There was no doubt about it; this was the best job in the world.
Half of his time, he spent driving his truck down the isolated paths of Redwood National Forest. The other half, he spent in the Ranger tower, looking down from the heights to scan the forest for fire or campers in need. And though he has had to, on occasion, climb down from his perch to keep idiot, drunken campers from setting the forest ablaze, being a Forest Ranger was more like being a voyeur to every tree-hugger's carnal fantasy.
People would do the darndest things when they thought themselves lost in a thick patch of secluded woods. Had they known they were being spied upon in their most intimate of moments through a pair of high-powered binoculars, they probably would have employed the protective screening of their tents far more often than they usually did.
As it was, Jeremy found himself settled in a low slung camping chair, a Mountain Dew sweating in a mesh cup holder, and his binoculars pressed to his eyes as he scanned the shoreline of Bridge Creek where wayward campers were most likely to be. Not just five minutes before, a pair of newlyweds ducked into their tent after some seriously heavy petting. Unfortunately, all of it had been done under a blanket, leaving everything to his imagination and too little to excitement.