Aspen in Moonlight

by Kelly Wacker

  By the time she arrived at the spot near the boundary between her land and the national forest, where she’d discovered the mountain-lion snares a few weeks earlier, the sky was beginning to lighten. She walked slowly and methodically. As she neared the crest of the hill, she caught a scent. Instinct told her to stop…be quiet, look, and listen. And smell.

  A slight breeze ruffled her fur; it was good to be downwind. She sniffed and again caught the faint, confusing scent. It was purposefully perplexing, she realized, a fragrance engineered to mask the scent of being human. But it wasn’t perfect. An underlying olfactory tone, distinctly human, gave it away. She recognized this particular mix of synthetic and human pheromones as the stench that had been all over the place the day she tore out the traps.

  Sula felt secure and in command on the higher ground. The human, undoubtedly that damn trapper, was below her unawares. She lay down, reducing her profile, and continued to quietly observe with her ears and nose. Concentrating, she heard movement, unhurried footfalls, moving away from her, which meant the person was heading deeper into public land. She waited patiently after the sound and the scent disappeared, letting some additional time pass before cautiously making her way down to where the deer path intersected with the mountain lion’s trace.

  In the early morning twilight Sula carefully inspected the area and found no evidence that the snares had been reset. Having expected to find traps or, worse, evidence that a mountain lion had been caught and killed, she was perplexed at finding nothing of the sort. She continued nosing around until the shape of something that didn’t belong in the woods caught her eye. She realized she was staring at a boxy, camouflaged object attached to a tree with a nylon strap—a trail camera!

  She sauntered over to the camera and sniffed around the base and bark of the tree. The trapper had definitely been there. The camera was within easy reach. Removing it wouldn’t have been a problem even if it wasn’t. Contrary to popular belief, brown bears and grizzlies were adept at tree climbing when they felt compelled to do it. She stood on her hind legs and reached up. Hooking her long claws under the strap, she gave it a quick tug, tearing it loose from the tree in one swipe.

  Curious about what she’d find on camera’s storage card, she grunted softly to herself, the closest thing to laughter she could manage while in fur. She picked up the camera gently with her teeth and headed for home.

  Melissa woke to the sound of purring. Very loud purring. She opened her eyes to see Spotty…no, it was Tawny, the orange-and-gray tabby, seated on Sula’s pillow next to her head, who greeted her with a slow feline blink of the eye. Unless Sula had magically transformed into a cat, she wasn’t in the room. Melissa stretched and yawned, remembering that Sula was planning to go for an early morning hike to chase away a mountain lion. A few weeks ago, such a thought would have sounded crazy to her, but today, it seemed quite normal. Funny how much could change in a short amount of time. She caught the scent of coffee as it wafted into the room and heard the clatter of dishes coming from the kitchen downstairs.

  “Good morning,” Melissa said, walking into the kitchen and wrapping her arms around Sula. Sula gave her a quick kiss. Her hair was damp, and she smelled good, like sandalwood and pine. “Did you take a shower already?”

  “I did.” Sula smiled.

  “You must have been quiet as a mouse.”

  “You were sound asleep.” Sula smiled and pointed to the coffee pot with the wooden spoon in her hand. “Coffee’s ready and the oatmeal is almost done.”

  Melissa poured a cup of coffee, holding it with both hands, and leaned against the counter, watching Sula at the stove. “Did you go on that hike already?”

  “I did.” Sula portioned the thick oatmeal into two bowls.

  “Any sign of Notch?”

  “Nope,” Sula said, smiling as she carried the bowls to the kitchen table. “No signs at all.”

  “That’s good, yes?” Melissa sat and poured honey and milk on her oatmeal. Sula’s preference for honey over brown sugar had grown on her.

  “Yes, very good.”

  Melissa lifted a spoonful of oatmeal, and looking across the table at Sula, she noticed the thin black threads missing from her forehead. “Hey, what happened to your stitches? We didn’t pull them out last night, did we? I was trying to be careful not to hurt you.”

