Of Ravens and Contrails: The Myth and Reality of the Human Conquest of Nature

A Knock from the Woods

Spring begins its slow, halting ascent of the Rockies in mid-April but only reaches the highest peaks and deepest canyons in June, where the last of the winter snows reside. Ice leaves the sub-alpine lakes then; their waters turn over, bringing fresh oxygen and nutrients to their depleted depths. Cutthroat trout rise and splash in harmony with mating midges and mayflies. Stream banks and valley bottoms become pallets of bright flowers among tapestries of green grasses, forbs and shrubs. Blue birds, warblers and other returning migrants add to the colorful reawakening of life. Female elk and mule deer easily fill their paunches and then loaf while making the rich milk needed by their new crops of calves and fawns. The mature males of their species have formed bachelor herds and moved even higher. Their seeds once more passed to the next generation, they will not return until fall.

Enchanting times and Korra Hanson didn’t want to miss them again. For several years she had been too busy to do much other than take almost daily, early morning hikes in the foothills near her home in Flat Iron, Colorado. That had been enough to keep her in good physical shape, but she longed for the solitude only real mountains could afford.

A university town known for its liberal politics, Flat Iron was also where new and quite successful businesses often formed, several becoming large publicly owned companies in recent years. Korra’s was an herbal and dietary supplement business. It started small but grew much faster than she anticipated. After only three years her young start-up needed to expand. Four years of hard work later, the new, much larger and still growing operation was up and running, management team and all.

Satisfied she could leave her business from time to time in the capable hands of her employees, Korra looked forward to doing more of what she really came to Colorado for, hiking and backpacking the high country wilderness. Perhaps someday she would take her adventuresome spirit to different countries and exotic places she had only dreamed of, but for now the not so distant wilds of the Blue River National Forest beckoned. To avoid Memorial Day she would go early, the first week of May, potentially a dangerous time of year. Every spring it seemed a few people perished in Colorado in unexpected storms or avalanches. Heavy, wet snowfall on top of crusted winter snow was the problem; it wanted to slip off. Maybe the risks only gave her more reason to go, not less. In any event, the recent forecasts projected a week free of stormy weather.

The winter had brought lots of snow to the mountains and plenty was still left above 9,800 feet, in places even lower. The route Korra planned would keep her below that elevation except for one pass she wanted to try to get over. If necessary, an alternate route was available, but since the real solitude she was seeking lay on the other side of the pass, she knew she would not give up easily. Hers was a spiritual quest, a time to reaffirm her relationship with nature, not people. If she had known how profoundly that quest would come true, she might have reconsidered. But then, how could she have known that events, beginning with something as simple as a spruce tree’s cone bouncing across the trail in front of her, would not only dramatically reset the course of her life, but that of others, and maybe someday, even affect the future of the world?

Korra had been born into a hippie commune in northern New Mexico forty-two years earlier. Her mother and father both held university degrees, but as with many people back then, that part of their lives was spent in rebellion against the Vietnam War and making a statement about the lifestyle and attitudes of American culture, deemed by them and their friends to be materialistic and largely without meaning.

Located on forty acres near the Rio Grande gorge, the commune was an odd assortment of gardens, buildings and dwellings - some thrown together so carelessly they provided little protection from winter’s cold, others much more elaborate and permanent. Korra was naturally birthed inside perhaps the most practical, time tested and utilitarian of all living quarters, a teepee. Living as a child in this once mobile home of the plains Indians helped form who she was today; self-confident and possessing a strong sense of being part of nature.

Although a rag tag bunch, people living in her commune nevertheless managed to organize themselves and get along quite well. With a real sense of community cohesion and purpose, there was far less drug use and promiscuity typically associated with the hippie culture back then. Occasionally her parents did use marijuana, but they refused the other mind altering drugs others experimented with. They kept their vows of fidelity too. Theirs was a protest, not a complete abandonment of moral principles.

New Mexico calls itself the Land of Enchantment and no place better represents that billing than the valley where Korra spent her early youth. A sea of sage and rabbit brush some 30 miles across flanked by the Sangre de Cristo Mountains to the east and the San Juan Mountains to the west, light plays across the land in magical ways, often forming spectacular displays in and above the mountains on either side, both dusk and dawn. Toward the east side of the valley the Rio Grande lies in the bottom of a deep gorge cut through ancient lava beds over hundreds of thousands of years. Long dormant volcanoes dot the landscape, each with its own special cultural value to the Hispanic and Indian people living there.

