At 4:30, the sun fell behind the high canyon walls leaving me in the shadows, under the milky pall of fire smoke, in the cloying heat of the dry canyon, with my dying dogs for companionship. An hour after taking this shot I arrived at Cartridge Creek, and, because I couldn't go on, I scouted around for a flat spot and made my camp for the night. I laundered, bathed and ate, but all in pretty low spirits, finally getting into my tent as the mosquitos began their nightly foraging.

As I lay there, staring into the still-light sky, I noticed bats swooping by high overhead, conducting foraging runs of their own. Back and forth they flew, zig-zagging to intercept the mosquitos that filled the air. Soon, there were more of bats, and they swooped lower and lower, devouring one of the sources of my discomfort on this arduous trip. Good bats. Very good bats.