Nature Noir by Jordan Smith (romantic books to read .TXT) 📗

volunteer association, and as many as sixty people have been showing up for some of its guided hikes. Meanwhile, up Foresthill Road, a federal grant has brought dignified paved parking lots to the formerly dusty trail-heads. Local pride in the American River is growing. The Auburn Journal now runs scenic photographs of the river on its front page as often as two or three times a week. Some of the park's signs don't even have bullet holes in them anymore. And the crusty all-male ranger staff has been leavened by the arrival of female rangers and a woman superintendent.

In 2000, Bruce Kranz, State Parks' superintendent for the American River, ran for a seat on the Placer County Board of Supervisors against a moderate, controlled-growth, environmentalist incumbent. Kranz's campaign literature claimed that as an employee of State Parks, he'd devoted himself since the age of seventeen to the stewardship of California's environment; however, builders and developers were prominent among his campaign contributors. On Election Day, when it was too late for the press to report it to the voters, his campaign received $50,000 from a political action committee tied to Congressman Doolittle and development interests. Apparently the voters didn't entirely buy Kranz's credentials as a green; he outspent his opponent by a wide margin and was defeated by a much narrower one.

Increasingly isolated among the preservationists at State Parks, Kranz retired from Parks to devote himself to politics, taking a part-time job as an aide to conservative state senator Tim Leslie. In this capacity, in 2002, Kranz appeared at an outdoor press conference overlooking the foundations of the Auburn Dam to deliver a speech in support of a new effort by Leslie, Doolittle, and fellow conservative legislators to finish the dam and flood the landscape he had stewarded. The following year he ran again for county supervisor. This time he successfully ousted the incumbent with a generous advertising budget. Kranz's campaign raised $241,000 from a list of contributors that reads like a directory of the building and land development industries in the Sierra and Sacramento regions. His controlled-growth opponent raised less than half that amount.

By this time Steve MacGaff had retired. O'Leary retired, went fishing in British Columbia, and settled close to the coast. Doug Bell retired, went hunting and fishing, and now designs hiking trails. His daughter is studying ballet at a good university. Sherm Jeffries is a superintendent for State Parks on the east side of the Sierra.

Only Dave Finch and Will Reich still don their uniforms each morning in the old firefighters' mess in the North Fork. Finch retired once but couldn't stay away. Reich still patrols the North and Middle Forks in an oar boat. There is still no word of the miner who was run out of his claim at Otter Creek by a bear.

After the beating of Ricky Marks by Mary Murphy's boyfriend, Marks and his partner, Jerry Prentice, abandoned their cabin on the North Fork. The rangers burned it down in the winter of 1987. Marks and Prentice continued mining for a couple of years but never struck it rich. Eventually both men left the Sierra for cities on the coast, where Marks was later arrested for drunk driving. Out on bail, he failed to appear in court. A warrant has been issued for his arrest. Mary Murphy left her abusive boyfriend and moved to New Mexico, where she completed a twelve-step program and now lives happily and peacefully without alcohol or alcoholics.

New road maps published by the California Automobile Association no longer show a Y-shaped lake in the canyons of the American River.

Each year on July 11, Early Ditsavong's mother and father return to the place where the North Fork runs into Lake Clementine with offerings of incense, flowers, ceremonial food, and a candle to light Early's way through the spirit world. In 2002 the California National Guard bestowed its highest posthumous honor, the Medal of Valor, on Private First Class Early Ditsavong for the bravery he displayed in the rescue that cost him his life. He had been scheduled to go to army basic training the week he drowned. I never again saw anything like that lady beetle migration I encountered the day I took Early's parents to the North Fork. Nor has there been another earthquake of the size of 1975's on the Foothill Fault Zone, although we are undoubtedly due for one. There has not been another mountain lion attack in Auburn State Recreation Area in the decade since the death of Barbara Schoener. And Karen Dellasandro's body still has not been found.

In April of 1990, John Carta made another parachute jump off the Foresthill Bridge—this one without a motorcycle. When he landed, he hid his parachute in a camouflaged bag under the span, intending to retrieve it after the rangers and sheriff's deputies went home. It was discovered by the rangers and seized as evidence. That summer, using another rig in a jump from a building, he broke his back. Still wearing plaster casts, that September he accepted an invitation for an airplane ride over Clear Lake, across the Central Valley from Auburn. The inexperienced pilot put the two-engine aircraft through a series of showy, low-altitude maneuvers, then lost control and crashed into the lake. Carta, the pilot, and six others aboard were killed instantly.

In September of 2003 festivities were held to commemorate the thirtieth anniversary of the Foresthill Bridge's dedication; Placer County officials were still debating what to do about suicides there. I understand that recently a marriage was conducted at the bridge, after which the bride and groom parachuted into the North Fork canyon.

By the time this book is in print, it will have been four decades since the legislation authorizing the Auburn Dam was passed, and the forty-eight miles of canyons the dam would have inundated are still with us. Given half a chance, these canyons will continue to bloom and recover from the insults of the Gold Rush, yet they will henceforth