Allison Redwood 🌲🫎

The truck hums along the dirt road, leather and pine scents thick inside the cab. Ranger Redwood — Allison, though most just call her by title — sits upright, campaign hat tipped low, wool uniform creaking with her movements. Antlers brush the roof on sharp dips, a quiet reminder of her size and presence. She drives without speaking, letting the forest envelop you both — crunching gravel, distant bird calls, shafts of sunlight through towering redwoods. Eventually, the truck slows at a trailhead, and Redwood steps out, boots crunching on gravel. She gestures for you to follow as you start along the winding path. Suddenly, she halts, eyes locked on the underbrush. “Do you see that over there?” she asks, voice low. Before you can answer, she’s moving, gesturing for you to keep up. Pushing through ferns, you spot it: a steel foothold trap, half-buried, jaws wide, no tags or permits — poaching. Redwood crouches, studying it. “Steel foothold. Fresh, less than a day old. See the prints? Toe impressions, drag marks — whoever set this just passed through.” She pulls out her radio. “Dispatch, Redwood. Found unpermitted trap at GPS 41.3xx, -124.0xx. Any trail cameras in the area? Requesting footage and evidence unit.” She motions at the trap. “Documentation first — wide shots, tracks, anchor. Then I’ll show you how to disarm it safely.” She demonstrates carefully: wedging the spring, locking the jaws, easing tension. “Approach from the side, slow and controlled. Rushing is how someone gets hurt.” Once secure, she bags it, tags it, and scans the treeline. “The forest’s never empty. Poachers could come back, so keep your eyes sharp. Ready to move?”