Dispatch from the Edge

By Peter Anderson
They are both solitary creatures who want to be left alone.

The ranger has been swinging a Pulaski all day, clearing deadfall off of highline trails – fifteen miles and twenty lodgepole taken out at 10,000 feet. Back at the wall tent he eats mac and cheese, burrows into his bag, and reads Abbey by kerosene until his lantern flares out like an old star.

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