Last evening was the third and final antelope route for my part of area 61. If I were a truly efficient type of person, I would fix these routes, as last night's always seems like half a waste.

I started with two routes to cover the northern portion of the area, but these occasionally failed to collect the desired number of animals. And the only places left to look were the extreme eastern edge, between Whiskey Peak and the highway, and the extreme western edge.

So I filled in the blanks. And now I have a route that covers the left side of about six miles of highway, then an intervening 23 miles of asphalt with nothing to do but get to the west side, followed by eight miles of sand road (which gives the desperate heelers a much needed break after over an hour in the truck), and then we start classifying on the west end.

Left at 17:30 and got home a little before 22:00, yet spent only about two hours actually looking for critters. Gotta be a better way.

Got good numbers of antelope, though. Haven't added them up yet (that's for right after I finish this entry). Were running a little late, racing the setting sun, when I spotted a half dozen black objects on a low rise to the east.

First thought was that they were heads of feral horses peaking over the rise, but I immediately noticed some were on the slope, not on the crest of the hill.

Eagles. Or vultures.

Which means something dead. Something big.

Turns out they were golden eagles. Eight of them gathered together. With one sitting on the carcass of a nice buck antelope.

Archery season just opened for antelope, but seemed a little early for a cripple loss. Right off a remote county road like this is a great place for a poaching incident, though. So despite the sun practically sitting on the horizon, I went to take a look.

Eagle on the carcass was spreading its huge wings wide, guarding its treasure from its neighbors, but they all soon flushed when I started across the sage.

Had to leave the sisters behind, to their great consternation. Don't need heelers disturbing what may be a crime scene.

Buck was on his left side, facing directly towards the road. No sign of thrashing in the dirt, except by his head. No berms pushed up by struggling legs. Like he just fell over on his side and immediately died, with maybe a shake or two of the head.

No tracks, other than eagle. No human, no vehicle.

The eagles had eaten into the top shoulder and into the rib cage, which was swarming with flies. They'd stripped off all the hair on the top surface. Insides too far gone for necropsy (not to mention the light was fading too fast). Rigor had set in, and had not yet gone limp. Turned him over like a board, finding nothing below. No blood, no holes.

Only blood was around the head. Specifically the eyes.

Both eyes were caked solid with blood, and blood had poured out of each to soak and harden the soil below. Gruesome. And the only sign of injury.

No brass, footprints or tracks of vehicles along the side of the road either.

A mystery.

And I'd used up the rest of the day. Rest of the route was done at high speed, with locations punched into the GPS and recorded when we were done.

Called the warden for the area when we were done, well after dark, advising what I'd found. Not that he had any inkling what had happened, either. Although he had suspicions of a particular vehicle he knew had been down that road today.

Heelers slept all the way home.