Chapter 7
Seven
For one that comes into the wilderness with a pencil to sketch or sing, a thousand come with an axe or rifle.
—Henry David Thoreau, American philosopher
The midday sun beat down on Coop as he rambled through a meadow that led up to the Gros Ventre River, tracking a set of gray wolf prints. Helped by circling vultures, Coop spotted the remains of an elk calf that had been taken down during the night. He was pretty sure the wolf to whom these prints belonged was responsible for the carnage.
Coop had to admire the survival skills of wolves. They used to roam the area freely, but ranchers put an end to that. When they were reintroduced to nearby Yellowstone Park in 1995, a pack wandered down to Grand Teton and denned there, producing a litter of pups, the first in the park in over seventy years. Now, they were permanent residents in the neighborhood. At last count, over six packs were in the park. Over forty-three wolves and counting.
Coop was tracking this wolf to find its rendezvous site, which was closer to the river than he originally thought. He considered recommending an enclosure around the site to minimize human disturbance to the wolves. After abandoning their dens, wolves tended to stay in one area for pup-raising activities. In the fall, mothers and pups would start to travel through the territories, moving as a pack.
The steady rush of the Gros Ventre River provided a serene backdrop, and Coop reveled in the solitude, relishing the sounds of nature. Such moments had gone missing for him this summer. When awake, Frankie was a perpetual noise machine—tapping his hands like drums to the blaring music in his earbuds or ranting about the world’s troubles. When asleep, his snoring rivaled that of a buzz saw.
As Coop neared the river, he spotted a couple of human footprints on the bank, as if they walked in the river and stepped onto the bank, then back into the river. He turned in a circle, wondering if these individuals might have been following the wolf’s tracks, like he was. And if so, why.
His thoughts went immediately to the poacher threat that Tim had told him about. There was a thriving black market for wolf pups. He studied the footprints again. One was large. He guessed it must be at least a male’s size 13 or 14. Bigger than his size 12, that was for sure. The other footprint was small. A female? Maybe a child? Both boots had thick tread. He took pictures of the footprints and thought he’d check at HQ to see if there’d been any chatter about wolf poaching. He heard someone call out and looked up. Two fly fishermen stood in the river, casting their lines. Wearing waders. Thick treads on the soles. He peered through his binoculars. A man and a woman. Coop sighed and deleted the footprints from his phone.
Tim’s poacher talk was getting to him. Turning him into the park’s meter maid. Suspicious about everybody.
Seeing the fishermen’s waders reminded Coop of yesterday’s encounter with that cute photographer. Kate Cunningham. He chuckled to himself, thinking of how she tried to hold on to her dignity after a dunk in the river. His smile faded as he remembered the mocking she’d received from the other shutterbugs. When he got back to his room last evening, he chewed Frankie out for telling the others that Kate worked as a zoo photographer.
He wondered if, after that humiliating moment, Kate might’ve packed up and gone home. She wasn’t at Pilgrim Creek this morning. He knew because he had looked for her amongst the other photographers. She wasn’t there, but neither was 399. The bear still hadn’t been sighted. Even Coop was starting to worry that the old sow didn’t make it through the long winter.
Suddenly, his thoughts were interrupted by a familiar voice. He turned to see Tim Rivers strolling toward him, a wide grin plastered on his face. He liked Tim, liked him a lot, but he knew that grin meant trouble.
“Coop! Just the man I wanted to see,” Tim said, clapping Coop on the back with a force that nearly sent him stumbling. “Got a minute?”
“Do I have a choice?”
“Nope. I’ve got some fantastic news for you,” Tim said, rubbing his hands together as if about to unveil a grand surprise.
“Why do I doubt that?” He cast a longing glance back at the wolf tracks.
“You, my friend, are going to be our star attraction at tonight’s evening ranger talk.”
Coop’s eyes narrowed. “I hope you’re kidding.”