  “No, you didn’t hurt me.” Sula chuckled. “Quite the opposite. You made me feel very good.” She put her fingers to her brow. “They…um…felt like they needed to come out. I removed them before I left earlier.”

  Melissa stared at the wound, though it would now be better described as a scar. A healthy shade of pink, it appeared mostly healed. “You must have an amazing immune system, Sula. I wouldn’t have thought it would look so good after just a couple of days.”

  “I’ve always healed fast,” Sula said quickly.

  “Clearly.”

  When Sula left for work shortly after breakfast, she gave Melissa a kiss that made her want to drag her back to bed…or the couch. She refrained, knowing that Sula had an important meeting. Perhaps she’d also removed the stitches because she wanted to look good for it.

  Melissa took a quick shower and used Sula’s pine-scented soap. While getting dressed she noticed the small bottle of Sula’s fragrance and took the liberty of dabbing a little on the sides of her neck. She liked the idea of having Sula’s scent on her, a subtle sensual reminder she could carry with her during the day.

  Before falling asleep last night, Melissa had hatched a plan to surprise Sula with a picnic at Moose Lake, which she deduced was one of the points on the long hike Melissa hadn’t been invited on. In those hazy moments before sleep, it had seemed like a brilliant idea, but in the clarity of the morning she realized that, first, she would have to find the lake and, second, figure out if she could even get to it. She grabbed her laptop and took it to the porch to enjoy the morning light and air while doing some research.

  Using satellite images from Google Earth, she found Moose Lake, one of several small lakes in a cluster. The map didn’t show private-property lines, but it did identify public lands. The lake was close to the edge of the national forest, and she assumed it must be on Sula’s property, or maybe it was a part of the conservancy’s land. There was a road nearby, but it didn’t seem particularly close to the lake. Wondering if a topographic map might give her more detailed information, she opened a new window and found a website where she could view topographic maps for free. She wasn’t adept at reading them, but she knew enough to get a sense of the steepness of the terrain and identify the road types.

  After finding the right quadrant she scrolled and zoomed in on the lake. She was delighted to see a road on this map that wasn’t denoted on the Google Earth map. It skirted around the lakes and was marked by dashed lines, indicating it was unimproved, one step up from a four-wheel-drive track.

  Melissa recalled watching a video playing at the Subaru dealership when she was buying her Forester not long ago. The video demonstrated the off-road capabilities of cars like hers. Driving on muddy roads, she had used the mode that put the transmission into low four-wheel drive, increasing its traction and control. What was the point of having such a feature if you didn’t use it? Trekking up to Moose Lake was as good a time as any to test it out on an unpaved mountain road.

  Buoyed and resolved, Melissa noted the name of the map section and flipped the lid of her laptop closed. She headed into Buckhorn to do some shopping, and her first stop was Buckhorn Outfitters, the local outdoor-recreation store. The shop bell attached to the door tinkled cheerfully as she walked in. The front of the store was full of brightly colored clothing and footwear. Equally colorful kayaks and nylon kites hung suspended from the ceiling. It was all rather visually overwhelming.

  “Can I help you?” A fit-looking and tanned young woman with long dark hair peered at her from behind a rack of light jackets. She wore an orange T-shirt with the store’s name printed on it and a cute graphic of a smiling bear h
olding a cup of coffee.

  “Yes. Do you have local maps?”

  “We do.” The woman, whose name tag identified her as Marley, waved her toward the back of the store and showed her the shelves lined with books and maps. “Are you looking for something in particular?”

  “Yes, I am. Do you have the Sylvan Glade topographic map?”

  “If it’s around here, we should.” Marley scanned the maps. “We have paper and laminated. Do you have a preference?”

  “Laminated seems practical.”

  Marley selected a map and handed it to her. “You doing some hiking?”

  “I am.” Melissa didn’t really want to go into any more detail.

  “Well, if you need anything else, we probably have it.”

