Each morning held some surprise. A family of gray squirrels, a doe picking her way ever so delicately through the undergrowth, a bear who had surprised the s**t out of him.
He’d rounded a sharp bend in the trail, circled around the next boulder, and almost run head on into the bear. His squawk, her furry roar of surprise, and they both instantly headed back the way they’d each come. He’d practically levitated back to the tower, not breaking from a dead sprint for almost a thousand feet of vertical gain. He’d sat and laughed at himself, wondering which of them had been more surprised, but only after he was in his tower and had the trapdoor closed and bolted from the inside.
Then there was the daily radio routine.
Nine a.m.
“Bare Cone Lookout in service. No smoke.”
“Spot Mountain in ser
