Chapter 6
Six
The wildlife and its habitat cannot speak, so we must and we will.
—Theodore Roosevelt
Later that evening, lying in bed with a book on her chest, too exhausted to hold the book aloft, Kate couldn’t shake the scorn she’d received from the other photographers. She had tried to defend herself, to not take it to heart, but these last two days had given her a rude awakening to reality. While she had observed all kinds of animal behavior at the zoo, and she’d had the opportunity to photograph rare species, the truth was that she had no idea what it took to be a wildlife photographer. She’d planned for everything—the right equipment, the right clothing, the right venues. But she couldn’t plan for unpredictability. She couldn’t fake experience.
That was the difference between being a photographer of animals in the zoo or in the wild. Predictability.
Kate had grown up immersed in a family that upheld the tradition of predictability. Both parents were history professors at American University in Washington DC, and her older brother was diligently following their lead by pursuing an academic career. Their house in Alexandria, Virginia, a six-generation relic on the historical registry, bore witness to the family’s aversion to change. Even the wallpaper remained untouched, a nod to their steadfast commitment to the Cunningham Way of Life—safe, risk-free, and firmly grounded in the past.
Kate tried to fit in, but she was definitely a square peg in a round hole. It might not have been obvious to outsiders, but to anyone in the family, it was clear as day. She wanted to carve out her own path, find her own way. The family’s way just wasn’t going to cut it for her.
Unlike Kate’s brilliant brother and parents, school posed a lot of challenges for her. Rather than attending a traditional four-year college, her only option was a community college, much to her mother’s mortification. With an uncertainty about her vocation, Kate explored various classes until she stumbled upon photography. It was recognition from her instructor, who saw promise in her work, that marked a pivotal moment in her life.
With encouragement from the instructor and with his help, she embarked on a career of photography. Freelance, of course. Birthday parties, bar mitzvahs, a super casual wedding. One job led to another and another. She’d finally found something she excelled at.
The turning point came with a gig at the zoo, and just like that— boom —everything came into focus. She was hooked. Capturing animals became a thrilling pursuit. She felt she had grown to understand the creatures in the zoo, and she loved them dearly. She recognized their patterns, their habits. But there were no untold stories in a zoo. She had learned all she could from the zoo about wild animals. It was time to start applying her learning to the actual wilderness.
And then, six months ago, she’d learned about Grizzly Bear 399 for the first time. Consumed by curiosity, she delved into every available piece of information about her. For the first time, stirred by the tale of this grizzly, Kate yearned to confront the unknown. She’d done a deep dive into grizzly bears—their behavior, habitat, patterns, and everything she could learn about 399 (hours and hours of watching bear videos). She’d worked out to build her endurance and learned some survival skills (maybe not as many as she should have). She’d bought the Sony Alpha (maybe hadn’t quite mastered it, but she was getting there). But she hadn’t thought to study the fieldcraft—how different it would be with animals in the wild.
For that, she was getting a crash course.
Thoughts of photographing 399 in Grand Teton National Park, finding a shot that no one else had yet taken of her, occupied Kate’s mind incessantly. She planned to quit the zoo and head to the park, supporting herself as a freelance photographer ... until her parents, horrified, strongly objected. Kate compromised (caved in?) and agreed to use her vacation time at the park. For now.
Her phone rang, and she glanced at caller ID. Oliver. She let out a deep sigh. She couldn’t talk to him now, not when she was exhausted, needed a shower, and even more importantly, was feeling insecure. He’d sniff out her self-doubt and make it worse.
She remembered when she had first told Oliver about her plans to go to the Grand Tetons. They were sitting on her couch (Always at her place. Never at his. She’d never even seen where he lived. He traveled so often that he said his apartment was bare-bones. Modest and messy. She doubted it, though. Oliver was the kind of guy who never had a hair out of place, who even had his jeans dry cleaned.) and she was showing him her portfolio of animals taken at the zoo. When she came to the photos of the brown bears, she told him about her idea to photograph Grizzly 399 in the wild.
Amusement decorated his face, but there was something else behind his eyes, lingering just for a moment. He actually seemed intrigued. “Tell me more.”
So she did.
