So Wednesday morning was the last. The last antelope classification route. Just in time, since the rifle seasons start tomorrow.

This route is one of the most pleasurable, which is probably why I save it for last. (Many years back I used to also collect the classification data for the herd just north of this one. And arranged to have my last route be the one that ends up at the marina by the lake. I would celebrate the end of the summer season with my chocolate pudding along the shore, watching sailboats pass by. Or, if feeling extravagant, a grilled burger at the marina itself. Miss that.)

We're still along a lake for much of this route, weaving in and out of the dunes.

Have I mentioned lately how much I like this new rig with its automatic transmission? And the dealer installed all-weather tires?

The dunes were dry, dry, dry, dry. Had I been in a standard transmission, with deeply lugged tires, I would have been stuck in sand a half dozen times.

As it was, we bogged down once anyway. Took my six-gallon jug of water to soak around the tires, just enough to get us moving back out of the hole we were in.

Heard two gunshots near the boat club, and spotted a vehicle turning around. Too early for rifle seasons (although dove season is open). Raced to catch them, but failed. Checked their parking spot, and nothing dead I could see. As I resumed the search, they went whizzing by on the narrow, windy road. But not before I got their (greenie) plate number.

Which is in the warden's hands, should a carcass show up later at that site.

Found antelope out on the big sandy peninsula, enjoying a summer on the lake as usual. And took a few minutes to do the same.

Sisters played in the sand

while I found some small lavender flowers blooming above the beach.

Then back to work, finishing up in the state park, nestled against mountains.

And that was it. A total of 102 hours afield, 3,318 antelope classified, almost 1800 miles driven.

Now it's time for hunting seasons.