Page 1 of Capture the Moment

One

In every walk with Nature one receives far more than he seeks.

—John Muir, conservationist

Kate Cunningham’s eyes widened with awe as Grand Teton National Park unfolded before her, a sight so breathtaking that it forced her to pull over to the side of the road. No amount of research could have truly prepared her for the spectacle that lay ahead: a sweeping valley floor pushing right into the steep granite peaks of the Tetons, still covered with snow.

She sat in silence, mesmerized by those peaks, until the awe overwhelmed her and she had to look away. In the meadow in front of her, Kate spotted an elk grazing. The quiet beauty of the scene stirred something within her. Without a moment’s hesitation, she leaped out of her car and popped the trunk to retrieve her prized possession—a brand-new Sony Alpha1, heralded as the epitome of wildlife photography cameras. Working at a zoo to create a portfolio, padding her meager income with gigs from bar mitzvahs to weddings, and surviving on a diet of Top Ramen had led her to this moment. Kate was on a mission.

Just as she attached her zoom lens to the camera and focusedin on the elk, her eyes widened in amazement as a black bear emerged from the tree line. Following behind her came two cubs.

A flare went off in her heart. She’d barely arrived in the park and she’d already seen more wildlife in two minutes than she’d hoped for in two days! With a mixture of excitement and trepidation, she aimed her lens at the sow and her cubs. As the black bear lumbered away, she looked at the images she’d taken. Good, really good, but not unique. Not noteworthy. Not forNational Geographic, anyway.

With a vague promise from aNat Geoeditor dangling like a tantalizing carrot, Kate had set her sights on capturing a unique photograph of the world’s most famous bear—Grizzly Bear 399. The editor, a woman she’d met at the zoo a few weeks ago, had said that if Kate could deliverthatshot, she would take a serious look at it. But, she said, she would need to see the photograph by the end of May. She handed Kate a piece of paper with her email scribbled down. It was the closest Kate had ever been to a breakthrough opportunity, and she was determined to seize it. Within her grasp was her dream—to be a wildlife photographer.

Stopping at the Moose Entrance, Kate had learned that Grizzly 399 hadn’t emerged from hibernation yet. “Then again, she might be dead,” the ranger said in a matter-of-fact way. “She’s an old lady, you know.”

Oh yeah, Kate knew. She had studied everything there was to know about 399. This bear was iconic, known particularly as a wise and vigilant mother.

The bear’s age was the reason that theNat Geoeditor said she wanted a close-up picture—everyone assumed this could be the bear’s last summer. From what Kate had read, and from the grim remark by the ranger, that was a reasonable assumption. No one expected Grizzly 399 to survive yet another winter.Year after year, she kept surprising them. Kept emerging from her den, often with new cubs. A few years ago, she came out of hibernation with quadruplets—a rare occurrence for a sow. Keeping four cubs well-fed and well-protected was no small feat for a bear of any age.

This summer could be the start of Kate’s wildlife photography career. She could sense it—something was coming her way. Something that could change everything.

And if she missed it, she’d be back to the zoo.

She reminded herself that it wouldn’t be the worst thing to go back there. It was steady work. She shot pictures of the animals for exhibit signs, as well as for publicity and marketing. Locally, she’d been gaining a bit of recognition after adding quirky captions to the zoo photographs she posted on Instagram. One of her hits was a group of majestic giraffes all looking in unison, with a mischievous monkey photobombing in the background, hanging upside down and looking utterly ridiculous. Kate’s caption for the shot: “The relative who never gets mentioned.”

She took a few more photographs of the elk grazing in the meadow. Such a peaceful moment. She was tempted to stay longer, but she wanted to check in at Jackson Lake Lodge, get something to eat, and plan out her locations for the week. It was one thing to read a guidebook about the national park, it was another thing to be here, surrounded by its vastness. Its grandeur.

Thank you, thank you, thank you, God, for bringing me here.

She put the cap on her camera lens, satisfied. This, she thought, was a good note to end her first day on. A very good note.