“The most famous bear in the world, you say? And you think there haven’t been enough photographs of it?”
“Well ... I guess it’s about finding a photograph that tells a new story about her.”
“Perhaps you should try a less challenging subject.”
“Why?” she’d asked.
“You’ve never gone camping. You’ve never gone hiking, for that matter. You live in a city.”
“Urban skills can translate to the wilderness.”
He gave her a look as if to say, Are you joking?
But she wasn’t joking. She really believed that city life had given her survival skills. Flexibility, heightened awareness, adaptability.
“What are you going to do when the weather gets bad?”
“What do you mean?”
“You spend rainy weekends at the Smithsonian. Hot ones too.”
Well, sure. She lived in Virginia where summers were beastly hot. Where rain could come down like bullets. “I can manage a little rain. Besides, I’m not expecting this to take very long. I just need to get the right photograph.”
He sighed. “Then I’ll come with you.”
No.
No, no, and no.
“Thank you, but I need to do this on my own.” Kate appreciated Oliver’s offer, but she needed to tackle this project solo. If he tagged along, it would become his show entirely. He’d be convinced he had all the answers—lighting, location, everything. In his mind, he could probably even control the bear if given the chance ... and knowing him, he might just pull it off.
She needed space from Oliver. Time to think. She’d felt this way for a while now, and those feelings were only growing stronger. A couple of times, she’d suggested that they take a break, but he always cajoled her into staying in the relationship, staying committed. He was big on that—hanging in there, remaining faithful. Good times or bad. That’s what God wanted from them, he would remind her.
His own father had abandoned their family and Oliver was determined to be a different kind of man. He was big on men being men. On not abandoning others. He would get tears in his eyes when he talked about his dad’s departure from the family, and Kate would cave in.
Kate had known Oliver for about six months, having met at the zoo one quiet afternoon when she was photographing a black bear for the zoo’s annual calendar. They chatted for a long while, especially about their mutual interest in bears. Then he pointed to the logo on her T-shirt and said he happened to attend the same church. It was a large church, with a lot of young people, but she was surprised she hadn’t noticed him, or that her friends hadn’t. He was that good looking. He asked for her phone number, a bit brash for having just met, and she politely turned him down. That Sunday at church, he was seated a few rows away from her. After the service, he came over to say hello. He asked her out for coffee, but again, she said no. He just came on so strong. The following Sunday, he asked again. This time, she agreed to go out with him.
Over coffee, he told her that when he had first seen her at the zoo, he sensed God telling him that she was the one meant for him. It was a pretty heady thing to hear from someone like Oliver, the kind of guy women drooled over. Strikingly handsome in a preppy way, confident, charismatic, successful. He was everything most any girl would ever want in a guy. Kate’s friends reminded her of that very thing over and over.
But here’s the thing: God had never told Kate that Oliver was the one for her. She felt as if she didn’t have a choice in the matter. He was calling her his girlfriend long before she was ready. That’s the way it had always been with them—he was way ahead of her.
“Look,” she had told him. “I want to do this on my own, Oliver. Besides, you’re allergic to the outdoors.”
“Just to trees. And anything that blooms.”
“It’s spring. Everything is blooming right now or just about to. You’d be miserable.”
“Katie-Kat. Think.”
She cringed. She really didn’t like that nickname. She’d told him that it sounded childish, but he brushed off her objection, insisting it was a term of endearment.
“How are you going to know where to go to find this bear? You’ve never been to Wyoming.”
“I have a guidebook.”
He burst out laughing.
She blew out a puff of air. “I can do this. I want to do this. It’ll make me brave.”
“Kate, you’re the least brave person I know. You scream when you see spiders.”
Well, spiders were creepy. But saying she wasn’t brave was hard to hear.
“How can you think that you’re going to get a photograph of a wild grizzly bear?”
Imagine what he’d have to say tonight if she told him that she had fallen into the river while photographing otters, forgotten to silence her phone while trying to catch sight of 399, and was now tagged as Zoo Girl by the truly professional wildlife photographers.
Pathetic. She was pathetic.
