My butt is sore.

When I tell you why, I suspect you'll have little sympathy (and no, Bad, it's not what you think).

Spent four hours this morning, starting shortly after sunrise, on horseback.

I haven't ridden a horse since 1973.

Really.

Despite what one might expect, given my location on the planet and my occupation, there is normally little need for a horse. Most of this sagebrush country is easily accessed by pickup and foot. In general, in the lowlands, horses are more of a pain than they are a benefit. But one of the local wardens has two horses, and was looking for an excuse to get them both out for exercise.

Otherwise known as a "sanity trip."

So, dark and early we gathered up Buddy and Bill in the trailer, and headed out to Stewart Creek to look for sage grouse broods.

I had forgotten about the smell of horse. Pleasant and potent at the same time.

Buddy is an old, gentle sorrel. A retired cattle horse. Perfect for an amateur like me. But his only speeds were a slowwww walk or a bouncing trot. Nothing in between. Bill, on the other hand, is a young "walker", with longer strides and a faster, comfortable walk. Buddy likes a pace around 3.1-3.2 miles per hour, while Bill averaged 3.6-3.7 (I had my GPS on). So I got a lot of bouncing every time we needed to catch up. Hence the sore rear.

Found 27 sage grouse on about five miles of creek. "Creek" is a generous term, since for most of the distance there is no water in the sand-bottom draw. And nothing but open sage for miles around.

Eight hens and 19 chicks. 2.4 chicks/hen. Not a bad production year. Certainly seen worse.

Most chicks were large, hard to tell from their hen. Especially hard to use binocs from the back of a horse. Hard to write notes, too.

Had six feral horses (I refuse to use the term "wild" for these unlicensed livestock. I reserve that for true wild animals.) come trotting in to check us out, but a few shouts from the warden scared them off.

We're not riding my horses, but I would have let them come in closer.

Spotted three horny toads. (Yes, I know they are short-horned lizards, (Phrynosoma douglassi brevirostre), but they've been horny toads to me since I was less than five years old, and that is what they will stay.) Had to stop, get off and catch the first one. Cute as all the rest. As is normal, they were pretty much clustered together. (They were here, if you care.)

Flushed two mourning doves together in the tall Basin sage brush. Assume they are nesting there. Also spotted a loggerhead shrike in the tall sage. Always a pleasure. The horny toads better keep their heads down.

Got back to the truck at 11:00. And loaded the horses. Been a wonderful morning, cooled by the rain clouds that never quite got their drops to the ground.

Truck wouldn't start. As in no juice, no click, no dashlights.

No radio.

No nothing.

Oh, and by the way, warden takes this moment to mention that the batteries in his portable radio are dead.

Just put a new battery in my rig, as it had been failing to hold a charge any longer than a couple hours. Figured that was the problem here, too.

But no, warden was sure he'd get some kinda juice out of it if it was just a dead battery. At least a click of the starter. Besides, the only thing plugged in that could drain the battery was the cell phone. (Which still had juice in the batteries. And we can see the top of Whiskey Peak, where the repeater tower is, so we know we'll have good reception if we need to use it.)

So warden scours the owner's manual to identify all the fuses, while I search for a loose or grounded wire.

We pull out, check, and just for good measure, replace every possible fuse that could affect the power supply to the ignition.

Nada.

The winch isn't on any of the truck systems...just straight to the battery. I suggest giving it a try.

Hit the switch.

Nothing.

So we've got a dead battery.

Told you so.

Quick cell call to warden's wife, with directions to both us and the jumper cables (Mine are in my truck. Don't ask me why his are in the garage.). Kept it brief and terse in case the batteries went bye-bye. I figure her best ETA is 35 minutes, most probable is 45, and if she isn't here within an hour, she's lost.

It's getting hot. We wait. Bill is bored and starts kicking the trailer door.

A truck pulls by on the main road to the south and slows, looking us over, and then moves on. No time to signal for help. The raised hood should be a clue. Ten minutes later, an ATV comes up the road.

It's Corky. With his border collie on his lap. You remember Corky, as in Corky's truck? He's out here gathering cows. His bosses and other hands should all be here any minute. Here we were, stuck 15 miles from anywhere, and now we're in grand central station. Too late to call and cancel the warden's wife's rescue run.

Corky gives us a ride to the main road to wait for warden's wife, and he heads off to find cows. Its been 40 minutes since the call.

45 minutes after the call, most probable ETA. No red minivan in sight.

50 minutes post call. No red minivan.

5 minutes later. Little red minivan arrives onto the main road from the north. She got here in 35 minutes, but missed the turn.

Can't get little red minivan through the tall sagebrush around the truck and trailer to jump the battery. Start trying to figure out how to back up the truck and trailer by hand.

Corky's bosses arrive. With two fat blue heelers and something else. They drive their Dodge over the sage to jump the battery. Lots of jokes about the species of pickup that is dead, and that which is saving it.

Headlights immediately come on.

Duh-uh! No wonder battery is dead.

Warden is sheepish.

At least they know we started our day early. A lot earlier than theirs.

As we take our leave, the ranchers are slathering themselves with sunscreen. Certainly a wise move, but something the previous generation never did. Looks strange to see.

Finally got home at 14:00.

Got the once, twice and thrice over by the heelers.

"Ooooooo! You smell like horse!"