I only threw up once.

In the 6.2 hours of flying our antelope trend count last week. Only once. Got close several times, including when we finally parked at the hangar after the first flight. Had to sit a few seconds to get the head and stomach settled before undoing the seatbelt and crawling out of the plane.

I've thrown up on the tarmac before. After the plane was turned off. You relax, and all of a sudden everything you've been keeping under tight rein decides to break loose.

But not this time. Last week's eruption came after three and a half hours of flying. When our transects were dropping steeply off the Continental Divide into the pass for just a few miles, then rising and banking sharply against the rocky rim to turn around, and climb back up the Divide again.

Just too many twist, turns, drops and climbs for the stomach and inner ear to agree upon.

But we got the count done. With five gallons of fuel left (enough for 25-30 minutes). Although, I asked the pilot if those five gallons were in a jerry can in the back, and he didn't answer.

Suspect it would have been my job to climb out on the wing and pour the fuel in.

But, despite the turmoil in the guts, I love flying. Such a different perspective on everything.

This...

is what some of the country we were flying over looked like. A whole lot greener than it was when we last did this here, three years ago.

Wildflowers were so abundant we could even pick them out from the air.

Believe these were stands of Thermopsis, otherwise known as golden banner, or golden pea, but we didn't stop to check. The pilot had even spotted a stand of red indian paintbrush while flying this country the day before, but we couldn't locate it when we were up on our routes.

Had a nice view of the Rim Ponds (renamed to "Rim Lake" once it became a developed recreation site, but they're still just ponds). Good fishing, but also a popular hangout, just five miles from town, for teenagers.

Found out that's where youngest son was Sunday night. And why he needed new tires Monday morning.

Got a good look at the community's new golf course, which many see as a water-draining boondoggle. Clubhouse looks good from the air. And the pilot and I commented on how green the fairways and greens were looking, despite the drought. They hadn't been very successful getting grass to grow the first summer, but most were green now.

Found out when we landed, through the local newspaper (it was front page news), that the greenery is not grass. It's winter wheat, from the mulch they spread out on the course to protect the grass seedings from the dry, cold winter winds.

The grass is still barely growing. And now they need to poison off the wheat to give the grass a chance to grow.

More foolish expense.

The good news is, as long as the city keeps throwing water onto this project, they don't dare even discuss water rationing for the citizens' lawns.

We also got a brief view of Grouse Town.

That's at least half of it down there. The large reddish building at the left edge is the historic hotel where the owls were nesting last year. To the right is the connected, closed bowling alley. Across the street from that is the large building that houses the town's rec center and old theater, as well as the post office where the heelers and I walk most days.

The park near the refinery fence is where our sons played as they grew up. Where the wife and I pitched shoes (which we haven't done for years).

And yes, you can see Grouse House in the photo. But we weren't home.