She rolled over and set the book she’d been trying to read on the nightstand. It was well past dinnertime, but she was too frustrated to feel hungry. The weight of the reason she’d come to Grand Teton filled her gut with a thunk . Who was she fooling? She should go home and photograph puppies and kittens for the rest of her life.
Her phone buzzed, and she glanced at the incoming text. Oliver. Again. Impatient, as always.
Why am I thinking like this?
She let out a deep sigh and read his text. So many of her friends would give anything for a boyfriend who communicated constantly. To Kate, Oliver’s persistence made her feel caged. Scrolling through his long text message, she couldn’t shake the sense of being cornered.
Tim Rivers left a hastily scribbled note on the worn kitchen table, ensuring his granddaughter Maisie knew he’d be away for a few hours and to help herself to breakfast. The early morning sun was just starting to paint the sky with hues of pink and gold as he stepped outside, the cold mountain air awakening his senses. Another tip about a possible poacher had disrupted the tranquility of the morning. Sally woke him out of a sound sleep to insist that he head over to Willow Flats to investigate. Normally, protocol dictated that rangers went out in teams for safety and efficiency, so Tim suggested bringing Coop along, a reliable partner in the field.
Sally’s response had been sharp, cutting through the air like a sudden gust of wind. “No,” she said. “He’s needed at Pilgrim Creek this morning. Then I told him to head over to the Gros Ventre River to check on the wolf rendezvous site. I’d go with you myself, but I have an important early morning meeting. You’d better save some time and get up there now. Oh, and before you leave Willow Flats, I want you to put signage up to restrict the area from public access.”
“That seems a little rash.” Unless there was a specific reason to do so, Sally had always been reluctant to restrict the public from what she considered America’s land.
“Tim, hon, I wish you wouldn’t question my decisions.”
“How about if you hold off on that decision until I find out what’s going on at Willow Flats?”
“How about if you ,” she said, her high voice curt and uncharacteristically tense, “do what I say and stop second-guessing me?” On that note, she hung up.
Not a good start to the day.
The coordinates provided by the informant led Tim deep into the wilderness, the trail meandering through thick foliage. As he navigated the terrain, his mind couldn’t help but circle back to his conversation with Sally. There was an edge in her voice that unsettled him.
The ringing alarm in Tim’s head grew louder. Going alone to confront a potential poacher was a deviation from established safety protocols. Sally knew this well; she had emphasized the importance of teamwork in a recent talk to the seasonal rangers. Her decision left Tim with a nagging sense of unease. What early morning meeting could have been so important?
Added to that was Sally’s urgent insistence that she be the first to know when Grizzly 399 was spotted. She wanted a direct call on her cell, avoiding radio communication to prevent eavesdropping.
If something was bothering Sally, why hadn’t she confided in him? He thought they were friends. More than friends.
After his wife had died, Tim never thought he’d feel the stirrings of romance for another woman. He’d had a great love, and memories of Mary were enough to live on for the rest of his life.
But then he met Sally Janus. She was nothing like his wife, not in looks or personality or demeanor, yet he found himself rather ... smitten. Perhaps it was their mutual love of the great outdoors, something Mary had never fully embraced. Or maybe it was just sharing this mid-century time of life that ignited the spark. Something clicked between them last summer, and the spark caught fire.
All winter, things had been progressing rather nicely. They ate dinner together nearly every night. They spent their days off together, snowmobiling, skiing at all three nearby ski resorts—Snow King, Jackson Hole, and Grand Targhee—or just relaxing in front of the fireplace. They talked about everything—their love of the national parks, their plans to visit every single one of them in their retirement years. A month or so ago, he had noticed a shift in their discussions of the future. They spoke as a couple, in plural. “We’ve never been to Banff in Canada. That should top the list.” Or “First summer after retirement, we ’re heading to Alaska to see all eight national parks.”
Then, two weeks ago, Sally returned from an annual meeting of NPS chief rangers, directors, and superintendents in Yellowstone and now seemed distant, a little cool toward him. He’d asked her if anything was wrong, but she insisted she was just preoccupied with the opening of the park. He wondered if he’d done something or said something. Had he pushed too far when he brought up combining a Christmas trip to Florida to see the Everglades with a visit to his eighty-five-year-old mother? Had that freaked her out? He wondered. He planned to bring it up at dinner one evening this week, until Maisie, his all-consuming darling of a granddaughter, had entered the picture. Quiet, romantic dinners with Sally were off the calendar for the duration.
