As individuals, these types always wanted to gain sympathetic ears, and gather allies to be on their side. The women were worse than the men in that regard. Already, Jed had noted Donna shooting brief sidelong glances toward the only single woman on the trip, Rachel Mina. She’d already no doubt targeted her as her first and most likely coconspirator.
Jed said to everyone, “We have a method to our madness on the trail, and we’d appreciate your cooperation. First, nobody brought any bear spray, did they?”
No one said yes.
“Good. I know the Park Service advises everyone to have bear spray because we will absolutely see bears, both black and grizzly. But bear spray does the same thing to horses as it does to bears. If there was an accidental discharge while we were riding along, it could set off a panic and a stampede. So I always ask my clients not to bring bear spray. Of course, I won’t even ask about firearms because it’s illegal to have a gun in a national park. Everybody knows that, right?”
There was general assent.
“Nobody has a gun with them, right?”
Vigorous “Oh, no’s” and head shakes all around, except for one man. The single, Wilson. Jed noted it and tucked the impression into his mental “To Do” basket.
He continued, “You may have heard Congress passed a law that it was now legal for individuals to carry firearms in national parks, but that’s only half the story. It means if you have a valid concealed-carry permit in the state where the park is located-Wyoming, in our case-you can legally have a gun. It doesn’t mean anyone can just show up packing iron. And the releases you signed with us clearly state no firearms. Everybody clear on that point?”
General assent. Except for Wilson, who didn’t respond either way.
To the left of the Glodes were Walt Franck and his stepson Justin from Denver. Walt had salt-and-pepper hair, he was short, and he looked soft. He had a kindly unimpressive face and a bulbous nose spiderwebbed with veins, suggesting he was a drinker. He wore a fishing shirt and zip-off pants, and there was a rod tube poking out of his pile of gear. Justin was in his late teens. He was tall, chiseled, and athletic looking. He had long unkempt hair and smoldering dark eyes. As Jed spoke, Justin’s eyes were on the dark-haired Sullivan girl who’d just arrived. Jed thought, This will be interesting.
As he did with all of his clients, Jed tried to guess the motivation for Walt and Justin to come on the trip. By their age disparity, he guessed Walt was much older than Justin’s mother. That fact alone suggested Walt was bringing the stepson along to forge a bond that had been missing between them. Or was it Justin’s idea? While Justin looked fit and able, Jed thought, the kid didn’t look like an outdoorsman. He was missing all the telltale high-tech outdoor clothing and attitude. No, Jed decided, this was Walt’s deal. Take the boy on an adventure, show him how to camp and fish. Show the boy Walt had some skills besides his interest in his mother, after all. Plus, it showed the boy that Walt had serious money that he was willing to spend on him.
“I see we have some fishermen with us but according to the registration forms, we also have some wildlife enthusiasts,” he said, nodding toward Tristan Glode and the younger Sullivan girl (he couldn’t remember her name), “And I can tell you right now you won’t be disappointed. I’d suggest you take the strap of your camera and loop it through a button hole and put the camera in a shirt pocket so you can get to it real quick. You don’t want to drop your camera or lose it along the trail, that’s for sure. The Yellowstone Thorofare is home to all of the major species in the park. We’ll see bison, wolves, grizzlies, mountain sheep, mule deer, antelope, black bear, and moose. We’ll see smaller species along the way as well-coyotes, beavers, marmots, and dozens of species of birds including bald eagles. We’ll see critters in their natural habitat doing things critters do-like kill and eat each other. We won’t interfere with them and they won’t interfere with us. In all my years of guiding these trips and all the bears we’ve seen, I’ve only lost a couple of clients and it was their own fault because they ran slow.”
That always got a decent nervous laugh. He glanced over to see Dakota roll her eyes. She’d heard him say that so many times.
“Just remember,” he said, grinning to show he was kidding, “you don’t have to outrun the bear. Bears are fast. You just have to outrun the guy or gal next to you.
“I’m joshing, of course,” he said. “Nobody yet has been killed and eaten by a bear.” He paused dramatically. “Of course, attacks by wolf packs is another matter.”
He soaked in the dark laughter, and clinically noted the exchanges of looks between the father and daughters, between Walt and Justin, between the group of three men, and the absence of sharing between Tristan and Jennifer Glode. Yup, he thought, he had that one figured out.
The group of three men in their thirties were the easiest to peg, Jed thought. He knew what they were about when they opened the doors of their rental car and empty beer cans fell out. They were still squinting from high-altitude hangovers. James Knox, Tony D’Amato, and Drey Russell were three gregarious buddies who worked at different firms on Wall Street who went on an annual male-bonding adventure. They were the cut-ups, the goofballs. Knox, a light-haired man with a long thin nose and brusque East Coast go-get-’em manner, was the organizer. He was maybe a few years older than the other two.
Of all the clients, Jed had been most concerned about the three Wall Streeters. Three men like that could take over a trip and pose a challenge to him if they had the wrong attitude or expectations. But after seeing them emerge from the car and watching them josh with each other and laugh, he was relieved. They were there for the adventure.
Drey Russell-short for André, according to his booking form-was a light-skinned black man with dark kind eyes and a quick smile. Jed didn’t get many people of color on his trips, and welcomed Drey so he could get some photos of him in the group to use on his Web site. The National Park Service loved that diversity crap, he knew.
Tony D’Amato looked as dark and Italian as his name, and had a heavy New Jersey accent. He played the part of the perpetually flummoxed big-city boy stuck out in the country, the man who “don’t know nothin’ about horses except the ones on the carousel,” who was the butt of Knox’s and Drey’s jibes. These three would be no trouble, Jed thought. They were into themselves and their group, and they were there to fill up a sackful of memories to laugh about later when they met after work at the bar. So for them, the tougher, the crazier, the more primitive the trip the better because it would make for better tales to tell. A little high maintenance, maybe, Jed thought, even though they didn’t intend to be. Folks raised entirely in cities didn’t have perspective when it came to so many outdoor adventures. But they’d try to get along. No doubt they were all used to snappy service at resorts and lodges and probably not the grind of the trail, despite what they might think. He remembered seeing the previous male-bonding trips listed on their applications, including Mexico, Europe, and Scandinavia. Of course, that was before the economic meltdown, back when these guys pulled down seven figures or close to that. Now, as Knox had made it clear on his initial call, the circumstances were such that the group agreed to keep doing their annual adventure together, even if “they had to slum it for a couple of years.” Although Jed took silent offense to that, he also decided upon seeing them that they seemed almost normal. Jed would just play to Knox and Drey to get them on board. They’d keep Tony D’Amato in line. These three could be Jed’s allies, if he played it right. It was always good to establish allies early on.