If not for the nerve-numbing effects of a long run immediately after I’d returned with Ian and Bridger to the government area, I wouldn’t have lasted an hour alongside my buzzed neighbors without having some kind of a breakdown. Our coworker Ben’s partner Cassie had just outlined the painful process that led her to conclude that I was “actually the fucking GOAT,” right after Bridger had finished giving me shit about only eating grilled vegetables and macaroni and cheese, right after tipsy-but-not-yet-bombed Russ had lectured me on the importance of letting people love me. I knew Ian saw me roll…

I saw that Glorified G’s enclosure was still empty once I could see the cabin. It had been as foggy as any morning in the dense interiors of the Olympics until the sun started breaking through the hazy water vapor. Because so much of my outside time that summer was in the trees, I so rarely needed sunglasses that I had stopped keeping them on me. I regretted it a little that morning, which had all the signs of a bright day to follow.

To say that everything on the Peninsula west of the Olympic Range was wilder than the Neighborhood of Hood Canal felt like a gross understatement. It felt disingenuous, too, to describe something as wild just because it more closely resembled what it looked like before white settlement, which had always been far more disruptive than anything that occurred naturally. All the counterpoints—volcanic eruptions, fires, floods, earthquakes—worked within processes with a prehistoric precedent. Though I didn’t bring it up explicitly on my second visit to Moclips that summer, which I’d decided to make the first Saturday after Glorified G’s return, I…

“MacKenzie, I need your help in this game.” The voice came from the table, where I could hear people had gathered to play cards. And though the permanent law enforcement guy, Adam, was not there as far as I knew, his golden retrievers named Friday and Elaine were. I had been upstairs since getting back from Pete’s late that afternoon. I didn’t know how many life forms had made it into the house since then, but the dogs materialized quietly when I made it to the kitchen to fill my water bottle. Their tails swished with measured anticipation as I…

It was out of character for Ian to forget the key to the cabin. Largely because it was on the same keyring he had, like, nine other keys on, all of which he used almost daily. I guess he’d forgotten it in his rush to start his hitch a day early—hiking in on a Sunday so he could be back late Thursday and make a dentist appointment early Friday morning. He had no trouble, however, remembering the key for Old Taco’s replacement, a 2010 Escape that I avoided like the plague. Legend had it that it got spectacular mileage—some ridiculous…

Beginning the first full week of August, our assessment schedule dropped from weekly to a bi-weekly. From that point in the season forward, all our assessments were conducted in pairs until the trailhead we used to access the second-growth area opened to wider public permit use in early October. After Ian took a turn in mid-July, Bridger had taken the week after to give me one more week off from backcountry duty after my three-week bender of assessments. So my last solo assessment of the summer fell on a week that began in July and ran into the first days…

I was against being seen in public with my coworkers when alcohol was involved for one obvious reason: They were animals. At the Rain Shadow, the lack of propriety felt acceptable, but I wondered how much of that owed to the backdrop of dense coastal forests that constantly gave it the effect of an extended camping trip. In the end, Bridger and Ben somehow convinced me that venturing into society would only be embarrassing until Ian got kicked out of a place. They promised that witnessing that would make everything up that point worth it. I wasn’t sold, but I…