Ever changed by season and weather, the land was truly a spiritual place for Korra and the other members of her community. Although her parents would move away from the commune and its lifestyle not many years later, to this day she remained spiritually committed to nature and tended to judge society against the same values instilled in her back then. Her name, often thought to be an odd spelling of Cora, was actually taken from an aboriginal word meaning grassland. She liked that idea, but never quite got the Australian connection to her birthplace.

Later, armed with degrees in environmental science and law, Korra worked as an environmental lawyer for a few years. But somewhere along the way she realized she wanted to find out what she was capable of on her own. She moved to Colorado and started her business. Although now considered a successful businesswoman, she continued to living a modest lifestyle, always conscious of her environmental footprint and acting to limit it in every way possible. She was a trim, attractive forty-two year old woman who had proven to herself and others she could make it in the world of business. Somewhere deep inside though, she remained unfulfilled and troubled, deeply concerned by the direction she saw humanity taking and its impact upon the natural world she cherished. She would use her time alone in the mountains to consider where her life might go from here. Being alone in nature had become as important to her as Sunday sermons to others.

Korra spent hours preparing for this trip. For more than a week she devoted her evenings to relocating, inspecting and testing gear now left idle for years. But she held off making final preparations to the very last. A sense of immediacy was needed for her to really focus, to visualize camping and hiking, and while doing so, anticipating each thing she would need along the way. She made a list and meticulously gathered it all up, rethinking every step and action, what foods to bring, utensils, clothes, and equipment, then she neatly arranged it all in her pack. She weighed the load and imagined trekking up steep mountain slopes with it on her back. She checked for what might cause sore spots on her shoulders and hips. A mistake this time of year could make for a very uncomfortable experience, or worse.

Even with all this, it was always difficult to anticipate the weather in the mountains while living several thousand feet lower. And so, on the morning she left, Korra threw additional items into her car which she may or may not need. Sure enough, she was in the trunk the next morning rummaging for extra clothes. After a breakfast of oatmeal, raisins, toast and tea she loaded her backpack with her chosen gear – ultra light tent and sleeping pad, down bag rated to 15 degrees Fahrenheit, head lamp, freeze dried food, raisins and oatmeal, energy bars, Swiss Army knife, light weight stove with enough fuel to last a week, and the minimal clothing needed to cope with the variables of early morning cold to afternoon warmth. She cursed, but only for a moment, at the extra weight she would need to carry.

She always carried enough food to last at least two days longer than planned but shunned other modern conveniences like GPS locaters, preferring to rely on maps and her own natural instincts to guide her. She thought of the many human generations that had navigated the world’s continents and oceans for thousands of years using only their own senses and knowledge of the natural world. They explored and adapting to almost every environment on the planet without any of the equipment now available Such gadgets only served to deaden her innate abilities and further remove her from the relationship with nature she was seeking. Even though she packed one, she didn’t like to use a headlamp unless absolutely necessary; they blinded her peripheral vision. Ambient light was almost always enough to go by. Headlamps were mostly about fear anyway, handy to check out bumps in the night but otherwise a nuisance to carry. She had nothing to fear - or so she thought.

It was still short of dawn when she hoisted and strapped on her pack. Before leaving she checked all the doors on her car one more time, and then started out. As she began climbing the first steep grade the load on her back made itself known. Had she packed too much? Hiking the foothills over the winter months had been good conditioning, but it didn’t prepare her for the much higher altitude and extra weight of backpacking. She climbed on, her mind slowly turning away from the discomfort her body was suffering and to the fact that now, for the first time in seven years, she was beginning to free herself from all the hard work of getting her business up and running. As the light brightened the surrounding landscape, her mind grew even more at ease. She was back in her element, the outdoors. The cold air awakened her senses, the chill left her body. She thought of challenges that might lie ahead with excitement, not dread, and began thinking that the day wasn’t far off when her business would become so self-sufficient that she would be able to do far more, like maybe climb the highest mountains on all the continents, who knows? Her toils were finally rewarding her sense of adventure, and this was only the beginning.