He shook off his frustration. Approaching the given coordinates, Tim took a moment, taking in the breathtaking scenery around him before shifting into ranger mode. Personal musings were pushed aside as he focused on the task at hand. Duty, in the form of investigating potential poaching, demanded his attention now.
As the sun rose in the sky, he searched the area for telltale signs that someone had been there. He saw no footprints or tire tracks in remote areas, no illegal camping, no sign of traps or snares or firearms. No evidence of recent kills or carcasses. No blood stains. Poachers were in a hurry and usually left behind valuable clues. Traces of bait or attractants used to lure animals, disturbances in wildlife habitats, or even litter. A few years ago, he had tracked down the identity of a poacher from fingerprints left on a candy wrapper.
Two hours later, after thoroughly combing Willow Flats, Tim found no signs of the reported poacher. Nothing. Frustration weighed on him as he retraced his steps. Before heading to his car, he radioed Sally.
“Ranger Janus here,” her voice crackled through the radio.
“Hey, Sally. It’s Tim. I’ve been out searching the area, but no sign of any poacher.”
“You were supposed to call me on my cell.”
“That would require cell reception,” he said, sounding a little testy himself. He was cold and hungry, and had spent hours chasing a bad lead. “And where I am, I’m lucky that the radio is working.”
She sighed. “No sign of her?”
“Who? The poacher?” A female? That would be unusual.
“399.”
“No.” His brow furrowed. “Sally, is that why you sent me out here? To look for 399?” The frustration was evident in his voice.
“You were sent to investigate a poacher tip,” she said, her words clipped and businesslike. “That’s why I need direct communication, off the radio. We can’t risk information leaks.”
“There’s no leak because there’s no poacher in this vicinity, Ranger Janus.”
A heavy pause lingered before Sally spoke again. “Thank you for checking, Tim,” she said, a little softer. Then back came her no-nonsense voice. “Head over to Gros Ventre River and inform Coop that he will be giving the ranger talk tonight.”
“Coop? He’ll balk at that.”
“It’s your job to make him want to do it. Tell him he can pick any topic he wants. Over and out.” She ended the call abruptly.
Tim sighed, stowing his radio away. As he started toward the valley, he wondered if there was more to Sally’s prickliness than met the eye. He wondered if she might be giving him the elbow.
Maisie slept late that morning. When she read Pops’s note, she ate breakfast and thought about her day. She had hours and hours with nothing to do, so she put on her yellow puffy down jacket and decided to go for a bicycle ride, borrowing Pops’s bike again. She didn’t think he’d mind, though the bike was too big for her. The seat was awkward. The handlebars were too wide apart. It took her a while to get the hang of it. Once she could get moving along, she was okay. Starting and stopping were the tricky parts. Worth it, though. She loved exploring the park on two wheels, feeling the rush of wind against her face as she passed by towering trees and stunning vistas. The faster she went, the easier the bike was to manage.
As Maisie rounded a sharp bend in the path, her attention drifted for just a second. Those towering trees lining the trail were seriously mesmerizing. Lost in their beauty, she totally missed the two figures standing right in the middle of the bike path.
At the last second, the unsuspecting pair saw Maisie coming straight for them and stumbled backward to get out of the way. Maisie lost control of the bicycle and crashed, landing in a heap on the ground with a startled cry. She rolled over and checked her bleeding knees and elbows. “Ouch, ouch, ouch.”
“Kid, are you okay?”
Maisie looked up to see two people, both rangers in official uniform, staring down at her. The man was crazy tall, his stiff ranger hat making him even taller. And the other one was a tiny woman whose head was almost entirely swallowed up by her ranger hat.
And she looked mad . “Honey,” the tiny ranger said, in a tone of voice that didn’t match the soft word, “you need to watch where you’re going.”
The crazy tall ranger nodded in agreement, a wry smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Yeah, my sister always said I didn’t make a very good speed bump. Too skinny.”
