offered.” The way he smiles at me nearly makes me forget what we’re talking about.
“You might need it later.”
“I have more.”
From several feet away, Cade tosses another packet into Boone’s lap with perfect accuracy.
Boone holds it up. “See?”
Rhett opens a protein bar with his teeth and doesn’t say anything, but I swear the corners of his serious mouth twitch.
As I chew a piece of the mango, there’s a distant crack of something moving through the brush.
Cade pauses mid-bite, and Boone’s smile fades a fraction. All three men go still as we listen. Ready, not frozen.
A few seconds later, a black bear ambles out between the trees, maybe fifty yards downslope. Its head is low, the dark fur lit by the sun. It’s medium-sized, maybe a younger adult, and it’s not moving toward us.
Without speaking, the four of us watch it move across the slope. My hand shifts toward the bear spray, but only out of habit.
The bear lifts its head, pauses long enough for me to hear my pulse in my ears, then continues on its way until it’s out of sight.
Boone exhales quietly. “That’s one way to interrupt lunch.”
“He wasn’t interested in us,” I say.
“Can’t imagine why not. We’re delightful.”
It was good to see the bear. Wildlife isn’t entirely gone from the area, but it’s following different patterns, for reasons I have yet to discover.
After lunch, we climb.
From below, the ridgeline looks close, but it isn’t. The approach is steep, and by the time we arrive at the first overlook, the back of my shirt is damp with sweat, and my thighs are complaining loudly.
The view, however, is worth it.
The mountains roll out in hues of blue and green, their peaks still streaked with white. After enjoying the view for a minute, I pull out my binoculars and get to work.
It doesn’t take long to spot the first raptor nest, which is exactly where the survey said it would be. It’s in a prime location, tucked in a rocky outcrop with a commanding view over the slope below. It’s protected from most ground predators and has good visibility and a good hunting range.
And it’s empty. There’s no adult circling, nor any signs of recent use. The second site is the same, and so is the third.
When I lower my binoculars, the back of my neck feels tight.
“Bad?” Rhett asks.
I keep my eyes on the ridge. “Not good.”
After I enter my observations in my notebook, we drop from the ridgeline down to an old trail junction, and that’s where I find the stone.
It’s at the base of a ponderosa pine, flat-faced and pale against the darker soil. A faint discoloration across its surface is what catches my attention.
When I stop, Boone stops with me, then Rhett and Cade stop, too. They watch as I take photos, make notes, and bring out my sample kit. After putting gloves on, I collect residue from the stone and soil samples from the base of it, where runoff would collect, then label each container with the date, time, and GPS coordinates.
Rhett crouches several feet away. “Do you know what it is?”
“No.” It could be a dozen things, like illegal baiting, dumped fuel from unauthorized vehicle use, or something left by careless hikers or hunters who don’t abide by the “Leave No Trace” rule. Whatever it is, it doesn’t belong here.
“I’ll send these through my supervisor to the lab,” I say. “Field tests won’t tell me enough, and I don’t want to contaminate the report with guesses.”
“Smart.” Boone says it plainly, with no charm or teasing, and warmth spreads in my chest.
I focus on the sample bag before my reaction can show on my face. “It’s procedure.”
“It’s still smart.”
When I’m finished, Cade is looking down the corridor like he sees something.
“What is it?” I ask.
He’s quiet for so long I’m not sure he heard me, but then he says, “This line runs toward an old road.” He nods toward the trees. “It’s not used much anymore. Overgrown and washed out, but you can reach it from here if you know the ground.”
I look at the trail junction, then the slope, and the direction of the passes above us. My map is in my pack, but I don’t need to unfold it to picture the lines connecting.