“I’m not,” Tim said, a touch too cheerfully. “The ranger who was supposed to give the talk is down and out with a nasty stomach virus. Sally wants you to step in.”
He felt sympathy for the poor ranger, but much more for himself. “Tim, I’m here to manage the bears and protect the park. Not to entertain tourists.”
“Part of a ranger’s job is to educate visitors. That’s why Stephen Mather relieved the army from the task of protecting the parks when he became the first director for the national parks. Second task was to implement rangers. Greet and educate, that was his mantra.”
Coop sighed. Stephen Mather, Tim’s hero. John Muir, a close second. He quoted them endlessly. “You’re talking to the wrong ranger.”
“Coop, you’re a teacher. You talk to people all the time.”
Tim seemed oblivious to Coop’s dismay. “And that’s exactly why I’m here—to escape that.” He let out a sigh. “You know how much I prefer the company of grizzlies to people.”
“Well, here’s your chance to enlighten the public about your favorite topic. Sally said you can choose to talk about anything you want. Tell the visitors everything you know about bears. That’s all you have to do. Give a bear talk.”
Tim wasn’t backing down.
A voice piped up from behind them. “Did I hear there’s going to be a talk about bears?”
Coop whirled around to see that photographer, Kate, standing about two feet away from him, an intrigued expression on her face. Man, she really was pretty. So far, he’d only seen her at dawn or at dusk. This was the first time in broad daylight. He felt his heart rate quicken a bit.
“Perfect timing,” Tim said, gesturing toward Coop. “Ranger Cooper is going to give the first evening ranger talk for the season about bears. Tonight.”
Kate’s eyes lit up. “That sounds interesting.”
“It will be. I’d be hard pressed to find anyone at the park who is more knowledgeable about bears than this man.” Tim looked at Coop. “So I’ll tell Sally that you’re on board and the topic is bears, right?”
Coop hesitated, glancing at Kate, before giving Tim a nod. “Yeah, yeah. Sure.”
Tim’s eyes went from Coop’s to Kate’s and back to Coop’s, before landing on Kate. “I’m Ranger Tim Rivers. I see from the camera around your neck that you’re a photographer. This is a great time to be at the park, before crowds come. Lots of wildlife in the area.”
Kate smiled. “Ranger Cooper has been helping me find the right places to be at the right time.”
“Has he, now?” Tim’s voice was full of delight. “So, then, you two have already met.”
Coop cringed. He avoided Tim’s eyes.
“Well, that sounds typical of our highly esteemed Ranger Cooper. Always willing to help out.” Tim slapped Coop on the back, a little too hard. He grinned at Kate, a little too happy. “So I’ll save you a seat right up front tonight.” He started to walk away but stopped and turned. “Sally wants a title for the talk. What do you want to call it?”
“A title?” Coop hated this kind of thing. “How about ... something like ... ‘information on bears so you don’t get mauled to death in your sleep.’”
Tim grimaced. “We’re not trying to scare visitors right out of the park.”
“Here’s one,” Kate said. “‘Be Bear Aware.’ Oh, wait ... here’s another idea. ‘Bear Necessities.’”
Tim wagged a finger at her. “Young lady, I like the way you think.” He lifted a hand in the air. “Almost forgot. It’s to be held at the Jenny Lake Visitor Center. Seven o’clock.” He paused and looked around the river. “Where’s Frankie?”
“Probably still sleeping,” Coop said. “He said it’s his day off.”
Tim grinned. “Specially assigned interns don’t get a day off. I’ll go wake him up.”
“That’s another thing, Tim. Since when is there such a role as a specially assigned intern? And why is he assigned to me?”
But Tim was already walking away and lifted his hand in a parting wave.
Coop frowned at his retreating back.
“I can’t wait to hear your talk tonight.”
