By internet standards, this is old news. But these words want to be written, have nagged for days to be written, and have totally prevented me from writing about anything else. The wife, without reading them, told me not to post them. Lest the survivors ever see this entry, and feel their pain is being used for someone else's benefit. But this was my day. This is what I witnessed, the words that I produced. So here they are. I hope the wife is wrong. A continuation of this entry.

Dispatch had given me the wrong directions. Instead of the right fork, I should have taken the left fork to get to the hunters' vehicle. The ambulance, on the other hand, had stopped miles further down the mountain, at the first heavy drifts of snow. But the wrong directions placed me less than a mile north of the scene. I arrived in time to watch the Life Flight helicopter land on a treeless, snow-covered bench. I monitored the radio traffic between the helicopter pilot and her ground crew, already down with the patient, as I scanned the map in my lap.

No roads between me and them. None between them and the hunters' truck either. No way to assist, and no indication they needed any assistance.

None that I could give, anyway.

So, the heelers and I waited. And listened.

Listened as the physician on the ground confirmed the man was "definitely 10-79." And relayed to the county sheriff's office, via the local fire base radio operator, confirmation that there was no sign of violence.

And I watched. Watched four figures slowly hike up the white hillside to the unattended chopper. Three in their dark flight suits, one of which was laden with a huge backpack, and a fourth figure. Smaller, sheltered by the other three, still wearing her hunter's orange vest.

The new widow.

I could not help but wonder how that hike was for her. Face-on into near-arctic blasts of wind and biting snow, towards the grey glow of the setting sun. Leaving half her life behind her in that stand of trees.

How could she do that? Were I her, and the wife laying behind in the trees, I could not leave. Freeze to death beside her, maybe, but leave her behind, alone on a winter mountainside?

How could I do that?

But this woman had been alone up there for probably an hour or more. Plenty of time to make peace with the dead, I guess. To realize it is just an empty shell, after all. And to think of the family still alive back home, down off the mountain. People that needed her amongst them.

Of course she made the hike. There was no choice.

But it had to be so hard.

Did not see them load up. But I heard the pilot call in to announce they would soon be airborne.

The tail of the white and pale blue helicopter lifted first, dipping the nose into the wind. The cloud of swirling snow atop the mountain had come down and swallowed the next ridge to the right, and was heading quickly towards their position. The metal bird lifted a little, thrust forward and upward, and then made a sudden dip to the left, to the point I was looking at more belly than side. And rode the hard winds off to the left, slipping down over the ridgetop and out of sight. Headed in the direction of the woman's truck.

Time to get to the right place, and see if they have any need of someone with a 4W-drive pickup.

Before I could jockey our rig around in the snow-bound road to turn, I saw the chopper again. Low to the left of the ridge bearing the patient. Climbing slowly against the winds pouring down the mountain. It climbed, following the contours of the ridge, until it was directly over the stand of pines. And there, for a long moment, it hovered, before banking right and turning east again.

A last farewell.