But most of it was at a significant slope, far steeper than it appeared in the aerial photograph, where the tricks of the camera flattened features and distorted distances. By the time I worked my way to the top, ever mindful of my precarious balance on the rocky footing, I was puffing like an old steam engine.Estelle stood waiting on the rim, a study in patience. She’d had plenty of time to catch her breath—if she’d lost it in the first place.The rise gave us enough elevation that I could see the slope-backed bulge a couple of miles to the west against which the Bonanza had pulped itself. As I gazed at that spot, a dust trail caught my attention, and if I squinted hard enough, I could imagine that I could see the small, dark dot that kicked up the plume.“It looks like a parking lot over there,” Estelle said.“I’ll take your word for it,” I replied.“It’s too bad someone wasn’t standing right here when the crash happened,” she added. “They would have seen the whole thing.”
