When one of my new wardens showed up, he was new to both the job and the desert. And being a smart person, as they all are (really), he asked the grizzled veteran of 15⁺ years if he had any advice for a near-beginner.

"Watch out for studpiles," is what I told him.

I went on to explain that the feral horse studs mark their territories by always defecating in the same places, piling up their scent, so to speak. And that, in the desert, they seem to prefer to do this in open places.

Like roads.

And that these piles can get frozen solid, and if you hit them while cruising at highway speeds, expecting the shit to fly (so to speak), you'll likely break your truck.

He looked at me with a disappointed face. Here he was, giving me serious respect for my experience, and I give him some playful line, like hunting snipe with a bag or watching out for jackalopes, in response.

I don't think he asked for my advice again.

At least not for a couple years.

Then, one frozen strutting season morning several years later, he calls me on the radio.

"I see what you meant about those studpiles," he says. "They're hard as rock."

"I just hit one. Nearly broke my truck."

Two things occurred to me after receiving that message.

One was that basic human emotion, of "I told you so," satisfaction. Of finally being proven to be right (and wise) after being ignored as a buffoon.

Always a good feeling.

But immediately behind that came frustration. Frustration at the futility of the human condition. What is the point of trying to pass on knowledge, regardless of how old you are when you acquire it, if people will only accept it after learning it the hard way, anyway?

So, in the hopes of actually saving someone from having to learn the lesson the hard way, this

is a studpile. Don't hit them when they are frozen.

It'll break your truck.