We had been looking for hunters for several hours, without any success.

Well, actually, only I had been looking for hunters. The heeler sisters were looking for anything that moved. Or any excuse to get out of the rig. Or a way to get the package of jerky open. Or a way of getting the mallard wing off the dash without me noticing.

We were nearly down to the bladed road, just rounded the last rough turn when I saw him. A lone hunter, walking up the road we were on. With a blaze orange coat, rifle and backpack.

Suspect he was a little disappointed to see us there. Nothing like finding a vehicle noisily driving down the valley you were planning on walking up to hunt.

But he seemed pleased to see me.

Had lots of questions.

Lots and lots of questions.

Besides the obvious ones, such as "Did you see any deer?" or "Are there many hunters up this way?"

He had been afoot for several hours already, hunting the high country, finding only elk, so now he was down walking the valleys.

"Is it true there's a big 30+inch buck in here?" He was told by a resident of one of the local cabins that there was.

Not that I know of. A nice one or two, yes, but probably not a 30-inch spread.

"Is it true they go up the mountain during the day and come down at night?"

No, not really. They go up to eat on the warm sunny slopes, and to bed on the shady north slopes by the remnant snowbanks (they're in their winter coats, now, you know). They come down to drink.

"Do they have to drink? Or can they get their moisture from the vegetation?"

Not in this humidity, not with the vegetation cured and drying. They need water.

Or snow.

"Are there lions here?"

If anyone asked me where in my district they could go to look for a mountain lion, this is where I would send them.

Went on like that for over a half hour. A really pleasant conversation, but you could tell he was mainly trying to pick my brains so he could get a buck.

A big buck.

Seems he and his buddies had a pool going for the biggest buck. And one had already killed a five-point. One buck in four days for four hunters. Not the best success, but that's what you get when you decide to be choosy.

But I hate betting pools. And "big buck" contests. Yes, I have a big buck on the wall, and I understand the urge to pit oneself against a more wily, time-tested prey. But to kill a big deer just to win a contest?

His status in my mind went down a little.

Did find out they were all cops. From "the last community on the Mason-Dixon Line" in Maryland. Don't remember the name of the town, but it lies in two states, with two books of ordinances and two city councils. And only one police department.

Wonder how that works.

Gave him directions to my best recommendation on where to find a good buck. Places away from roads, where most hunters do not get. Couldn't find the map, so had to draw diagrams in the dirt.

More questions.

But he never asked me about the teeth. Sooner or later, most nonresidents ask me about my letter, and why we want them to send in teeth from their deer.

Not a peep about teeth.

That worried me some.

So, figured I should earn my pay and justify the gas.

Asked to see his license.

Had to dig his wallet out of his pack for him. Interesting to see how much the inside of his pack looked like mine.

Water bottle, spare knife, toilet paper, gloves, candy bar, spare socks. But he was missing a lot of other stuff I carry.

He digs the license out of the wallet. Also his Driver's License. You can tell he's a cop.

Just as I figured. I turned to face him.

You can't hunt here.

A stunned look came across his face. This is a limited quota area. We only allow 200 hunters to hunt this area (the 200 who got my tooth letters). His area is on the other side of the river. Only about a mile away, but a river is kind of a hard boundary to miss. Especially when it is 35 miles between bridges.

As is normal, I had to get the regulations and hunt area map out to show him I knew what I was talking about. Like I don't know the boundaries of the areas that I wrote up? Like I don't know my seasons?

Here we are.

There's where you're supposed to be.

Turns out his buddies are there now. He just wanted to try something different. So they dropped him off before going back to their own hunts.

He got directions here by two different people in town. Both folks he had every reason to trust. Folks who should have known better. Either they both messed up, or he wasn't paying attention.

Now technically, a crime has been committed already. He admitted he had been hunting these mountains for a couple hours. And the license is for the hunt, not the kill. But there was no intent to violate the law here. And no damage to the resource, or to the public. And some serious misinformation from some locals. And he's done hunting for the day, because his buddies won't be back til dark, and there's no way to get across the river here.

Do I call a game warden or not?

Not.

But I'll give her his name, just in case he shows up in the wrong place again.