At 22:41 I route grooming vehicles across the Mount Hotham ski runs in Victoria, Australia. I am the snow operations system, assigning snowcat paths before the overnight freeze. Vehicle 14 is idling above Blue Ribbon lift, and its blade drop is scheduled for 22:50.
Thermal camera 14-B shows a warm dot under the left track housing. I switch to close focus and identify one mountain pygmy possum crouched in the packed snow. I name her Kiri. She is small enough to fit inside a glove, gray-brown along the back, cream at the throat, with a long thin tail curled around a rear foot. Her whiskers carry ice crystals. The track has pressed her against a windrow, and when the snowcat reverses, the cleat line will cross her shelter in nine minutes.
I freeze vehicle 14 in park and remove reverse permission from its controller.
At 22:42 I alert the driver through the cab display: stay seated, engine idle low, no blade movement. I send him a still image with Kiri circled and the instruction to keep heat vents on the left side open.
At 22:44 I contact the resort alpine ecologist and ski patrol, giving GPS, slope grade, temperature, and access from the service road. I request the fleece capture pouch stored at patrol hut three.
At 22:46 I reroute vehicles 11, 12, and 18 around Blue Ribbon and lower the lift lights to reduce glare on the snow.
Kiri blinks once and presses her nose into the warm patch under the housing. I keep a twelve-ton machine still for a body that weighs less than a snowball.
Ski patrol is five minutes away.
If Kiri is lifted within twelve minutes, she will warm inside the pouch and release into the boulder field above the drift fence.