Cliffhanger
“GRANDDAD?” I KEYED the hand-held radio, facing away from a blustery wind. “Weather’s turning. I’m heading down. The bear rub’s all I’ve got.” I released the talk button. I’d hoped to relay some creative story idea—or maybe, for old-time’s sake, a cool wildlife sighting Granddad might sketch. But a measly black bear rub on a ponderosa pine wasn’t likely to inspire either. I sighed. Normally, Granddad’s need to observe wildlife permeated our every moment together. But normal ended last fall.
We’d become a team during annual summer hikes in these Idaho mountains, Granddad’s artistic eye turning an observed wild animal into a whimsical sketch. Around alpine campfires we’d spin possible storyline and illustration ideas based upon that sketch. Before week’s end, a new, very rough but humorous picture book would emerge. The popular Wildlife Whimsey series? His. came from our hike when I was ten. and other books followed. A writer and illustrator with decades of success, Granddad had included me on those research hikes as soon as I was old enough to shoulder a
