“This is an elk track,” he explained, his voice dropping into a wilderness professor tone. “See the heart shape? And how it’s split at the top like this?” He traced the outline. “Each animal leaves a distinct print. Deer tracks are smaller, more pointed. Moose are huge, like dinner plates.”
I leaned closer, genuinely fascinated by how animated he became when sharing his knowledge.
“But tracking isn’t just about footprints.” Noah pointed at a broken twig. “It’s about reading the entire story. Direction, speed, how recently they passed by.”
“How can you tell all that from a footprint?”
“The depth tells you weight and speed. See how this one pushes deeper at the front? The elk was moving at a trot, not walking.” He gestured to a nearby pine. “And look at the bark here, see the rub marks? That’s a bull elk marking his territory.”
He looked up, catching me staring at him rather than the track. “What?”
“Nothing,” I blurted. “Just ... I’m impressed.” I looked down at the tracks with new appreciation, seeing not just dents in the dirt but a narrative hidden in plain sight, waiting for someone with the right knowledge to decode it.
“First time I tracked an elk, I was maybe seven. Dad had me crawling through the mud, pointing out bent grass blades and half-eaten leaves. When she finally led us to the herd, I was so excited I stood up and scared them all away.”
“Did he get angry?”
“Nah. Just laughed. Sometimes the chase is better than the catch.” Noah’s eyes were on me like a hunter stalking prey.
“I guess that depends on what you’re chasing,” I said. “And what she does after you catch her.”
Noah didn’t even try to hide his grin this time. “I guess so.”
“Can I ask you something?”
“Shoot.”
“How long … how long have your parents been gone?”
“Long time.” The way his eyes glazed over suggested it felt like yesterday. “They were setting up a new route. Something went wrong with the anchor point.”
“A climbing accident …”
He nodded. “I’d just graduated from high school.
“Noah, I’m so sorry.”
“Like I said, it was a long time ago.”
“But you were so young.”
“Brie had it worse than me. She was only fourteen.”
“So wait … you raised her?”
“Someone had to.”
I watched him stare out at the mountains, his jaw tight.
“Thank you for sharing this place with me,” I said.
Another rumble of thunder rolled in from the horizon, this time accompanied by a flash of distant lightning that lit up the sky. Noah’s face darkened with the clouds. “We should get back before that storm hits. Yeti, come!”
He stood, then helped me to my feet. We worked together to fold up the blanket as another rumble of thunder boomed in the distance. That storm was coming in hot, and a lot sooner than expected.
Noah’s jaw tightened. “Remember how I said we might get a little wet on the way back?”
“Yes.” I watched as the dark clouds swirled in the sky.