Maisie scrambled to her feet. “Oops, my bad. This bike’s new to me. It’s not a new bike, obviously.” In fact, it was pretty ancient. “It belongs to Pops. He’s my grandfather. Well, not really. Not officially. He was married to my grandmother, but I never knew her and I’ve always known Pops.” Maisie cringed inwardly at her own chatter, knowing she should zip it. In the best of times, she knew she was ... how did Pops word it? “Blessed with the gift of conversation.” But when nerves kicked in, Maisie’s mouth turned into a runaway train, and there was no stopping the word avalanche. Like now, with the tiny ranger eyeballing her like she’d committed a felony. Just as Maisie started to explain more, the tiny ranger held up her tiny hand like a stop sign.
“Hon, just be more careful next time,” she said, before turning to walk away with the tall ranger in tow.
As Maisie watched them go, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she had seen the tiny woman somewhere before. Then it hit her like a bolt of lightning. She hopped on her bike, which took a little time to properly maneuver, and pedaled fast to catch up with them.
“You’re Sally Janus!” Maisie called out, hoping to stop them. “I met you last year when I was visiting Pops.”
The tiny ranger stopped in her tracks, turning to look at Maisie with surprise. “Who is Pops?”
“Ranger Tim Rivers.”
“Tim Rivers is your grandfather?”
Maisie nodded eagerly, a grin spreading across her face. “Yep, that’s him!”
Recognition lit Sally Janus’s face. “Why, you’re Maisie!”
“That’s me!”
“You’ve sure changed a lot since last summer.” Sally’s expression softened considerably, and she gave Maisie a warm smile. “Well, it’s sure nice to see you again, hon. Your grandfather talks about you all the time. He’s a fine ranger. One of the best.”
“Thanks!” Maisie beamed, feeling a surge of pride at the praise for Pops. She slid her backpack off to unzip it and look for her favorite picture of her and her grandfather. She wanted to show it to Sally Janus. While she hunted through her backpack, she chattered away about how she spent a portion of every summer with Pops. “Ever since I was little,” she said. “Pops always wants me to spend a couple of weeks with him each summer, in whatever national park he’s been assigned to.” She dug through the backpack until she found the picture. “Here it is!” She looked up.
But Sally Janus and the tall ranger were gone.
Wade Schmidt’s standards were sky-high, he was well aware of that. But the moment he met Feldmann, he felt a hitch in his gut. The thing that bothered Wade the most was how tall Feldmann was. Memorably tall.
Memorability was the last thing Wade wanted to be associated with. He used different disguises when traveling, both internationally and domestically, and had quite the collection of driver’s licenses and passports. Thanks to his impressive acting skills and knack for accents, he could easily slip into various roles. It was all part of the game.
He tapped his fingers rhythmically on the small desk in his dimly lit hotel room. All around him were topographical maps of the park, satellite images, weather reports, and various other pieces of critical information. His eyes narrowed as he studied the detailed maps of Grand Teton National Park, etching into his mind every contour, every creek, every trail.
He checked the latest weather report again, noting the forecasted conditions for the coming days. Afternoon storms were common in the mountains. Rain could be an advantage, masking his scent. He knew not to underestimate a bear’s keen sense of smell. But rain had its drawback—it made tracking paw prints and scat more difficult.
Calculated planning before the execution was half the fun for Wade. Hunters often said that the toughest part was the waiting game, especially when it came to glassing—sitting still at a prime spot for hours on end, staying alert for that perfect moment when your target makes an appearance. Glassing separated the men from the boys.
For Wade, the waiting game wasn’t a challenge at all. In fact, he relished it. He understood the value of patience in hunting—it was what set him apart. Unlike many of his peers who relied on technology like animal calls from their phones, Wade preferred the old-school approach, even to the point of spreading musk all over to cover his scent. To him, there was no thrill in using gadgets to shortcut the chase. Waiting patiently for the right moment was where the real excitement lay.
Anticipation built as he visualized the hunt in his mind, preparing for every scenario. He imagined the thrill of tracking 399, the world’s most famous grizzly bear. It was all about strategy, patience, and precision. A game of cat and mouse. The cat always won.
And Wade was the cat.