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unrecorded drives It's almost enough to make you wonder if I've got the flu, or something... Drove roughly 600 miles, within sight of the Yellowstone Country... And I only took 28 pictures. Twenty-eight. Me, who has taken over 90 shots of a single moonrise. Apparently having a passenger along dampens my urges to record all that I see. But there they are: Only three shots on the drive up. Five shots of some of the members of our group who arrived early so they could try to kill some pheasants. A mere two pictures of our morning work session, before it even started. I was just plain too busy. Three of the five wing readers at our table were complete newbies, so in addition to teaching them the tricks and techniques of reading wings, and trying to get through our huge piles of pieces of dead birds, I was also surreptitiously watching each of them to see if they read any wrong (they all did) and keeping our data correct. By the time we were through, the pile of read wings was higher than the table, and feathers covered the place like after a pillow fight in a cheap sorority movie. And I caught none of it in trapped electrons. And then a mere 15 photos on the drive home. The predicted winter storm missed us completely. We were working in shirt sleeve and vest weather, even though fifty miles away Yellowstone was being covered in white, and the mountains around the stone circle to the east also got a new dusting of white. But despite the winter storm back home that closed the Interstate yet again, entrapping the new daughter-in-law and corgi at our house for the night (the corgi, by the way Sis, is still feeling a little puny, but her red blood cell count was nearing normal), we had dry roads and country, with blue skies. Until we found hills dusted with snow nine miles from home. And everything was solid white from there south. |
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