Polum Chill

He doesn't ask any.

I leave, then hear the door lock behind me.

After a few minutes, I hear him call someone up, and a long little conversation ensues.

I never see him again.

Word comes down from on high we're assigned a new manager, one who excels at what he calls crises.

His first order of business, a controlled burn of the unauthorized camp and the sites closest to it.

I'm not arguing.

I watch the smoke rise in the distance and pray that's the end of it.

New orders.

Relocate the existing campsite closer to HQ.

Before we do that, we stake out a few trail cameras at the new locations just to make sure it's not in the middle of a nesting ground.

We put up a few cameras, pointed at the hog trails through the brush for good measure.

A couple days pass and we go out to collect the footage.

The new manager takes it all and starts studying it in his office.

A couple hours into reviewing, he freaks out, starts screaming and yelling, gets on the phone, calling up the line, spitting more obscenities.

He spends the rest of the day and that night in the office calling up specialists and planners.

The next morning, I show up for a meeting.

The manager doesn't look like he's slept.

Massive changes afoot.

He lays out our new plans, including massively bright lampposts circling the park border as well as floodlights around the ranger station.