Grant Cooper, known as Coop in Grand Teton National Park circles, stepped into park headquarters with a pretty strong suspicion as to why he’d been summoned. His boss wanted tochat. Coop couldn’t help but find it ironic—District Ranger Tim Rivers, a man not known for his chatty nature, calling him in for a conversation. Then again, Coop wasn’t much of a talker either, and that’s one reason they got along so well.

Coop lived all year for summer months in the mountains. The rest of the year, he traded his seasonal ranger hat for the role of a high school biology teacher at a private high school in Salt Lake City, attempting to cram knowledge into the minds of bored teenagers until he ran out of words and patience by May, when the school year ended. Summers, however, were his escape, a time to protect grizzly and black bears and recharge his soul. Bears, especially, held a special place in his heart.

But this summer season, which kicked off recently, had started out on a bad foot. It was a record year for snowfall, with the park entirely socked in. In a regular year, most of the snow was gone by July and August, the heaviest tourist season. But this wasn’t a regular year. It was mid-May, and there was still an enormous amount of snow and ice to melt from the mountains, creating dangerous conditions for inexperienced hikers—which, in Coop’s eyes, were most of them.

A series of encounters with clueless tourists had left Coop frustrated much earlier in the season than usual. German backpackers disrupted a herd of elk for selfies, a day packer attempted to feed a granola bar to a bear cub, claiming he was “connecting with nature,” and the grand finale—a camper had no clue how to put his borrowed-from-his-neighbor tent together. That was the clincher for Coop. It was a classic tip-off to rangers. When campers had no idea how to erect tents, they had no business hiking in the backcountry.

At that point, Coop’s short fuse had heated to the point that these misguided campers complained to park management, which led to this moment in Tim Rivers’s small office in the park’s headquarters.

Tim sat across from Coop in his perfectly pressed uniform, with a badge gleaming on his chest. On a corner of the desk sat his wide-brimmed hat. He was a quintessential parkie and had been assigned to numerous parks, all over the country. Coop met Tim a few years ago, when he’d given a talk at Coop’s high school about a career in the National Park Service. Afterward, Coop introduced himself, explaining that he had spent every summer of his life backpacking in the national parks. It was the main reason he had chosen teaching as a profession. Like everything in life, Coop took teaching seriously, he gave it everything he had, but he wanted his summers free for the wilderness.

Tim convinced Coop to work as a seasonal Jenny Lake Ranger at Grand Teton National Park, sealing the deal when he described the work of a backcountry ranger. Remote. Isolated. “You’re already doing it,” Tim had said. “You’re a seasonal vagabond. Why not earn money and do a little good for the world while you’re at it?”

So, for the last two summers, that’s exactly what Coop ended up doing. Being a seasonal Jenny Lake Ranger was just the right fit for him, kind of like teaching but with even more passion poured into it. He was all in—maybe even more than that. The gig just clicked for him; his hair got all wild, shaving felt optional, and he took on a rugged, work-hardened look. It was like he turned into the opposite of Mr. Cooper, the biology teacher at the high school who rocked a tie every day. For him, being a seasonal ranger was like hitting the jackpot—a chance to hang out with nature all summer, far from the hustle and bustle of regular life. Far away from entitled teenagers, far away from most human beings. A certain female named Emma, in particular. The Emma Dilemma, he called it.

It had been a perfect job until now.

Sitting in Tim’s office, Coop wondered if this was the way his students might feel when summoned to the principal’s office.Defensive. Indignant. Misunderstood. “Tim, I was only doing my job. Those tourists were deliberately ignoring rules of the park. Rules that are postedeverywhere.”

“I don’t disagree with you, but the park service is under fire to reexamine its training regarding insensitivity.”

Coop slapped his palm against his chest. “Tim, how is it insensitive when I’m trying to stop some tourist from getting way too cozy with a wild animal she thinks is just ‘the cutest thing’?”

Trying unsuccessfully to swallow a smile, Tim paused and dropped his chin. When he lifted his head, he was back to business. “Coop, you know as well as I do that the official policy of the NPS is to not make fun of tourists.”

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