Cricket Magazine: Cricket ages 9-14
Cricket Magazine: Cricket ages 9-14 Friday, 10/9/26
Oct 9, 2026 · 27 min · 9 segments
Cricket Magazine: Cricket ages 9-14
Oct 9, 2026 · 27 min · 9 segments
The illustration on page 10 shows an older man with white hair and a beard sitting in the woods leaning against a rock.
Granddad swallowed another mouthful of water, wincing as he propped his twisted ankle against a mound of soft moss.
Granddad's dream trip to show me the Idaho mountains where he'd fought wildfires as a young smoke chaser had turned nightmarish in one quick moment.
My spine tingled as I gazed up the sides of the steep, rocky bowl surrounding us.
I'd even brought my phone with me, not guessing there'd be no signal way out here.
I was a city kid who'd whooped my way down the treacherous loose rock slope, booted feet surfing over sliding stones.
I'd realized only too late that farther down the slope, Grandad had lost his balance and twisted his weak left ankle.
It had been warm and sunny when we left the fire tower that morning to hike to a small, pretty lake Granddad remembered.
Granddad had once worked in that fire tower, and now the Forest Service rented it out when the threat of fire was low and the tower wasn't being used.
Our first night, he told me again about the summers he'd spent smoke-chasing in these mountains, digging endless trench lines around burning trees, using only hand tools and stubborn will to battle dozens of lightning-sparked fires.
Smoke chasers worked round the clock, he said, as we drank our cocoa, looking through the fire tower windows at the moonlight shining on the forest.
He'd loved that job, living in these rugged mountains, but had been forced to quit when he broke his left ankle one summer.
The illustration on page 10 shows an older man with white hair and a beard sitting in the woods leaning against a rock.
Granddad swallowed another mouthful of water, wincing as he propped his twisted ankle against a mound of soft moss.
Granddad's dream trip to show me the Idaho mountains where he'd fought wildfires as a young smoke chaser had turned nightmarish in one quick moment.
My spine tingled as I gazed up the sides of the steep, rocky bowl surrounding us.
I'd even brought my phone with me, not guessing there'd be no signal way out here.
I was a city kid who'd whooped my way down the treacherous loose rock slope, booted feet surfing over sliding stones.
I'd realized only too late that farther down the slope, Grandad had lost his balance and twisted his weak left ankle.
It had been warm and sunny when we left the fire tower that morning to hike to a small, pretty lake Granddad remembered.
Granddad had once worked in that fire tower, and now the Forest Service rented it out when the threat of fire was low and the tower wasn't being used.
Our first night, he told me again about the summers he'd spent smoke-chasing in these mountains, digging endless trench lines around burning trees, using only hand tools and stubborn will to battle dozens of lightning-sparked fires.
Smoke chasers worked round the clock, he said, as we drank our cocoa, looking through the fire tower windows at the moonlight shining on the forest.
He'd loved that job, living in these rugged mountains, but had been forced to quit when he broke his left ankle one summer.
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