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For lookouts, September is the coolest month. The brush along the trails has turned russet after the desiccatingly hot summer and below-freezing temperatures of late. In fact, autumn hues have appeared everywhere over the last few days — the golds of aspen, tawny browns of meadow grasses, reds of mountain ash berries, and darker browns of the shrubs and brush. Now that the fire season is coming to an end, there is little if any smoke around, and the low humidity and cooler temperatures have combined to lend a crystalline quality to the air. As in spring I can once again see for long distances, westward all the way to Oregon where the Wallowa range retains only the barest traces of snow, and eastward to the wall of the Bighorn Crags. I glass all the countryside with delight, luxuriating in the lay of the land. The decrease in wildfires means a corresponding decline in radio traffic. In front of ranger stations across Idaho and Montana, that wonderful cultural icon Smokey the Bear is pointing to the fire danger indicator at low. Many of the seasonal employees on the fire, timber, river, and recreation crews have gone back to college, leaving relatively few personnel still in the field. The little conversation that does occur on the radio is relaxed, lowkey , the tension gone from everyone’s voices now that the chance for wild- fires has diminished. It’s a bittersweet time for firefighters, who’ve racked up lots of ot pay for hazard duty while battling blazes but who now know that they too are short-timers, soon to be laid off for lack of work. I sit on the steps of the catwalk overseeing my domain, neither lord nor monarch of all I survey, just one more member of the biotic community. Basking in the sun out of the wind, wearing a wool sweater and shorts, I 16 . hunting, the fundamental diversion become aware of another fall delight: no bugs. Well, hardly any. Sure there are still a few flies droning about, the only noise noticeable at the moment. But the mosquitoes, ant flies, and wasps have all disappeared for the year, and it is an absolute pleasure to sit and not have to flail at various pests while trying to enjoy my morning coffee. Yes, fall is truly the most colorful, comfortable , and solitary time of the year on the lookout. Hemingway captured the enchanting qualities of an Idaho autumn in this stanza of a poem he once wrote (now inscribed on a bronze plaque at a memorial to him in Sun Valley): Best of all he loved the fall The leaves yellow on the cottonwoods Leaves littering the trout streams And above the hills The high blue windless skies. I don’t look forward to the rush of visitors over Labor Day, the last holiday weekend of the year. Like the fourth of July, it’s one of the few times that I’m required to be on the lookout for most of the day (including before and after official 9 to 5 hours) in order to perform my responsibilities of greeting the public and serving as a representative of the Forest Service. It’s not part of my temperament to be gregarious and social, but I grin and bear this weighty responsibility as best I can. And as I continue to discover, there are actually a lot of good folks out there hiking and camping in the woods. The first visitors of the weekend are a party of five women, all of whom must be at least sixty years old. They offer me fruit and candy bars, which I gratefully accept. We chat while on the catwalk about where they’re from and what they’re doing up here. Rosemary, the leader of the group, has hiked up to Ruffneck’s summit seven times, and the journey for her has now become a pilgrimage. Apparently, the organizing principle of the group is divorce; all formerly married, the women are now dating eligible men in Nampa — such as they exist, I suggest, and Rosemary readily replies, “You got that straight, cowboy.” We talk about the advantages of living in southern Idaho: proximity to both Boise and its many recreational possibilities in the surrounding mountains, canyons, and rivers; the temperate climate of the high desert; the uncrowded freeways and easy commutes. Ah, she sighs, but Californians have discovered Idaho and are gobbling up land and...

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