Buzz sauntered to the truck bed and patted the hounds one by one. After all, they’d be the ones doing the heavy lifting this morning. After greeting the dogs, Buzz entered his canvas tent and exited with the day’s lunch packs and his Mauer Special Range rifle.

Aaron got inside Leaf’s truck, his photo gear piled on top of him. The last thing he wanted was to get it wet, and damned if it always didn’t rain this close to Lake Superior.

Leaf handed each man a steaming cup of coffee and they all shook hands. There was a distinct trace of electricity in the air. Aaron could taste it on his tongue like moonshine.

Buzz jumped onto the bed and smacked the flank of the tuck with an open hand. “Let her roll,” he said.

Leaf leaned out the window with his tweed cap and cob pipe. Then he gave a thumbs up, clenching his teeth around the pipe stem. The hounds lurched back and forth, tongues flapping. Buzz stood on the bed, balancing himself on the black metal roof.

As they drove through the logging camp, canvas tents stretched for a hundred yards in all directions. The smells of fire, coffee, and cornbread wafted through the clutter. A brown haze clung to camp, present even when the wind howled. They’d gotten used to it. A track of railroad dead-ended into camp, but there were no trains today. The raging Erickson Fire had crossed the tracks four miles east. Stacks of old growth logs piled high into the sky, mostly red pine, white pine, and hemlock. Some of the trunks measured ten feet across.

Two miles east of camp, flames rose above the canopy as black smoke billowed into the sky. Sporadic gunshots came from far off as loggers shot animals fleeing the flames. Camp nights were raucous contests to see who had the biggest elk, caribou, lynx, bear, or mountain lion. The mountain lion always drew the most attention, and always guaranteed a winner. But no one had killed a mountain lion in at least a year. It was discussed that they might be gone.

The Model T drove for an hour along the big lake and turned up a fresh cut road, its tires jumping erratically on the washboard surface. The road was steep here, steeper than most new roads. All around them lay stumps as far as the horizon. When the truck crested the hill, Buzz tapped the roof with his open hand.

“Leaf, is this the new Julip grade?” he asked.

“That it is. Cut her eight months ago,” Leaf said.

It didn’t look like very good land, Aaron thought.

Buzz sighed from behind them.

Sensing the concern, Leaf responded. “We have a ways to go, Buzz. Where we’re goin’ the country is still untouched.”

Buzz tapped the truck again. “Very good, very good. On with it then.”