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blizzard warnings - 13:52 , 03 October 2013 heelerless - 21:32 , 18 August 2013 Red Coat Inn in Fort McLeod - 11:38 , 23 June 2013 rushing into the waters - 09:53 , 21 June 2013 choosing a spot - 17:43 , 27 April 2013 |
last check station
It was hard getting up when the alarm rang. Been so many of these early mornings. But it's opening day for 75 elk hunters (all for cows only), and there's snow on the ground.
Somebody's going to be killing something.
So, 07:49 finds me setting my check station signs up on the highway south of town. Mounting the flashing amber light on the cab roof and running the power cord through the window, through the hand grip, behind the cooler, and into the power plug between the flashlight and the cell phone. And clipping on my "007" attendant tag (under the coat).
For the last time this fall.
And it's cold. Bitter cold, with a west wind, racing across the highway to slap me in the face every time I step out.
Somebody left me some refreshment, though. An unopened bottle of beer laying there right in my parking lot. A couple days in October a cold one might have been tempting.
The first truck load of hunters doesn't show up until 57 minutes later. Three hunters, with three elk. All of the carcasses intact, none of them had to be cut into pieces to be dragged or carried to the truck.
They're happy.
Having a few inches of snow to slide your game on can be a wonderful thing. Trust me, I've done both.
It's 43 minutes before the second truck of hunters pulls in. Empty handed.
And then the third truck doesn't show up until ten minutes after noon. Just three trucks of hunters in over four hours.
Yeah, it was slow. I had the day's crossword puzzle done before the second truck.
Have you ever watched the entire process of how a gravel road is graded and bladed?
Yeah. It was that boring.
But hey, I could wander around out in the country, in the mud and snow, and count myself lucky if I checked even one or two elk. As boring as it may be, sitting here along the highway is certainly more efficient.
Did have one of the local ranchers stop by and visit. We've been doing that here at this spot since he was driving to high school. Now his kids are in school. Not much later, a second rancher showed up, and the three of us stood out there in that wind talking for well over an hour.
Actually, I mostly listened. They did the talking, comparing notes on who had gathered their cows where, who would be keeping which roads open for the semis to come in to load, how far cattle normally strayed from which ranches.
Apparently certain ranches have well-earned reputations for not gathering up all their livestock. Animals which then eventually show up in someone else's gather. Everybody is happy to call a neighbor when his cows show up in your corral once in a while, but when bunches of his cows show up in your corrals every year, well, some people gripe a little.
And there's a ranch or two which have the reputation of never sending back anyone else's cows.
They compared notes about strange brands and wattles that they each found this year. Either cows are wandering an awful long ways (they each have branding books several inches thick, one had the neighboring state's as well), or somebody is running cattle not marked according to their licensed brands.
For most of this, I just stood there trying not to shiver too obviously. 'Bout the only time I had anything to say is when they asked about lichen and elk.
Alphonse stopped by, not for his usual chit-chat visit. He's got a desert elk license this year, and hasn't filled yet. Season closes Friday, and would help to know where the elk are.
I tell him what I know, but that's several days old, and not going to be much help with that mobile herd.
As it is, he's got nobody to take with him during the week, and vcan't very well load an elk by himself at his age, so those elk are probably safe anyway.
The masked heeler of course insisted on coming along this morning, but now will not settle down in the truck. Takes me a while to realize she's bobbing back and forth looking for her sister, assuming I left her outside the truck after the first break.
Ummm, no. She didn't come along, remember? Got stitches in her butt, remember?
Silly heeler did the same thing last year when her sister had surgery and had to stay home.
The deer researcher stopped by shortly after noon. He'd picked up mortality signals from three of his deer last time they flew, and he spent the day trying to find the carcasses and recover their collars. In the snow.
Got three out of three. GPS collars. Which means he now has about eight months of locations on those three deer.
Relocations every two hours. Day and night.
Gonna be some interesting stuff.
The afternoon was just as slow as the morning. And not much warmer. So when the pilot's wife called at 14:32 to let me know her husband was back and able to fly for our elk collars, there was no doubt about my answer.
The masked heeler and I were on the road to the airport by 14:42.