Saturday was spent on the south check station, waiting for deer and elk hunters (and a few still with antelope). The snow they had predicted failed to materialize, but it was cold. Truck thermometer said 31 degrees, and the wind was whipping. I use my Cross pens exclusively, and my fingers got too numb to turn the cap to get the point out.

One of the first vehicles out was a man I had checked the morning before, one of eight parked along the rim, trying to decide if they wanted to hike the steep slope down to where the elk were peacefully feeding. When I left him, he was heading down after a large bull.

So, here he is, a day later, with a spike in the truck. I must have raised my eyebrows (his license is hard to come by, and few would use it on just a spike), and he commented he was embarrassed.

But not about it being a spike.

So I heard his entire hunting story, about sleeping in the cab of his mini-truck, only to awaken to find elk, including this spike, feeding nearby. And decided a spike at hand is better than a large bull down the mountain.

And naturally, as soon as he had made up his mind and shot the spike, a large bull came trotting by. And the hunter in the next truck didn't see it. So this 55-year old man ran over to that truck, to point out the bull slowly bounding away.

And found out that "hunter" was actually an undercover warden. And the hunter just earned a $210 ticket for leaving his elk without first filling out his tag.

But he was understanding ('cause he knew the law, and had broken it), and the warden was kind enough to let him keep the elk.

What upset me was his reason for settling on the spike.

Because he said he was too old to hunt down the mountain by himself, and may not get that many more opportunities to hunt.

I told him I didn't want to hear any more of that. That I didn't want to be worried about being unable to hunt alone in just five or six more years.

I need to remember all the 70- and 80-year old hunters I see every year. And not the guy who thought 55 was too old.

It's not uncommon for folks to meet friends at the check station, as unlikely as it may seem. Two trucks of young men came through about the same time, and pulled ahead when they were done to visit and brag to each other.

And they stayed.

And stayed.

For over a half hour. And I needed to pee.

Finally, when I at last decided to go behind my gravel piles anyway, they both pulled out.

Which is what I promptly did.

Only to have a pickup come zooming in from town, the blind side I cannot see. A woman and her dog. And it is quite obvious what I am doing by my tailgate.

To make matters worse, in my hurry, I snagged the thermals in the zipper. While she pulls her rig alongside mine.

So I can either be obvious as hell, and stand there tugging at my zipper while she watches, or pull the coat and vest low, and hope they're low enough.

Either they were low enough, or she was just too startled or discrete to say anything.

All she needed to know was where she could go to sight in her rifle.

After that, it was back to peeing in the bottle. The gravel piles are just too risky.

Interesting dispatch message of the day: they called a warden to report a couple in distress in River Town. Seems there is a badger under their vehicle. The folks have safely locked (yes, locked) themselves in their house, but want someone to come get this vicious beast away from their car.

Naturally, he's a good hour and a half away. And no one closer. He suggests a call to the town's animal control.

I so wanted to get on the air and suggest a broom. Badgers are really just bluff and bluster. A broom would work fine.