  Melissa hadn’t fully considered what she might need to complete her little adventure. “This will probably do it, but I’m going to browse a bit.”

  “Okay,” Marley said with a friendly smile. “If you need help just let me know.”

  “I will, thank you.”

  Melissa left the store with the map, a collapsible five-gallon water container, and a pack of Mylar emergency blankets. Walking through the first-aid section she had realized she should be prepared. Should she get stuck on the road, fail to get to the lake, and need to be rescued, she’d at least demonstrate that she wasn’t stupid enough to go out unequipped. Also in the bag were two tees with the store’s coffee-drinking bear logo: a green one for herself and a blue one for Sula. Melissa just couldn’t resist.

  She went to a casual riverside café for lunch. It was busy, and although her beer arrived quickly, the service was otherwise slow. She enjoyed the soothing sound of the water and the energetic chatter of hummingbirds as they darted between feeders hanging along the edge of the deck. It gave her time to study the map she had just purchased and to devise a plan. Sipping a draft of the local amber ale, she unfolded the map on the heavy rustic wooden table and studied it. Corresponding the laminated paper map with a digital map on her phone, she figured out how to get on the county road that intersected with the road leading to Moose Lake. She made a rough estimation that it would take her at least an hour to drive there, longer if the going was slow on the unimproved road. Since she wasn’t exactly sure when Sula would arrive, she’d want to arrive early. She’d take an art history book or two with her and a notebook. She couldn’t read without taking notes, an academic habit. She checked the forecast and saw little chance for rain. Her plan was coming together perfectly.

  “Excuse me. Can I put this down?” A server, balancing a large, round tray laden with food in one hand, held a plate with a massive burger and mound of fries in his other hand, hovering it over the table.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry,” Melissa said and folded the map quickly, setting it aside to make space for her lunch.

  “Enjoy!” the waiter said, seemingly unperturbed. He set the plate in front of her and dashed off to deliver more orders.

  Melissa took a bite of the burger, which tasted so good, perfectly cooked and thickly stacked with cheese, lettuce, onion, and a ripe tomato. Why did everything seem to taste better in the mountains? Watching the swift water flow past and listening to the hummingbirds’ chatter, she ate slowly, enjoying each bite, and imagining the look of surprise on Sula’s face when she found her at the lake tomorrow.

  Sula returned to her office after her two-hour video-conference meeting. The group of major donors was an enthusiastic bunch, mostly successful businessmen and women with a passion for the outdoors or environmental issues, and they were eager to help with an upcoming fund-raising gala. Her staff ran most of the meeting; she only had to give an introduction and comment when necessary. She was thankful for that, as the storage card from the trail camera she had nabbed early in the morning was in her pocket and seemed to be burning a hole.

  She inserted the card into her desktop computer and was pleased to see files, hundreds of them, sorted into dated folders. When she opened the first image file, she was delighted to see a GPS coordinate included with the time-date stamp. She grabbed a notepad and a pencil and wrote down the coordinates as she scrolled through the photos. The images were a mix of black-and-white infrared images taken at night that revealed animals in ghostly shades. Less frequent were color images when the camera shifted to daylight mode. Most of the images were on par with what you would expect to find—numerous deer and elk browsing past the camera’s field of view, a black bear with a cub, a few raccoons, an owl swooping past, and an industrious mouse that triggered the camera repeatedly as it darted back and forth across the trail the camera was monitoring.

  The photos in the last two folders were the most interesting ones. The folder dated two days ago held three images of a mountain lion. In one, the shape of the lion’s head was distinctly outlined against the dark background. Sula zoomed in and saw the misshapen ear. Notch! She picked up her pencil and wrote down the GPS coordinates.