She camped that night about a hundred yards from a stream, far enough away to avoid being in the path of animals that might be traveling along it, but not so far that she couldn’t be lulled to sleep by its tumbling waters. The night was clear. The moon shone brightly through her tent. Still, she slept so deeply she hardly remembered anything the next morning except lying down and listening to the creek joyously splashing and giggling for a few minutes. It didn’t take much moving, however, for the effects of yesterday’s hike to become evident. Her legs and shoulders were quite stiff. Rolling onto her back she stretched full length, moving her feet and toes slowly and rhythmically to limber up a bit. Her watch said 4:30 a.m. Though rested, she decided to lay a while longer and listen to the stream. She dozed. When she checked a second time it was nearing 5:30; time to get up. Ignoring the pain, she whipped aside the sleeping bag and crawled outside. The bite in the air only helped her to get things underway again. Today she would find out if she could make it over the pass. An early start and another morning of hard hiking lay before her. Chores out of the way, she packed and hit the trail just as the sun started to rise over the mountains to the east.

Just as she though, it didn’t take long on the trail for the stiffness to work itself out. Her body was already adapting to the new demands she was making of it. In spite of the cold, she wore only hiking shorts, a tee and fleece, sure the energy she was putting out would compensate. She wanted to experience nature; coping with the cold was part of that. As the grade steepened she stopped and removed the fleece, letting the early morning rays penetrate her body. The pass was still miles ahead. Stuffing her jacket into the top webbing of her pack, she hiked on. The sun rose steadily. The still cold air allowed her to keep up the better pace she was now setting.

By early afternoon she was nearing the top of the pass. Minutes before she had been sure of making it over without a problem, but now after rounding a bend, she stood there confronted by a ten foot near vertical wall of windblown snow across the trail in front of her. There was no way to go forward with a heavy pack on. Undaunted, she would find another route. After descending back down the trail a bit, she started traversing cross slope looking for a way up and over. Then she encountered a second barrier, this time a long steep avalanche chute. Testing the snow with her trekking poles, she cautiously made her way forward, kicking out footholds with every step. The snow was well consolidated from thawing and freezing in recent days. No chance of it giving way, she thought, but a slip here means sliding down there several hundred feet and likely hitting one of those trees. She turned her head forward, refusing to look down again, not wanting to imagine that happening.

Before long she had not only safely crossed the chute, but reached the crest and crossed to the other side, which had plenty of snow of its own. Concerned she might lose the trail, she gradually worked her way back in that direction, descending all the while in hopes of finding more open ground. Finally she stepped onto the open trail and celebrated by stamping her heels firmly into the snow free ground. An hour later she was overlooking a long, broad valley with another stream running through it. She stopped to rest and enjoy her accomplishment.

Her judgment and skills had once more served her well. Yes, she was taking even more of a chance by being so far back in these mountains alone, but to her that too was exciting. There was no one around for miles. She had confidence in her own abilities and liked putting them to the test. Besides, she had left specific information with people back home concerning the route she planned to take.

The valley she was about to enter was stunning. Neighboring it to the west was a magnificent range of snowcapped mountains. Some of the peaks surrounding her were over 13,000 feet; one she thought might be more than 14,000. Although there were still many pockets of snow, the valley below was showing signs of spring. Bright shades of gold, orange and rust formed a pastel tapestry down its length; sap was rising in the willow thickets. Although the stream was only visible here and there, it glistened like silver in the afternoon sun. Moving her gaze to the forest beyond, she found it dark and foreboding. She shifted her eyes back to the sunlit valley. After resting and napping there a long while, she got up and hiked the remaining distance, planning to take it easy the rest of the afternoon.

After setting up camp and having an early supper she hiked around a while, enjoying the spring in her step without the weight of her pack. As the shadows lengthened, a small group of bull elk stepped out of the forest into the open. Sporting fresh new auburn coats and well along toward growing new antlers, they were nearing their full summer magnificence. What beautiful animals, Korra thought, uncertain if she appreciated them more in this condition or when they were fully antlered in the fall. Again, sleep came easy that night, at least for a while it did.

Around one in the morning Korra woke with pain in her right shoulder. She rolled onto her back for a while, then onto her other side trying to get comfortable. She lay there, the bright moon lighting the inside of the tent as if it was already morning. Suddenly a voluminous, piercing scream came from the other side of the valley, WOO-WOO-WHOOP! Korra’s eyes opened wide. She remained motionless, afraid to move. What was that? She never heard such a sound. Several minutes passed ... silence. Then again, WOO-WOO-WHOOP. Almost immediately she heard a more distant call answering back, woo-woo-whoop. Coyotes started singing. A cacophony of strange, eerie sounds from perhaps a half dozen wild canines scattered across the valley filled the night air. She was familiar with coyotes, but those other sounds, what were they? The nearer one sounded like it came from a very big animal, one capable of emitting a huge volume of air. She listened, needing to hear it again, hoping not to.

