Chapter 6
Janice woke to pale morning light filtering through the heavy curtains over the cabin's small windows and the ping of an email notification on her laptop.
She burrowed deeper under the quilts for a moment, reluctant to leave their warmth, then forced herself upright.
The wood stove had burned down to embers overnight, and the air held a bite that made her breath visible.
She fed the stove fresh logs and waited for them to catch before padding to the kitchen in thick socks and her robe. After fixing a bowl of hot oatmeal, she ate while checking her laptop, glad to see Marcus's reply.
Janice—
I checked with the state office. There are several established mining operations in the broader region, but nothing permitted close to your research area until recently.
A company called Northern Summit Resources got the rights to explore about twenty miles upstream from your location.
They shouldn't be anywhere near your grid, so if you're seeing activity or contamination, that's a problem.
Document everything. Photos, water samples, camera footage. If they're operating outside their permitted area or violating environmental regs, we need a paper trail.
Stay safe out there.
Marcus
Northern Summit Resources. She memorized the name and closed the laptop. Twenty miles upstream meant they were working near the headwaters, close to the wilderness boundary. Close enough that runoff from their operation could absolutely reach her study area.
She dressed quickly in layers with thermal underwear, fleece pants, a wool sweater, and her weatherproof outer shell.
Before heading out, she moved to the window and scanned the tree line with her binoculars, a morning habit she'd developed.
Movement near the woodpile caught her attention.
It was a snowshoe hare, its coat already transitioning to winter white, sitting perfectly still except for the nervous twitch of its nose.
Janice smiled, watching the small creature.
The hares were everywhere this year, their population in the peak phase of their cycle.
Which meant the predators such as lynx, foxes, and great horned owls would also be thriving.
Nature's balance in action, the kind of interconnected system that fascinated her.
The hare bounded away, and something else drew her eye.
There, at the edge of the clearing, stood a young bull moose.
Not the calf she'd been worried about. This one was older, maybe a yearling, with small antlers still covered in velvet.
He browsed on willow branches, stripping leaves with obvious enjoyment.
She grabbed her camera and snapped several photos through the window.
The moose's body condition looked good, with a healthy, thick coat and no visible injuries.
Its movement was fluid and natural. A healthy young animal doing exactly what it should be doing at this time of year, eating as much as possible to build reserves for winter.
Her veterinary training led her to automatically assess every animal she encountered. It was instinct now, as natural as breathing. Check the gait for signs of injury. Observe the coat condition for parasites or illness. Watch for any unusual behavior that might indicate distress.
This moose showed none of those warning signs. He was simply a wild animal going about his life, unaware of her observation.
The four-wheeler waited outside, covered in morning frost that crunched under her gloved hand as she pulled the tarp free. The engine turned over on the third try, coughing to life in a cloud of blue exhaust.
The trail to the upper cameras wound through increasingly rough terrain, following game paths and the remnants of an old mining road from decades past. Janice navigated carefully, the ATV's tires finding purchase on frozen ground and scattered rocks.
Halfway to the camera station, she stopped abruptly.
The fresh scat on the trail was large, dark, and studded with berry seeds and what appeared to be fish bones.
Bear. Her heart rate kicked up as she scanned the surrounding forest. Most bears should be preparing for hibernation by now, but some individuals stayed active longer, especially if food remained available.
She pulled out her phone and photographed the scat, noting the location.
The consistency and content told her this bear was healthy, eating well, and probably just making final preparations before denning up for winter.
Still, she'd be extra cautious on this trail from now on. A surprised bear was a dangerous bear.
Twenty minutes of bone-rattling progress brought her to the farthest camera station, positioned where the wide creek narrowed slightly between steep hillsides.
She killed the engine and sat for a moment, listening. The forest held its morning silence, broken only by the rush of water over rocks and the distant call of a raven. No human sounds. No equipment noise. Just wilderness stretching in every direction.
But as she climbed off the four-wheeler and moved toward the camera, something felt wrong.
The forest floor showed signs of recent traffic.
Boot prints pressed into soft earth near the creek bank.
Fresh disturbance where someone had trampled the low brush.
And there, barely visible through the trees, were more prints leading upstream.
Her heart kicked up a notch. The boot prints were fresh, maybe from yesterday or the day before.
It could be poachers, which infuriated her.
This was protected land, carefully managed to preserve the delicate ecosystem.
But she wasn't law enforcement. Confronting armed strangers in the wilderness wasn't her job, and it sure as hell wasn't safe.
Instead, she turned her attention to the camera. Someone had moved it again, angled it away from the creek and toward nothing but tree trunks in deliberate sabotage.
She needed to relocate it to a less obvious location. Somewhere they wouldn't think to look.
A spruce tree stood about fifteen feet away, its lower branches thick enough to support her weight.
Janice studied it, calculating. The trunk split about twelve feet up, creating a natural platform where she could secure the camera.
Higher vantage point, better coverage, and hidden from casual observation.
She gathered the camera and straps, then approached the tree. The bark was rough under her gloved hands, sticky with sap. She tested the first branch, bouncing slightly to check its strength before committing her full weight. It held.
Climbing carefully, she moved from branch to branch, testing each one before trusting it.
Her heart hammered against her ribs. This was dangerous.
Stupid dangerous. Out here alone, one slip could mean a broken bone or worse.
An injury could kill her, and nobody would find her body for days. Maybe weeks.
The thought of lying injured at the base of this tree, slowly freezing while help remained miles away, made her mouth go dry. This was one of those rare moments when she desperately wished she had a companion with her. Someone to spot her. Someone to call for help if things went wrong.
"Careful," she muttered to herself, reaching for the next branch. "Real careful."
At the split in the trunk, she wedged herself into position and secured the camera, angling it to capture the creek and the game trail without being obvious from below.
Her fingers fumbled with the straps in the cold, but she got it mounted securely.
From the ground, it would be nearly invisible against the dark bark and hanging lichen.
From this height, she had a better view of the surrounding area.
She paused before climbing down, scanning the forest with her binoculars.
A red squirrel chattered angrily from a nearby tree, probably objecting to her presence.
And there, on the far bank of the creek, were fresh tracks in the mud.
Wolf, from the size and shape. The same pack she'd been documenting.
She studied the tracks through her binoculars, her trained eye taking in the details. The wolf had paused at the water's edge, probably drinking, then moved upstream. Following the same route the boot prints had taken.
Janice's stomach tightened. If the wolves were tracking those men, if they were curious about the human activity upstream, that could spell trouble.
Wolves generally avoided people, but if food or territory was involved, if the mining operation was disrupting their hunting grounds or disturbing their den sites...
She shook her head, then made a mental note to check her camera footage carefully. The wolves' behavior might tell her more about what was happening upstream than any amount of human investigation could.
She climbed down even more carefully than she'd gone up, testing each foothold twice before shifting her weight. When her boots finally touched solid ground, relief washed over her so intensely that her knees went weak.
She walked down to the creek's edge, studying the wolf tracks more closely. Adult male, probably the alpha. Moving with purpose, not wandering. And there, partially obscured by his prints, was a smaller set. Female, likely his mate.
The breeding pair, traveling together. That was significant. It meant they were actively patrolling territory, checking boundaries, making sure their pack's claim to this area remained secure.
Janice pulled out her field journal and sketched the tracks, noted the location, and added observations about the mergansers and the bear scat she'd seen earlier.
Everything was connected… the predators and prey, the water quality and fish populations, the human activity and wildlife response.
Her job was to document those connections, to see the larger patterns that emerged from individual observations.