Five consecutive days of check station are over. Checked close to 300 deer and antelope, and a handful of elk. And an assortment of miscellany, including blue grouse, sage grouse, green-wing teal, mallards, and a scaup.

Checked two sharptailed grouse, taken by a couple nonresidents. These were our mountain subspecies, once proposed for listing under the Endangered Species Act, not the commoner subspecies found on our plains. And yes, the season is closed on the mountain ones. But they had no idea that what they shot wasn't sage grouse, and even saved wings for my barrel.

The rows of white spots on the flight feathers were the instant give-away. Sent 'em down the road with a lecture, as I have most who make this mistake (seems to happen every two or three years).

Everyone who knows what they're looking at says we have lots of sharpies this year. Would love to get up in the mountains to see for myself, but that ain't gonna happen.

Lots of keds, too. Don't remember a year where I saw so many of these tick-like critters crawling around on the muzzles of so many deer. The really old bucks in my north country, yes, but not almost half or more of the deer down south. Would love to know if it was last year's drought that caused the ked population to burgeon, or this spring's rains.

Reread the reference book on keds. Hadn't remembered or realized they're winged when they first hatch in the spring. Pretty pathetic and hopeless for the poor deer, trying to avoid ticks that can fly...

The locals who came back out to check station after getting their deer into town. Bearing a plastic gallon jug and worried, revulsed looks.

Yep, a couple more throat bots.

The fish guys who were down to help with the CWD sampling, in two different shifts. Who all took lunch promptly at noon. Regardless of whether there was any work to do at the time. Yesterday, I finally got around to eating at 14:30. Today, I didn't even get to pour my second cup of coffee. Yesterday's second cup, poured around 11 o'clock, was cold in the mug when I got home after dark, still unsipped.

The handful of fawns that came out in trucks, always with embarrassed or shamed hunters. But the truth is, when standing alone on a hillside, it's awfully hard to judge their size. Know a wildlife professional or two who have made that mistake. Several hunters were suffering the teasing of hunting partners, but they got none from me. Biologically, fawns are probably the most expendable members of the population, since roughly half won't survive the coming winter anyway. And I have to admire the folks that clean the little things and bring them in. The temptation to leave them there in the brush and avoid the ridicule must be high, yet here they are.

Marty from Wisconsin was back, after many years of absence. We visited almost every fall for a decade or so, and I watched his kids grow each year. On the last few trips, they bought old beater trucks here for their hunting, and then drove them home to sell at a profit.

He always brought real maple syrup for the midwestern-raised wife, who is disappointed with the watered down commercial sugar-water stuff they have here. Hardly recognized him, until I looked into the eyes. He's grown a grey, ragged beard and huge scruffy grey sideburns. Fought health problems for years, apparently, and is only now back into the field.

A fellow professional and former classmate of one of my professors came through again. He has given up on retirement in his home state, and moved to ours. Declared himself and his wife to be happy hermits. Just two mountain ranges over from his old friend, who he hasn't seen for years.

Out of the blue, he had career advice for youngest son. (Anything in the medical fields.)

Sheriff drove out just to visit, and see how we were doing. And, I suspect, to get his own questions about CWD answered.

U.S. Marshall stopped by a couple times, too. Once with his wife, our eldest son's second grade teacher.

Speaking of youngest son. Was busy with hunters when he arrived on Friday to rescue the heeler sisters. The "cutthroat" guest crew made no comment about the young lad in a little red car that drove up, stole the dogs and left without a word. But they did watch and wonder.

I was more concerned when he showed up on Saturday, wanting a gun. Just to shoot.

Hasn't asked for that before. In his entire life.

Loaned him one, but only two bullets. And conferred with the wife by cell phone before she let him have more.

He apparently terminated a can of pop, a couple bottles of water, and some other container that exploded on impact.

Just to do it.

Okaaaaay.

Never got to read a paper in those five days on station.

Not one.

They were there in the truck, every day, but never had time to sit and read.

Made the local newspaper again. Front page on Wednesday's, a shot of me and a member of the cutthroat crew checking the deer of a local rancher. (The paper sent out reporters twice to cover our CWD sampling. And just happened to be there when the rather well-known gentleman and his sons came out with their deer. Just knew the editor would use one of those shots, and he did.)

One reporter also took a shot of the heeler sisters hanging out the truck window with their orange scarves on.

They were on the back page on Saturday.

According to our exit poll of California hunters, of which there seemed to be dozens, Schwarzenegger's gonna win the election. If California was populated with white, middle-aged conservative men with lots of disposable income, it would be a landslide.

Sometimes my instincts are on, sometimes they are not.

The guy I had wait for almost twenty minutes for a game warden shouldn't have had to wait at all. Yes, he technically had violated the law, but I should have asked more questions first, and saved the warden the trip and the man the hassle.

There's never a warden around when you need one.

We were visiting with a local hunter, who happens to be in Search and Rescue, after checking his elk. And heard dispatch over his radio.

Accident, 15 miles south of us. I was surprised it took at least 20 seconds for that fact to sink in. Then they flew in motion, him grabbing his med kit and jumping into the warden's truck, as we helped her unhitch her boat.

Within minutes of speeding off, they were followed by two Pat units, a deputy and the MS.

Fortunately, all the speed was for naught. A roll-over, yes, but nothing more serious than a banged knee.

But while the law was gone, what do I get?

A polite, friendly young couple with a doe. Taken just off the road on the trail left by Jim Bridger.

But that's not where they can hunt with his license. So he's in trouble, even though the wife was the navigator. Nothing to do but take information, addresses, and phone, and send them on home to Capital City. With a warning that a warden will be calling.

My boss provided us with 200 CWD sampling kits for these five days. And instructed he needed the leftovers back to him as soon as we were done.

I laughed in his face (literally).

There won't be any left over. Doesn't he ever look at my data? Two hundred kits probably won't be enough.

I was right. Lab guy restocked us with an additional 80-some kits in the course of these five days, and we had just 15 left this afternoon. After turning away most of the available deer today, selecting only those in areas poorly sampled so far.

Fish guys were kinda in awe of how busy we were. I suspect the stations they volunteer for close to the regional office are never this busy. Lab guy asked if I always handle this many animals, too.

Yep. Some years.

A couple with a truckload of game was quite friendly to me, but the mother snapped at least twice at her young daughter, who kept trying to get her attention.

Been a long trip, I guess.

When I caught the words "just go on the other side of the trailer", I caught on to the girl's problem.

And was happily able to point out my little green commode on the other side of the gravel piles.

And they were all smiles when they left.

The fellow we had pulling samples at the meat processor's this weekend is new to the outfit. And new to the state.

From Texas.

Tried not to hold that against him. But man, almost every other sentence out of his mouth ended with "sir."

Couldn't take too much of that before telling him to knock it off. But he was back at it again, today.

Legs and ankles ached quite a bit the past few days. Wasn't until we at the station compared notes that we figured out it was from so many hours spent standing and walking on several inches of pea gravel.

Also figured out there wasn't much point in looking for lymph glands in animals that were shot in the head or neck. Even if the organs were still present, the insides of the throat were so bloody, and the glands so blanched and pulped by the impact, as to be almost indistinguishable from the fat commonly found in the same area.

Glands of does were generally easier to find than those of bucks. Suspect the swelling of the neck that bucks produce as they come into the rut shoves the glands into unexpected places.

Oh, and if you haven't checked your regulations...

It's duck season, now.

And wabbit season, too.