After Joseph and I returned from Boulder, I brought Kona out to the search site. Far too much time had passed for him to be of any use tracking Amy Raye’s scent, but his canine instincts might prove beneficial in him uncovering any animal bones, and of course, in the back of my mind, I knew he might uncover Amy Raye’s remains, as well. The forecast was to our advantage, with clear skies and mild temperatures, somewhere in the thirties, a welcome break after the heavy snowfall and single digits we’d experienced the past week.
It was still dark when I left the house. I made the hour-and-a-half drive to the Canyon Pintado National Historic District along Highway 139 and then turned left into State Bridge Draw. I was heading north of Cow Canyon, where we’d first found the Ford pickup. I’d decided to backtrack. I’d start at the point where Kona had found the hat and the gun, over six miles north from the tree Joseph had identified in the photo. I’d worn my Salomon snow hikers with their sawlike tread, plenty of layers, and a tall pair of gaiters that I’d tied just above my knees. And I’d brought my fifty-five-liter pack, so that in addition to food and water, crampons, and my regular supplies, I’d have plenty of room for any evidence we might come across. I stored a folding shovel inside the outer pocket of my pack, strapped my snowshoes to the pack, and slipped an ice axe into the side loop. It would be a long day, and I was prepared to work the area until sundown. I’d entered the latest PLS from the search—the location of the hat and gun—into my GPS. I’d been able to get the Tahoe within three miles of that point before what was left of the old four-by-four road became impassable. I was about a mile east of Big Ridge and was heading south. The snow would deepen the closer I got to the bluffs, but for the first mile in, I was able to get enough traction with my boots. I was moving along the southwestern slope of the ridge where the sun had created melt-off that had frozen to slick-packed snow during the evenings and on overcast days and had left the rockier ground partially covered in ice. Hiking with crampons required more exertion but also provided more traction. I stopped to hydrate and to add the crampons. Within another two hours, I approached the basin where Kona had tracked Amy Raye’s hat. Here, the snow deepened significantly. Another foot of accumulation had fallen over the past few days and was mostly unconsolidated. I knew Kona and I might have to cover at least a fifty-yard radius to search for any possible elk remains, as any obvious remains close to the site would have been found during the initial search. I also knew this would mean using my shovel to remove the snow cover. I leaned against the rock where we had found the gun, removed my crampons, and strapped on my snowshoes to allow for greater flotation over the surface area.
My goal at this point was to find some evidence that Amy Raye had indeed taken down an elk, that perhaps there had been something pure about her disappearance. We were approaching our eighth week since she had gone missing. Even the best-trained search dogs working in optimal scent conditions—cool, damp areas, with heavy vegetation and little wind—could follow a scent trail no more than three to four weeks old. And yet I had to at least try. A number of friends would stock my freezer each fall with elk meat, anything from steak to chili meat to sausage and teriyaki sticks. The night before, I’d thawed a pound of elk steak. I’d brought it with me in a plastic bag to use as a scent item. With my hand firmly wrapped around Kona’s jaw so that he wouldn’t take a bite out of the meat, I brought it up to his nose. He whimpered and wagged his tail. He was confused, no doubt, and salivating. “Kona, go find,” I said. He pranced around a bit but mostly wagged his tail and stared at the meat. I put the steak away. Then I fed him a handful of treats that I’d packed in the zipper pocket of my fleece jacket. “Go find,” I said again.