Page 12 of Stuck With the Smokejumper

The back of the truck is packed by the time we leave Mercer's. Ice in coolers. Grocery bags wedged around them. Toilet paper occupying an unreasonable amount of space. And one Bigfoot caller I refuse to accept responsibility for.

We head back toward the crew house with the windows cracked. The drive is quieter this time, but not uncomfortable.

I glance at Beck. “What do you do in the off season when you're not jumping out of airplanes into burning forests?”

“Ski patrol.”

I look over. “Seriously?”

“Most winters.”

“Where?”

“Depends on the year. Montana. Colorado. Wherever I get a good seasonal spot.”

“That sounds cold.”

“Says the woman studying wildlife in Montana.”

“Wildlife doesn't require me to strap boards to my feet and throw myself down a mountain.”

“Ski patrol doesn't require that either.”

“I feel like skis are fairly central to the job.”

“They help.”

I smile and look back at the road. “So that's your whole year? Fire season and ski season?”

“Mostly. Sometimes there's a gap between them. I pick up whatever makes sense.”

“You like moving around that much?”

“Yeah.” There's no hesitation in his answer. “New places. Different crews. Keeps things interesting.”

Beck has always seemed to exist in motion. A few days here. A fire somewhere else. Winter in another mountain town. It fits him. He glances at me. “What about you? You're almost done with school?”

“I'm finishing my graduate degree in wildlife biology.”

“Then what?”

“The question everyone keeps asking.”

“You don't know?”

“I have ideas.” I turn onto the road leading back toward the Blackpine crew house. “Just not a zip code.”

“And this is your last summer with the crew?”

“Probably.” Saying it out loud still feels strange. Blackpine has been the most consistent part of my summers for years. Next year could look completely different.

Beck nods. “Big change.”

“Potentially.”

We drive another mile beneath tall pines. This morning was supposed to be groceries. That was it. Instead, I learned Beck has an absurd amount of music stored in his head, buys expensive, albeit nice-smelling, soap, refuses to rule out Bigfoot, and thinks novelty wildlife calls are a sound financial decision.

I've also learned something more inconvenient. He's easy to be around. And I like him. Probably more than is useful.