Coop turned to Kate, ready to say something clever, and got caught up in the blue whirlpool of her eyes. Seriously, what color were those eyes? Blue like a calm tropical sea. Blue like the sky on a perfect summer day. His brain, usually on point, just went poof in the face of those eyes. All he could muster was a nod, playing it off like a total bobblehead. An awkward silence followed.
“Well,” Kate said, “I’ll be off, then.”
She started off, and suddenly Coop’s mind erupted with words. “You weren’t there.”
She stopped and turned, a question on her face. “Where?”
“Pilgrim Creek. You weren’t there this morning.”
“I overslept. I didn’t get to bed until after midnight. I was photographing some elk in a meadow with a full moon behind them ... and it was just ... magical.” She gazed up at the sky. “This place. I can’t explain how I feel here. I am so overwhelmed with ... well, with gratitude to God for creating such a place. For giving me the gift of experiencing it.” Suddenly embarrassed, she dropped her head.
“I agree. Completely. I feel that same way when I drive through those gates in May.”
She took a few steps toward him. “You’re not a year-round ranger?”
He shook his head. “I’m a high school biology teacher from September to May.”
She smiled. “No kidding? Do you like being a ranger?”
“I do. I love it. Being out in nature is my passion. And being a ranger lets me protect nature. People give rangers a lot of respect.” He tipped his hat. “My theory is that it’s the uniform. There’s something about wearing the uniform that makes people stand up straighter. Sometimes I think teachers should wear one.”
She laughed. Pleased, he grinned. She was easy to talk to.
“But you like being a teacher too?”
“I do. I like being both. But if I had my druthers, I’d be a full-time Jenny Lake Ranger.”
“Is it much different from what you’re doing now?”
“Yeah, it really is. They’re a highly trained search and rescue team. Very James Bond.”
Kate laughed. He liked making her laugh.
“Have you ever applied to be a full-time ranger?”
His smile faded. “No.”
“Because...”
“For a lot of reasons. It’s really hard to get hired full-time, especially if there’s a specific park you want to work in.” He felt a little sting, as if he could hear Emma asking him the same question. “Why are you so afraid of change?” she would ask him. “Why can ’t you just try something? What’s the big deal?”
He didn’t know why he was so resistant to risk. Kind of ironic, considering he was in the bear management business. But the truth was, if he applied to be a full-time Jenny Lake Ranger and was rejected, it would crush him. Sour him on being a seasonal ranger, which he loved.
It was easier not to try.
He glanced at Kate. Now, she was one willing to take risks. He admired that quality in her. She had come to the park as a novice and took plenty of jabs from the other shutterbugs. Yet she was still here. She didn’t quit.
As if she sensed he was thinking about her, a curious look came over her face. “Just what are ‘druthers,’ anyway? I’ve heard that expression my entire life and I’ve never known what it means.”
Surprised, he chuckled. That remark was unexpected. “I think it’s slang for ‘I’d rather.’”
“Makes sense.” Kate nodded. “I heard 399 wasn’t spotted this morning, and I was so relieved I hadn’t missed her. I’m determined to not leave the park without that one-in-a-million shot of her.”
Coop took a step closer. “What makes you so sure you’ll be able to get something unique?”
She stiffened, as if she’d heard that question one too many times. “Because my experience is from a zoo, you mean.”
“Not at all. I think it’s cool you got your start in a zoo. I only meant to say that a lot of photographers have gotten incredible shots of 399. Thomas Mangelsen, for one.”
“True. His work is remarkable.”
“Seems like you’re banking a lot on something that’s already been done.”
“Because ... she’s such a familiar subject.”
“Right.”
“I think the challenge of photography is creating new and different images of a very familiar subject.”
Okay. That was a new thought to him. “So ... you’re trying to find a new angle?” What new angle could there be of the world’s most famous bear?
Listening to him, she tipped her head, as if trying to decide how to answer him. “Let’s just say,” she said, “I have something up my sleeve.” She patted her camera and left him with a parting smile.
Left him wondering what in the world she meant by that.
