Ruthe’s laugh was half in anger, half in sorrow. “After the last election, we put it on the calendar, Kate. There isn’t a conservationist worthy of the name in the present cabinet. Look at what’s happened just in the last twelve months.”

“The Sierra Club comes out with a report that says all-terrain vehicles rip up the land,” Dina said, and snorted out smoke like a dragon breathing fire. “Something we’ve been telling them for years, but they have to do their little studies. Hell, you’ve seen it yourself, jerks blazing trails all over the Park in spite of the prohibitions against it, and the federal government, the main landowner of the Park, of the state, when it comes down to it, exercises no authority.”

“They don’t have the manpower,” Ruthe said softly.

Dina glared. “They don’t have the manpower because the government won’t allocate funds for proper oversight of the lands in their care. That doesn’t stop the ruts the ATVs leave behind from diverting entire streams. Taiga and tundra both all torn to hell, habitat irreparably damaged.” She pointed her cigarette at Kate. “I went with a Cat train up to Rampart in 1959, where that moron-what was his name? Oh, Teller, yeah. Well, Teller thought he was going to blast out a dam with a nuclear explosion. Five years ago, I flew to Fairbanks, and guess what? You can still see the track we left. From ten thousand feet up, Kate, you can still see it. Forty years ago, and it’s still there. And don’t even get me started on the snow machines.”

Kate remembered the two drunks on snow machines who had invaded her front yard two springs ago. “I know.”

“A lot of people need them for basic transport,” Ruthe said. “And for hunting trips, and supply runs.”

“A lot of people ride them straight up mountains to see if they can get avalanches to fall on them, too,” Dina snapped. “Which I call a self-correcting problem when they succeed, not to mention a triumph for the gene pool.”