“Got it!” Parker fiddled with some cords, and the portable projector sputtered to life.
The hastily converted Adventure Center was now command central for Operation Save the Grouse. The room buzzed with energy — part tension, part excitement, part “we’re all going to get fired, but at least we’ll go down in a blaze of glory.”
“Holy shit,” said Jenn, leaning forward in her chair. “That really is a Gunnison sage grouse.”
The cinematography wouldn’t win me any awards, shot one-handed while I was woozy from blood loss, possibly concussed, but its subject commanded everyone’s full attention. The bizarre bird strutted across the frame, chest puffed to improbable proportions, air sacs inflating and deflating like tiny built-in party balloons.
Diego stopped eating his pastrami sandwich mid-bite. Brie was so distracted she poured coffee all over the counter when her mug overflowed.
The bird continued its ridiculous dance, bouncing acrossthe frame. When it unleashed that strange popping sound, Maya gasped.
Noah had been pacing so much he’d probably worn down the treads of his hiking boots. When our eyes met, an electric tingle sizzled up my spine. I shifted on my plastic folding chair, wincing as my ankle reminded me I was lucky to still be alive.
He brought me a fresh ice pack, gingerly removing the other one, which had melted into my sock. “Does it feel any better?”
I nodded. “I think the swelling’s gone down. Thanks.”
“Look at the tail pattern,” Jenn pointed at the screen. “And that distinctive white ruff. This is definitely a mature male in full display.”
When the video ended, the room remained silent for several heartbeats, the significance of what I’d captured fully sinking in. Then came the questions.
“How many did you see?” asked Diego.
“Where exactly was this taken?” asked Brie.
“Did you notice any females nearby?” asked Maya.
Noah held up his hands, quieting the chaos. “This isn’t just about us anymore.” He pointed to the grouse, now frozen on the screen. “We’re also fighting for him.” He cued Jenn, who moved to the front of our makeshift war room.
“The Gunnison sage grouse is one of North America’s most endangered birds. Once common throughout the Gunnison Basin, their population has declined by over ninety percent in the last century.”
Jenn signaled Parker, who changed the view on his laptop to a map. “Development, roads, and recreation have fragmented their habitat.” She paused, nodding at me and smiling. “What Sam discovered appears to be an active lek. Their mating ground.”
“Like the bird equivalent of a singles bar,” said Diego.
“Something you know well.” Maya gave him a friendly punch in the arm.
“These leks are critical to their survival,” Jenn continued. “Males return to the exact same spot year after year, generation after generation, to perform these mating displays. If a lek is destroyed, the birds don’t just find another location. The whole breeding cycle collapses. And then they’re gone.”
“Diego, you’re up.” Noah thumbed toward the front.
Standing in front of the row of folding chairs, Diego’s usually playful demeanor gave way to something fiercer. “And it’s not just the grouse,” he said, pointing to some of the framed wildlife posters on the walls. “This area supports an interconnected ecosystem that includes elk migration routes, beaver habitats, and some of the last uninterrupted sagebrush landscapes in the state.”
Parker, media whiz and master showman, hit the power button on the connected speaker system, and dramatic music played. The projector switched to a series of high-definition photographs. Mountain vistas. Bubbling streams. Wildflower meadows. Native animals in their natural habitats.
“LuxeLife’s expansion plans would cut right through critical winter range for elk and mule deer,” continued Diego.
Parker switched the view to drone footage of the entire area, including both the resort and the Adventure Center, juxtaposed with a 3D rendering of LuxeLife blueprints he’d found in shareholder reports on the corporate website.
“Victoria’s curated authenticity program would involve clearing old-growth forest for its boardwalks and viewing platforms.”
“Not to mention the light pollution,” Jenn added.
“The noise. The increased traffic,” said Maya.
“Tourists trampling wildflowers for the perfect selfie shot.” Brie looked pointedly at me.
“Hey, I’m a reformed trampler,” I protested, earning a small smile from Noah.
