We left a little more than an hour before sunrise.

Which meant we were still more than ten miles away from where we wanted to be when the sun came up.

Just in time to catch some starting their breakfast.

The first lek was empty. As I expected. First discovered by a friend of mine 23 strutting seasons ago, these birds were using the open dirt around an abandoned gas well. But as the site finally revegetated, it was abandoned, with no grouse seen there since 1991.

In 1993 I spotted grouse strutting in the sage about a mile north-northeast. I suspect that lek was always there, and the open ground of the abandoned well just attracted them away from it for a few years. Now they were back to the old site.

This morning I could see maybe 35-40 grouse strutting away. Unfortunately, the best viewing point calls for circling all the way around to the east, and following a horrid little fenceline track until you're due north of the birds.

But it was worth the drive. One hundred and forty-six cocks out there.

One hundred and forty six. A record high, by far, for this strutting ground.

But there should have been 147. Because there, on the north side of the fence,

lay a dead grouse.

A consequence of having a fence too close to a lek. Birds come swooping in, or flushing off, in the middle of the night, and slam into the invisible wires. Not a common occurence. This was the second or third I've ever found. But considering coyotes probably clean up most of these free meals before someone comes by along the fence, it isn't that rare, either.

Which is why I raised such a stink about the new fence right through a lek last fall. And why the feds and rancher moved it this winter. (Not far enough, I think, but at least they moved it.)

So.

A male sage grouse. In full breeding plumage. Don't usually get to see them this way. At least, not up close. By fall hunting seasons, when I usually get to handle grouse, they no longer have the long, thin pinnae on the neck.

These are the feathers that rise up above their head when they strut, like a plume. In the Gunnison sage-grouse, that much rarer species to the south, these feathers are thick and heavy, like a marching band plume.

And this time of year, you can see the airsacs.

Looking quite thin and fragile, they actually feel tough, like fine leather. Which I guess they would have to be, when you live, fly and land in sagebrush.

But this sad bird looks fresh. From sometime during the night. Might be worth salvaging.

Into a bag he goes. And later, much later, after decent office hours have started, I call the fellow responsible for the displays at our regional office.

Their mounted sage grouse is, well, pathetic. And that's being kind for being in the middle of sage grouse range.

Does he want a fresh specimen? In breeding plumage?

Well, yeah, duh. So at least the animal won't go to waste.

Then it is back tracking on the horrid little two-track roads to try for leks three and four of the morning.

Nothing on three. No surprise. And only five left on the fourth lek. Just too late in the morning.

Did flush up a pair of the relatively rare mountain plovers on the way back from lek four...

Too late for any more strutting ground checks, but we're close enough, I should check the road to another lek to the west. Been a couple weeks since we were in this part of the desert, and the snow is probably gone, but best to be sure now.

In the daylight.

Found out the ravens are nesting in the old cabin again, with a couple pairs of teal hanging around.

Road was fine to the lek, just one puddle to dodge around. Then it was time for a few dragraces near the Continental Divide...

and a quick game of hide-and-seek in a snow-filled draw.

And then the eighty mile drive home.