Tim Rivers made the drive from Gros Ventre River to Jackson Lake Lodge, where he had tasked himself with the mission of rousing Frankie the intern out of bed. Not the most thrilling task, but it was part of his duty as a district ranger. Sally had been insistent that Frankie receive special attention this summer due to his father’s position in the NPS, which had made her act a bit jittery about the boy potentially being overlooked in the YCP. More than a bit jittery. She was adamant that he should be carefully supervised. Tim knew that Coop had more experience with teens than other rangers had, so he brought up the internship concept and Sally jumped on it.
So that was the reason behind reassigning Coop from backcountry duties, though the official explanation was his outspoken behavior toward hikers. It wasn’t a deception, though. Tim had been in full agreement with Sally to pull Coop after those complaints. It wasn’t like Coop to treat people that way and it didn’t bode well for the start of the tourist season. Tim sensed that something had been eating at Coop from the day he’d arrived at the park. There was a tension simmering beneath the surface, and it seemed to affect his interactions with others.
So, other than having to keep an eye on a pampered teenager, Tim thought being down in the valley might be a good change for Coop. And after seeing the exchange of looks between him and that good-looking lady photographer this morning, he didn’t feel too badly about how the summer was rolling out for his young friend.
Tim’s mind rewound to when he first met Coop at that school talk about careers in the NPS. Coop had come up afterward and told him how he’d spent every summer of his life backpacking in one national park or another. There was a certain look in Coop’s eyes that resonated with Tim—a familiarity. A passion for the great outdoors. It was clear to Tim that this biology teacher had the potential to do more than just explore nature during his summers; he could contribute significantly to preserving and protecting it.
On the spot, Tim offered him a seasonal position as a Jenny Lake Park ranger. It was a decision Tim never regretted, as Coop’s dedication and impact in the park were evident from the start. He had an uncanny intuition about wildlife. Bears, especially.
Not so much with people, though.
But he changed his mind on that after he knocked on the door of the shared room where Coop and Frankie were stationed for the summer, knocked and knocked and knocked, and after Frankie finally stumbled out of bed to open the door. Coop should be nominated for sainthood.
Frankie blinked several times and mumbled, “Dude. Where’s the fire?”
Tim couldn’t help but ratchet up the intensity. “You have five minutes to take a shower, get dressed, and meet me back here. Move it.”
Frankie’s grogginess quickly turned into confusion, then belligerence. “I’m taking the day off!”
Tim raised an eyebrow. “Who gave you permission to have the day off?”
“I did,” he said, as if he’d been crowned king of the interns. And there were no interns but Frankie. “I need a break.”
“Are you sick?”
“I sure am. Sick of getting bossed around. Sick of being treated like a servant.”
Tim checked his watch with exaggerated interest. “Four minutes left.”
“Dude! It’s not like I’m getting paid or anything.”
“Volunteerism is a duty that should be taken seriously.” Tim stared him down until the boy buckled.
“Fine, fine, drill sergeant. Keep your cool on.” Frankie grabbed his jeans before shuffling down the hall to the bathroom, a scowl etched on his face.
Tim shook his head as he surveyed the chaotic room. Oh boy. It was a complete mess. Frankie’s clothes were strewn everywhere. So was his garbage. Poor Coop. Tim had no idea that sharing a room with the boy meant ... this .
He picked up empty chip bags and fast-food wrappers and candy and tossed them in the wastebasket. Even Coop’s desk was covered with Frankie’s sweatshirt and underpants.
Too bad Maisie wasn’t with him right now. Maybe seeing this disgusting living condition would keep her from thinking this kid was such a ... what did she call him? A hottie.
While cleaning off Coop’s desktop of Frankie’s dirty laundry, Tim noticed a thick envelope addressed to Grant Cooper in elegant calligraphy. He had a gut feeling what it was, confirmed when he saw the return address. The seal had been opened, so he pulled out the contents. He wasn’t proud of snooping, but he cared about his friend. Oh boy. Just what he had thought. A very formal invitation to what looked like Emma’s fancy wedding. He slipped it back into the envelope and noticed the postmark. No wonder Coop had been testy to the hikers. He must’ve received this right after he’d arrived at the park to start the summer.
