heard any bugles, unless you count the thin, plastic sounds of hunters bugling down by their campsites. It would be like this the whole time we hunted - uncharacteristically quiet. None of us are trophy hunters; we will take the first legal animal that presents itself. It was beginning to look like we would not get the chance to harvest any wild meat. On the second afternoon we boiled the last of the ramen and headed off for the evening hunt. Surrounded by dusky grouse, I sat on a knife ridge and watched the light fade. At my feet I unearthed a tin can that must have dated back to the 1970s - we were not the only group of hunters to consider this area our own. Back in camp Tom and Patrick were excited about what they found. They carried a pair of charred scissors and some exploded .308 shells. " We found a hunter's pack - it was full of melted clothes, a melted radio - the aluminum bars of the pack were melted, " Pat said. He wondered out loud if the hunter was able to escape the flames or if his remains were nearby. " Maybe we should go back tomorrow and look, " he said. Though we usually don't give in to the temptations of having a stick fire - in my opinion the smell of campfires spooks the elk - we gave in for the final night. We stood around the little flames. The stars came out and Pat told us about them. He knew the names. In Pinedale we called the sheriff's office and reported the strange items. The dispatcher called us back and took our names and phone numbers. The dispatcher said there were no missing people in the area. We could only deduce the burned pack was from one of the hunters who fled when the Roosevelt Fire raged. We had a long, dry drive across Wyoming. Tom was driving out of the state for good in a few days. Patrick and I were settling in for the long winter. We'd each be buried in student essays. We'd see each other at the copy machine occasionally. The ice blocks in the cooler had given up half their weight. A cool, thin stream of ice melt leaked out of my truck bed. It reminded me of the little rills up there in the Wyoming Range where you can often find elk tracks in the mud. - Dave Zoby is a freelance writer and educator based in Casper. The high country is a good place to kick back and catch up with old friends. A charred saw and flashlight from a forest fire. Wyoming Wildlife | 37