Long day.

Started a little after four o'clock, waking to the steady dripping of rainwater off our roof.

Wasn't until 04:45 that the realization sunk through my tired brain.

You can't count antelope in the rain. But I got up and ready, just the same.

So, the early morning was spent hanging around the airport, waiting to see if the rain would quit (it finally did) and the skies clear (they didn't). Then visiting, drinking coffee and hanging around at two different game warden houses, waiting to see if the skies would clear.

They didn't.

Then home to plot the relocations of our radio-collared elk from yesterday's flight, and check emails.

The skies cleared.

We flew.

I threw.

Twice.

We landed for a pee and fuel break around five-thirty. Six transects done, four to go. Yes, we could have waited until tomorrow morning, and hoped for good, flyable weather to finish those four. But the rain wasn't even supposed to be here today, so who knows about tomorrow? Especially with all that moisture in the ground. Besides, the last four were the shortest four.

It's always hard to get into a plane knowing you're going to get sick.

It's even harder to get in knowing you're going to be sick again.

But we went. And I was. But by seven o'clock, we were done. Now I do not have to get up early for another torture session dark and early tomorrow. I can sleep in! And the pilot and other observer were happily on their long travels for unexpected nights at home.

Finally got home more than 13 hours after the day started. To a wife whose eyes got teary as I came in. You see, she knew I left to fly, while she was just getting up to start her day. And she knows I never want to stay in a plane too long.

So, when she came home, over an hour late from work herself, and found...

No me. No truck. No note.

And no answer at the airport... well, she was a little worried.

Maybe I shouldn't have told her about that time we got less than three seconds from dying on that antelope count almost fifteen years ago.