  An unexpected number of images was on the card from this morning. The first image was tantalizingly incomplete. The person who set the camera was recorded, but only partly. It could have been anyone wearing a hooded sweatshirt. She wrote down the coordinates even though she knew exactly where the shots had been taken. When Sula opened the next photo, she jumped in her seat and then laughed as she clicked through the next few images. A large brown bear, looking directly at the camera, walked up to it and then obscured the lens. Sula knew that occurred when she ripped the camera from the tree. A dozen or more pictures had been recorded after that, blurry views of the ground taken while she carried the camera back home. She had been careful to put the camera facedown on the ground before she shifted, and when back in human form, she had opened the case and turned off the camera. She viewed the images with fascination. She’d never seen pictures of herself in bear form before and was intrigued by how much she recognized herself. It was her eyes. Bears’ expressive eyes, set close together and in line with the bridge of the nose, were not so different from human ones. Not surprisingly, she looked a lot like her mother in fur. She was a good-looking bear, if she did say so herself. Much as she wanted to save these photos, she deleted the files with regret. It was just too dangerous to keep them. She was obviously not a black bear, and her shape and size were remarkably close to that of a native grizzly. While grizzly sightings in Colorado continued to be reported, physical evidence or photographs had never corroborated them, and she wanted to keep it that way.

  Now that she had viewed all the photos, she was curious to know where they had been taken. She opened a mapping program and typed in the GPS coordinates to produce a topographic map marked with five bright-red dots. She added a layer showing property lines and another delineating roads to help visualize the locations. She leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms, glowering at the map on the screen. Each dot was located along the boundaries between the national forest, Buckhorn Creek Ranch, the conservancy’s land, and her private land. Her skin prickled, and she felt as if a predator was stalking her. Indeed, there was a predator out there, albeit a human one. And she also knew she wasn’t the prey it was searching for. She was fairly certain the target was Notch, the mountain lion she was trying to educate and protect, or perhaps any mountain lion who happened to be unlucky enough to step into the trapper’s snare.

  She stared hard at one particular red dot and, leaning forward, zoomed in on the map, enlarging the terrain and an irregular blue shape representing a body of water. The red dot was very close to Moose Lake, the area she was planning to patrol tomorrow. She muttered an inelegant expletive to herself when she realized that the camera had been placed on conservancy land. The trapper had trespassed, and these photos with their embedded GPS tags were proof.

  Not exactly sure how she’d do it, Sula silently vowed to stop the trapper.

  Melissa returned to her cabin after a last stop at the grocery store, where she picked up a loaf of French bread, an assortment of deli meats, cheeses, fresh ripe fruit, and some locally made chocolates
, hoping to rival the smorgasbord Sula had prepared for their first hike to Icy Creek. She carried the bags into the kitchen and put the perishables in the refrigerator. When she turned and faced the great room, the reality that this wasn’t home suddenly hit her. In two days, she had to pack her things, load her car, and drive back to Georgia. And rather than being ready to go home, as she would have normally expected after more than a month away, she felt strangely displaced and a deep melancholy brewing.

  She walked into the living room and stood in front of the wall of glass. As she stared at the verdant meadow and the blue mountain hillsides in the distance, her vision blurred. Tears were streaming down her cheeks in salty, warm rivulets.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Sula left the house before daybreak after a breakfast of toast and coffee that Melissa made. When Sula nuzzled her cheek in the dark and told her she could stay in bed, Melissa explained that she wanted to spend as much time as she could with her and would get up. And that was true, even if she wasn’t completely forthcoming about her plan to intercept her at Moose Lake.

  After Sula left, Melissa dressed quickly and drove to her cabin to get the picnic supplies. Walking into the cabin she was confronted by what she had packed the day before in preparation for the drive back to Georgia. Her grandmother’s photo album, notebooks, and art books were stowed back into the box she had brought them in. Next to it were several bags full of souvenirs and gifts for friends. She grabbed a pen and a sticky note from a box and went into the kitchen. Going to Moose Lake, she wrote on the bright-yellow paper and stuck it to the counter. If her plans went awry, she wanted someone to know where she was headed. After loading a cooler with food and ice, she hoisted it and carried it out to her car, away from all the reminders that her time in Buckhorn was ending very soon.