Korra didn’t rattle easily, but this was something she could not relate to. Had it been wolves or mountain lions she would have been excited, but not frightened. The strangeness of the sounds and her inability to identify what made them had her upset. She lay there a long time waiting to hear it again; or worse, hearing whatever it was approaching her tent. Finally the warmth of the sleeping bag took over. She dozed off.

Korra drifting in and out of sleep the rest of the night, always vigilant, her mind still trying to process what she had experienced earlier. The most disturbing thought was that, if she tried to explain to someone what the sound was like, she would have to say it had a certain human quality about it. But no human could possibly make that loud a sound. Finally, the welcome light of dawn helped quiet her mind. Tired but unable to stay down any longer, she got up and started preparing for another day. Staying busy in the cold morning air, taking down and repacking equipment, preparing breakfast, eating and cleaning up afterwards, Korra was able to keep her anxiety at bay. Often, she stopped what she was doing to look around. She wanted to leave this place. Packed, she got under way as quickly as possible. As she climbed out of the valley, she stopped and looked back once more. The forest beyond where she had camped seemed even more ominous than before.

An hour later she stood on another overlook at the top of a rise she had just climbed. Removing her pack she sat down with her back against a large, sun warmed boulder. The landscape before her seemed to stretch endlessly, mountain after mountain, one range layered against the next, visible in all directions. A broad expanse of forest stretched below, broken intermittently by open meadows and small lakes. How vast this wild country still is, she thought. Yes, we humans have built roads and trails out there in places, but those were only ribbons of human intrusion in an otherwise wild landscape. Who knew what might be only fifty yards either side of the road or trail? She thought of those sounds last night. Tired, she lay over on her side and went to sleep. Thirty to forty minutes passed before she opened her eyes again. By then the day’s jet traffic was picking up. Several contrails could be seen overhead along the major east to west air routes. Sitting up, she imagined people up there, traveling 600 miles an hour to their destinations. I’m glad I’m here and you’re up there.

Things looked different than before she went to sleep. In the brighter light she could now see that the forest bore civilization’s mark to a much greater degree than she first thought. Huge swaths of dead and dying lodge pole pines were out there. Pine beetles, she thought. Across the West they’ve killed tens of millions of acres of pine forests, including most of the piñon trees in those wonderful woodlands of her native New Mexico. The Navajo and other tribes had been harvesting those nuts for hundreds, even thousands of years. Now, for the most part, all that’s left are juniper trees. She wondered what impact there had been on other animals, like piñon jays. Scientists mostly agreed; warming climates were the problem. It no longer gets cold enough, long enough in the winter to kill the beetle larvae. In addition to lodge pole and piñon pine, the much rarer white pines further north are now being attacked. Grizzly bears depend on those nuts to help store fat for winter survival. Looking up at the growing number of contrails above, she thought of the people riding in luxury up there with little knowledge or concern about what she saw down below. Theirs is a world remote and removed from nature, or so they think. Suddenly Korra’s thoughts returned to last night and those mysterious howls. Three and a half days of hiking and camping lay ahead; that thought seem a bit less welcome than before. She shook off her doubts, rose, pulled on her pack and hit the trail again, still wanting to put as much distance as she could between tonight’s campsite and last’s. The trail soon led into deep forest and stayed there the rest of the day.

For some people, making the most of every waking hour doesn’t require a conscious effort; it’s part of their being. Korra was such a person. More rested now, her mind became busy again. She had always had an inquiring intellect, ever since she was a little girl. Hiking only piqued that curiosity more, particularly when surrounded by an uninteresting, closed-in, dark forest.

As a youngster she spent a lot of time in the family garden with her mother, who had her own penchant for all things natural. They studied plants, insects and birds, rejoicing together when one or the other discovered something new and interesting. As she got older and was allowed more independence, she wandered the hills and deserts of New Mexico. Her young mind made new discoveries every time she went out; how the seasons affected changes in plants and animals, and how weather did the same. Without knowing she became a student of ecology, a term she didn’t even know until later in life. Trekking on, her mind engrossed in thought, the forest became almost tunnel-like. She pushed herself, using steep grades as she would an exercise machine, pulling in huge quantities of rarified mountain air as she drove her legs to the task. In only a day and a half her body was already adapting. She now covered distances with ease; in the end feeling accomplished not only by the hike, but the thoughts she explored along the way. She was driven, but to what end she didn’t know. There was a purpose to her life. In time she would discover what it was.

