But sometimes my eyes wander. In the places we fly, it's hard not to do this. We fly past glaciers and rock spires, mountain goats and grizzly bears. On days when we are chasing the wisps of fog we call waterdogs, or taking a trail crew in for rehab perhaps, I start tracing the lines of mountains. I make maps in my mind of places I want to go on foot.
Lakes shimmer in cirques far below; I search the woods for a possible trail. When I see a lonely path carved into a hillside, I wonder where it goes. I gaze at fire lookouts as we pass. I stare at my GPS. What's that lake, how far is that trail, could I climb that peak? There are so many possibilities.
|Lookout from the air|
|I saw this lake from the helicopter when there was a fire there. Finally made it there this spring.|