I asked Andrew, the pilot, if he'd been warned about me.

He had.

Had a good supply of sick sacks on board. And was glad to report it had been a calm morning.

He had called last night, advising me they still had about two hours of flying to do around Hobo Town. We probably wouldn't get up until 1000, maybe by 0945.

Great. A two-hour reprieve. 'Course it meant another two hours of dehydration, since I wouldn't dare drink or eat anything before going up.

At 0900 I check the email real quick. Then start trying to find AA batteries for the tape recorder. At 0915 the phone rings. Dispatch, been trying to reach me since 0905. The other flight got done early, pilot is on the way to me.

In fact, should be landing at the airport as we speak.

Craaap.

Scrounge some batteries out of the emergency pack in the truck, and just for fun, decide to start it up to warm the engine.

No go.

Battery dead. As in, its been sitting here for five or six days with the cell phone plugged in.

Craaap.

Scrape windows on old Dodge, and hope and pray it will start.

It does.

Have to drive around the block, since some bozo sits in his truck at the intersection, waiting on me (he had the right-of-way), preventing me from making an illegal u-turn right in front of the dead truck. Pass neighbors walking back from the post office. One of whom comes by as I'm trying to jump the fancy new truck with the 18-year old antique.

"What'd you leave on this time?"

I mutter about the cell phone. She knows this is like the fifth or sixth time this has happened.

She says they're going to get a big sticky note saying "Turn off phone" and plaster it on our front door.

Once truck is running, run inside to put new batteries in tape recorder.

They're frozen.

As in, the test message comes out like "Ttthhhrrreeeeee Deeeccceeemmmbeeerrr ooooohhh twwwooo."

Craaap.

Steal four batteries from boys' cd-player supply, and finally hit the road at 0932.

Got to airport at 0945. Right on schedule, right?

Find Andrew and his machine waiting:

Haven't flown in a Jet Ranger since the early 80s. Forgot how roomy they are. After assuring me about his supply of sick sacks, he asks if I've got one handy. I pull it out of my shirt pocket.

I don the Nomex suit (bright, Highway-Department orange) and get the standard pre-flight safety talk (He forgot to tell me where the fire extinguisher was, and the emergency locator transmitter. I didn't ask.), and we were off. Due south for our triangular route to look for deer.

As soon as we cross the Interstate, I suggest he veer to the side.

Guards at the penitentiary might get a little upset if we do a fly-over.

Almost immediately past the pen we start the survey, scanning the sage and bare ground (most of what little snow we have received is gone) for deer. Spending a fair amount of time looking out the glass window at your feet, rather than out the sides.

As much as my stomach hates flying, particularly in helicopters after deer, I love flying. Skimming across the sage like you're up in a big giant bus. And especially when the ground just drops away as you pass over a cliff:

We start heading southeast along the cliff rims:

But find few deer. The south-facing slopes, so sunny and warm, thick with deer in normal winters, are dry and barren now. Lots of cattle, and several herds of pronghorn:

We're about halfway through our time limit when we reach the river. It's only about half frozen, with ducks on almost every open stretch. Here the habitat changes, adding willows:

and a few trees:

(Most of the cottonwoods are in large stands, not lone trees like that one. But at those stands, I'm too busy looking down for deer to even consider taking a photo. Likewise for most places we found deer.)

Flying is such a great way to see the country. To find things you didn't know about, or places you have forgotten. Like this old log cabin:

Coming around one sharp oxbow, we startle, no panic a coyote out on the river ice. Who spins pads for a second or two before bounding downriver, in front of us on the ice, for a hundred meters or so.

This pilot has a good knack for knowing which side draws to check for deer, although one only yielded two deer, and two coyotes. On the return leg, Andrew put us on one coyote's ass for a dozen yards or so.

Back on the river, we spook two adult bald eagles off the cliffs, one which swoops down river in front, the other glides alongside for a while:

Yes, I know it's a lousy picture. You try photographing a flying object from a flying object with a delayed digital camera, without looking at the camera (if I'd tried, I would have needed the little bag in my pocket).

When we hit the hogback south of the Interstate, we break west, back towards the airport. It's easy to cover the winter range here, since the deer stay on the hogback, the only shelter around. And it is real easy to follow:

Found most deer at the east end, by the river, or the west end, by the penitentiary again. Using the cool, north-facing slopes that still had a little snow left:

(If you can't tell, there are three deer in that shot.)

And then it was over. Had money for an hour and a half, maybe two hours. Flew for an hour and forty minutes. Should keep the bean counters happy.

And never got sick once.

I think I like Jet Rangers.