The spruce cone landed on the trail and bounced across in front of here. In itself, that was not unusual; but her immediate reaction was that someone had tossed it at her from somewhere above and to her right. She stopped immediately and looked up that way. Seeing nothing and feeling foolish, she moved on. What kind of animal would do that, she asked herself. It had to have been a red squirrel clipping the cone off a tree above her with its teeth. She worked at convincing herself of that but couldn’t quite escape the impression that the cone came down not from overhead, but in an arc from her right side. How else could it have bounced across the trail? The question bothered her, especially after last night’s episode, but she refused to let her concern turn to fear.

The shadows grew longer. Stopping to check her map she determined that she had covered close to ten miles since leaving her rest stop that morning. It was time to find a campsite for tonight, one that provided respite from the dense forest she had been trapped in much of the day. Examining the map again she saw what looked like an open meadow with a small lake at its center a short distance off the trail about a half mile ahead. She didn’t like the idea of getting too far into the forest. If something did happen, it might be difficult to find her. On the other hand, she didn’t want to be in this forest tonight. She would feel better if she had some open space around her. She might even take a bath in the lake to get rid of the trail sweat, freshen up a bit. The thought was alluring.

Topographic map in hand she hiked on, stopping occasionally to study the terrain. After twenty minutes or so, she came to where she thought she should leave the trail. Sliding the map under the top flap of her pack, she started up that way. Before long she encountered dead fall, a tangle of dead fallen trees typical of steep, shallow, mountain soils in the Rockies. With no thought of turning back she working her way over and around the downed trees, steadily moving away from the trail below. Constantly bearing to her left as she went, sure that she was heading for the clearing with the lake, the terrain finally began to gentle. With the dead fall less imposing now, the forest began opening up a bit. Then, abruptly, it opened completely. She was standing at the edge of a rather spacious clearing. At its center was the small lake. Getting on toward late afternoon, she was just beginning to have second thoughts before finding the meadow. Once more, she congratulated herself for her success.

Approaching the lake she found it well suited to her purposes. Still early enough to take a bath and warm up afterward, she took her pack off and stripped naked. Testing the water with her foot, she let out a loud, B-r-r-r, damn this is going to be cold. She waded in, splashing water on her torso as she went, gulping great breaths and yelling out in protest. The bath was brief but refreshing. She got out, found her camp towel and dried off. Still naked she sat on her pack to warm herself in what was left of the late afternoon sun. Sitting there, a disturbing feeling came over her that she was being watched. Looking around but seeing nothing, she dismissed the notion as only her sense of nakedness.

Once dry and relatively warm again, Korra got dressed, hoisted her pack and looked around for the best campsite. Instinctively she went toward the shadows on the far side of the meadow where the morning’s sun rays would first arrive. She might just sleep in again to enjoy not only an extended sleep, but the warmth of the sun as she made breakfast and broke camp.

As she stood there considering where to place the tent, suddenly she heard three distinct chopping sounds coming from somewhere in the forest to her left, as if someone was hitting a tree with a baseball bat, or axe? Startled, she quickly turned toward the sound. Motionless, scarcely breathing, she waited ... silence. Then, there it was again, three sharp, heavy knocks. Was someone chopping on a tree? No one could possibly be here. After perhaps a minute or two, she heard it a third time.

She thought about leaving the same way she came in, but that didn’t seem safe either. The idea of staying in the clearing was much more appealing than trying to struggle back through those darkening woods. Besides, where would she go? She had no choice but to investigate the source of the sounds.

Leaving the pack on her back she moved in the direction the sounds came from. Reaching the edge of the forest she peered into the growing darkness with dread. Slowly, half crouching and using trees for cover, she inched forward a few feet at a time, looking, listening intently. She was afraid, but there was no other choice but to find what was making those sounds; hopefully, without being seen herself. Fighting against growing fear she continued to move forward. The darkening woods closed in even more around her. There was something there, something she couldn’t see but could feel watching her. Hardly breathing, her eyes darted left and right trying to see something, she yelled, Who’s there? Silence - no birds, no sounds of anything alive. All she could hear was her own rapid, shallow breathing.

Unable to force herself to go any further, she backed up without turning around, sensing the threat was still before her, not behind. She must get back to the clearing. From there she didn’t know what she would do, but for now she had to get out of this damned forest. Looking once more without seeing anything, she turned to leave. Nobody was around to hear her shrill, piercing scream.

