The light of day comes long before sunshine in Yellowstone Creek and at 2000 meters there is always a chill in dawn air. As Jim leaves the tent, a herd of antelope is watering at the creek—some of perhaps 200,000 in the Uintas by last satellite count.
“This man, this intrepid adventurer, is armed only with a camcorder and a knife,” Chet Bradley reports. “He must be well versed in the ways of the wilderness before ever arriving—there are bear and wolf here, as well as the much more dangerous marauding buffalo.”
Jim is picking up the satellite feed of Bradley’s comments through his helmet. As he breaks camp he thinks, “Fifty weeks, how time has flown. Last year’s wilderness traveler came out and they held the final drawing two hours later on nationwide TV. It was so goddamn silly—like Miss America. Regionals, state-wides, finally the nationals. Hell, somehow I got it.”
He mounts Celeste and they ford the Yellowstone. On the far side they enter a stand of quaking aspen for the first time. At noon the easy path of abandoned road ends and narrow trail takes its place. Jim takes a break. He leaves Celeste in a field and picks his way through the trees down to the creek for some more fishing.
In the fir grove off to his left, Jim spots movement. Jim turns right and sprints to a thick stand of aspen. Never looking back, he scrabbles up the smooth, white bark of one with the aid of the neocollagen climbing claws he pulls from his vest. Behind him come the pounding of buffalo hooves. From seven meters up he looks down, then crawls up another three meters. Beneath him is a solitary bull buffalo standing three meters high at the shoulder. It snorts at him, scars the bark five meters up with his horns and seven meters up with his hoofs, then circles the tree.
The camera on Jim’s helmet catches it all in living color. Tinkerbell missed the initial sprint but got great shots of the bull trying to climb after Jim, then circling the tree.
“That was a close one.” Jim whispers into his mike. “Did you see how fast he was? I think he came out of a gully hidden by those firs. He was certainly pi—an aggressive one, wasn’t he? Certainly had no fear of man, either. Amazing what a difference just a couple generations of pristine living makes.”
Half an hour later, Jim is still up the tree, motionless.
“Patience,” Olson told him at their first meeting. “To survive in the wilderness, the first virtue is speed, the second is patience, and the third is knowledge. Speed we all applaud, so you have had plenty of practice learning that in your everyday activities. You’ve also had long experience acquiring knowledge. But civilization abhors patience. It fights learning patience every day with instant gratification. Learning patience will be your biggest challenge.”
“How will I learn patience, sir?”
“The same way you learned to acquire speed and knowledge. With practice—long and painful practice.” Olson looked at him for a full minute. Jim wanted to fidget in the worst way, but he held still. “Can it be done? Can you learn enough patience in less than a year? We shall see.”
“I will learn patience. It sounds like a good thing to have.”
“It will certainly be a good thing for your adventure! But be warned: You haven’t been taught patience before now for a reason. Civilized people don’t like patience. Media people are among the most civilized of people, and one day they will cut you off because you have it. They are not patient people.”
Olson took off his glasses and wiped them carefully. He put them back on. “But you may be pleased with the results of your efforts, even if the media people are not.”
The bull moves on. Half an hour later, Jim slips down the aspen and returns to Celeste.