Hearing Frankie approach, Tim swiftly put the envelope back where he found it, hiding it under the boy’s dirty laundry.
One thing was clear, at least to Tim. It was high time for Coop to move on from the Emma Dilemma. She wasn’t coming back to him.
Maisie pedaled furiously along the winding trail, the wind whipping through her hair as she made her way toward the Craig Thomas Discovery and Visitor Center. She was eager to see if Pops was there, maybe grab a snack from the café, and possibly persuade him to take her out horseback riding later. She adored horses. She’d never actually ridden one, but she knew she’d be good at it.
As she rounded a bend, her eyes caught sight of that super tall ranger standing near a bench, facing a different direction. She slowed her bike to a stop, pulling off to the side of the trail. She’d like to show him that picture of her and Pops, so she took off her backpack and unzipped it.
She realized that he was talking on the phone. Not really talking but listening. Maisie could hear someone on the other end. She couldn’t make out the words, but she could tell the caller was angry.
Now and then, in a strained voice, the ranger would say, “Yes ... Understood ... Entirely my fault ... I’ll go right now.”
Maisie wondered if he was getting chewed out by Sally Janus, the tiny lady ranger, but the voice sounded deeper, more like a man’s. She zipped up her backpack. Now probably wasn’t a good time to show off that photograph of her and Pops. She put both feet on the pedals to head off, but she couldn’t reach one pedal and the bike toppled over. “Oooff,” Maisie said, landing on the ground. These falls hurt, and she’d been falling a lot.
The ranger spun around. “I'll call you back,” he said and hung up. “Were you eavesdropping?”
“No!” She had tried, but she couldn’t hear anything. Nothing specific.
The ranger’s expression softened slightly as he looked at Maisie sprawled on the ground. “Kid, you need to learn how to ride a bike.” And off he went.
Maisie got herself up and brushed off her knees. As she picked up her bike, she looked at the tall ranger’s receding back. “I’m not a kid!”
But he was too far away to hear her.
Wade couldn’t believe it. Feldmann had given him the wrong PO box for the address. The package that was due in today had been returned to sender.
“I’m sorry, sir. I must have been distracted when I gave you the number for the PO box.”
Incredibly frustrated, Wade’s hands tightened into fists.
“That package was critical to the hunt, Feldmann.” It held Wade’s favorite bow, a custom-made compound bow that he had affectionately named “Whisper.” The bow had a sleek black design with intricate engravings along the limbs, a testament to its craftsmanship. Its draw weight was precisely calibrated to Wade’s strength, allowing him to handle it with ease even during long hunts.
Accompanying Whisper were arrows, each meticulously crafted and fletched to perfection. Wade favored broadheads with their razor-sharp blades. Each arrow had a marking near the fletching, a small detail that revealed the unique property of the arrow—its weight or balance. Wade’s prowess with a bow was his greatest pride. He spent hours fine-tuning his bow and arrows, ensuring they were in prime condition for the next hunt.
“Don’t you worry, sir. I’ll find a replacement.”
Wade scoffed. “Impossible. My bow is not just a weapon, Feldmann. It’s my partner. You need to get it here.”
“Right. Of course.”
Just like a rider and their trusted saddle, Wade’s bond with Whisper went beyond functionality. It was a symbol of his skill, dedication, and connection to the ancient art of archery. And when he drew Whisper’s string and released an arrow, it was a dance of precision and deadly intent, a connection between hunter and tool.
“Uh, Mr. Schmidt,” Feldmann said, “archery is for small game. You can’t shoot a bear with a bow and arrow.”
“You’re right,” Wade said. “Most people can’t. But I’m not like most people.”