"The mountains are calling and I must go"

John Muir

The Footprint

The record would show the call from a Mrs. Joyce Crawford came into the Ranger District at 1:22 pm, Monday, May 11th. As the manager of a business belonging to one Korra Hanson in Flat Iron, Colorado, Mrs. Crawford explained that Korra had taken last week off for a solo backpacking trip into the Blue River National Forest, but planned to be back at work today. So far, however, she had not returned. Worried, employees checked her home and found her car missing. Not at all like her to do this without letting someone know, Mrs. Crawford explained. Could someone please check to see if her car is still at the trailhead?

The request was relayed to the District Ranger, Juan Zamora, who wanted to talk to Mrs. Crawford personally before acting. After discussing the matter with her, he agreed to do just as she requested. The requisite information was called out to field personnel. In only minutes one of them called back and said he was near the area and would check it out. Juan then went about his work.

Near closing time the report came from the field: Korra Hanson’s car was still at the trailhead. There was no evidence she had been around lately. Juan received the message at 4:55pm. For a moment he thought about doing nothing until sometime tomorrow. After all, Mrs. Crawford had told him Korra went prepared for possibly two extra days. But then he thought he should at least let the local Sheriff know of a possible missing person.

Sheriff Connors agreed it would be premature to do anything more until morning. Juan then called his immediate superior, the Forest Supervisor, to let him know. Finally, before leaving the office, he contacted the field person located at the vehicle and told him to check the car again in the morning, and to come prepared for a hike.

When he got home that evening Juan went to the Internet for the weather forecast. The high pressure system currently parked over much of the state would likely remain for at least another week. He knew that could change at any time though. This was springtime in the Rockies.

As usual, Juan arrived at work early the next morning. Even so, people were there preparing to get on with the day. His thoughts were with Korra. If she didn’t show up soon he intended to request a formal search.

It was shortly after 9:00am when the call came in from the field. Ms. Hanson’s car was still there. Juan instructed the man to start hiking along the same route Korra had reportedly taken. After that he arranged for a helicopter, which was kept on contract during the summer for fire suppression work. There were always extra hours on the contract for use in situations like this. Then he called Sheriff Connors. Would you like to come along for a ride? An hour later they met at the heliport. They would fly Ms. Hanson’s intended route in reverse, hoping to spot her somewhere along the last leg. Juan’s man was on the other end, hiking the same direction they believed she had traveled.

Juan knew much of the second half of her route was through dense forest, making an aerial survey difficult. If she was down there and in need of help though, she might hear them coming and make herself known. They lifted off at 11:20am. Along the way, Juan contacted his man on the ground, letting him know the plan.

At the trailhead they saw Ms. Hanson’s car below. They hovered long enough to be sure she wasn’t around, and then set off to fly the planned route. Slowly meandering back and forth over the trail, all eyes were peeled for any sign of brightly colored fabric below. An hour and a half later they came to the broad valley located just below the pass Korra had planned on going over. If she had been hurt in an accident, it would likely be here. Nearing the top Juan asked the pilot to go even slower so they could look for tracks in the snow. Not far over the crest and down the other side they found the snow barrier she would have encountered. Well, I guess that answers that, the pilot said over the intercom, meaning she couldn’t have made it over the top that way.

Sheriff Connors had the better view to the south as they went over and thought he might have seen tracks in that direction. He reached forward and touched Juan on the shoulder, then motioned in that direction. The pilot slowed and turned as indicated. Soon they all saw what looked like human footprints crossing the top of the avalanche chute.

I don’t think that was very smart of her, the Sheriff said. Almost hovering now, they followed the tracks further to where they topped the crest and started down the other side; looking carefully to be sure she wasn’t down there someplace, hurt.

Satisfied she wasn’t there, Juan decided to find his man on the ground. Turning back in that direction, the forest soon opened up below. When they spotted him a short while later, Juan motioned for the pilot to land. He got out and informed the man that they had confirmed human tracks at the top of the pass. There’s no need spending more time here, get on board and we’ll take you up there, Juan instructed.

I came prepared to stay out two nights if necessary, the man yelled out over the sound of the helicopter as they approached the ship. After I check the pass, why don’t I continue hiking down the rest of the trail on that side? I might find something, you never know.

Juan nodded in agreement.

After letting the man off at the top of the pass and flying over the lower leg of the route one more time, they headed home. On the way back Juan and the Sheriff decided to initiate a full search and rescue operation. If his man on the ground found her by morning they could call