Page 23 of Capture the Moment

As Maisie rounded a sharp bend in the path, her attention drifted for just a second. Those towering trees lining the trail were seriously mesmerizing. Lost in their beauty, she totally missed the two figures standing right in the middle of the bike path.

At the last second, the unsuspecting pair saw Maisie coming straight for them and stumbled backward to get out of the way. Maisie lost control of the bicycle and crashed, landing in a heap on the ground with a startled cry. She rolled over and checked her bleeding knees and elbows. “Ouch, ouch, ouch.”

“Kid, are you okay?”

Maisie looked up to see two people, both rangers in officialuniform, staring down at her. The man was crazy tall, his stiff ranger hat making him even taller. And the other one was a tiny woman whose head was almost entirely swallowed up by her ranger hat.

And she lookedmad. “Honey,” the tiny ranger said, in a tone of voice that didn’t match the soft word, “you need to watch where you’re going.”

The crazy tall ranger nodded in agreement, a wry smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Yeah, my sister always said I didn’t make a very good speed bump. Too skinny.”

Maisie scrambled to her feet. “Oops, my bad. This bike’s new to me. It’s not a new bike, obviously.” In fact, it was pretty ancient. “It belongs to Pops. He’s my grandfather. Well, not really. Not officially. He was married to my grandmother, but I never knew her and I’ve always known Pops.” Maisie cringed inwardly at her own chatter, knowing she should zip it. In the best of times, she knew she was ... how did Pops word it? “Blessed with the gift of conversation.” But when nerves kicked in, Maisie’s mouth turned into a runaway train, and there was no stopping the word avalanche. Like now, with the tiny ranger eyeballing her like she’d committed a felony. Just as Maisie started to explain more, the tiny ranger held up her tiny hand like a stop sign.

“Hon, just be more careful next time,” she said, before turning to walk away with the tall ranger in tow.

As Maisie watched them go, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she had seen the tiny woman somewhere before. Then it hit her like a bolt of lightning. She hopped on her bike, which took a little time to properly maneuver, and pedaled fast to catch up with them.

“You’re Sally Janus!” Maisie called out, hoping to stop them. “I met you last year when I was visiting Pops.”

The tiny ranger stopped in her tracks, turning to look at Maisie with surprise. “Who is Pops?”

“Ranger Tim Rivers.”

“Tim Rivers is your grandfather?”

Maisie nodded eagerly, a grin spreading across her face. “Yep, that’s him!”

Recognition lit Sally Janus’s face. “Why, you’re Maisie!”

“That’s me!”

“You’ve sure changed a lot since last summer.” Sally’s expression softened considerably, and she gave Maisie a warm smile. “Well, it’s sure nice to see you again, hon. Your grandfather talks about you all the time. He’s a fine ranger. One of the best.”

“Thanks!” Maisie beamed, feeling a surge of pride at the praise for Pops. She slid her backpack off to unzip it and look for her favorite picture of her and her grandfather. She wanted to show it to Sally Janus. While she hunted through her backpack, she chattered away about how she spent a portion of every summer with Pops. “Ever since I was little,” she said. “Pops always wants me to spend a couple of weeks with him each summer, in whatever national park he’s been assigned to.” She dug through the backpack until she found the picture. “Here it is!” She looked up.

But Sally Janus and the tall ranger were gone.

Wade Schmidt’s standards were sky-high, he was well aware of that. But the moment he met Feldmann, he felt a hitch in his gut. The thing that bothered Wade the most was how tall Feldmann was. Memorably tall.

Memorability was the last thing Wade wanted to be associated with. He used different disguises when traveling, both internationally and domestically, and had quite the collection of driver’s licenses and passports. Thanks to his impressive acting skills and knack for accents, he could easily slip into various roles. It was all part of the game.

He tapped his fingers rhythmically on the small desk in his dimly lit hotel room. All around him were topographical maps of the park, satellite images, weather reports, and various other pieces of critical information. His eyes narrowed as he studied the detailed maps of Grand Teton National Park, etching into his mind every contour, every creek, every trail.

He checked the latest weather report again, noting the forecasted conditions for the coming days. Afternoon storms were common in the mountains. Rain could be an advantage, masking his scent. He knew not to underestimate a bear’s keen sense of smell. But rain had its drawback—it made tracking paw prints and scat more difficult.

Calculated planning before the execution was half the fun for Wade. Hunters often said that the toughest part was the waiting game, especially when it came to glassing—sitting still at a prime spot for hours on end, staying alert for that perfect moment when your target makes an appearance. Glassing separated the men from the boys.

For Wade, the waiting game wasn’t a challenge at all. In fact, he relished it. He understood the value of patience in hunting—it was what set him apart. Unlike many of his peers who relied on technology like animal calls from their phones, Wade preferred the old-school approach, even to the point of spreading musk all over to cover his scent. To him, there was no thrill in using gadgets to shortcut the chase. Waiting patiently for the right moment was where the real excitement lay.

Anticipation built as he visualized the hunt in his mind, preparing for every scenario. He imagined the thrill of tracking 399, the world’s most famous grizzly bear. It was all about strategy, patience, and precision. A game of cat and mouse. The cat always won.

And Wade was the cat.

Seven

For one that comes into the wilderness with a pencil to sketch or sing, a thousand come with an axe or rifle.

—Henry David Thoreau, American philosopher

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