"You are looking for something that doesn't belong: burned foliage, glinting metal, scorch marks on the ground," explains Cynthia Ryan, who is sitting next to me in our Cessna 182, making notes about our flight on a yellow legal pad. It is a crisp and cloudless September morning, and I am serving as a "scanner" on this Civil Air Patrol flight. The job is painful: With my face smushed against the rear starboard window, I squint through the blinding morning sun to scrutinize a jumble of craggy peaks, badlands, arroyos, and withering scrub.
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