As I moved north from the Buffalo Hump, following the recent truck and ATV tracks that connected the survey stakes, I could see the morning mists hanging onto the Oregon Buttes.

Along the way, I heard a neighbor of mine calling dispatch on the radio. He'd been out doing the same work as I, and had apparently contacted them earlier, just in case he couldn't get out of where he was.

And now was calling to let her know he was fine, and headed home.

Visited with him the next day. Letting him know I had monitored the radio call, asking what kind of road trouble he had gotten into (turned out to be nothing, just being cautious).

But he wanted to tell me about the buttes. About the mists that had formed and reformed on them, all morning. Just to the south of the leks he was checking. So I let him know where I had been, just to the southeast of the same buttes, watching the same mists.

He asked when I was going to retire. And looked disappointed when I answered.

How could he possibly be hoping to acquire my district, when he has his?

Wasn't.

He was just hoping I would be able to leave before my desert was completely destroyed. That I wouldn't have to stay and watch it happen.

Sorry. Looks like I'll be here.

Like tending a loved one dying slowly of cancer. A cancer that could be cured, if only some people weren't so greedy.

God, I hate Bush right now. And Cheney, and all their cronies in the oil business.

But I sometimes feel alone in the world, like the only one who cares about this desert country. Good to have reminders every now and then that I'm wrong.

Guess I should confess that I am often not alone when I'm out here in the desert. Yes, the heeler sisters are usually here. But I take others with me, too.

Not physically, but in my mind I am showing this country to some of you as I drive. Explaining what we are seeing, pointing out things that have taken me years to notice.

Many of you know who you are, I think. Who is with me tends to change according to what I see.

As we rolled north from the Hump, I was explaining that this was a good place to spot elk.

And there he was. A young bull, out stuffing his face on the new green growth in the sage. But he didn't stick around long.

Always fun to be proven right. Now, if you two had just been there to be impressed.

Moving north, we crossed the dike for the dry reservoir. The one that would extend for four miles if it were full, but is now just mud flats. Most of which has been taken over by vegetation. The hawks are using the nest on the dike structure again. I think I have written them down as melanistic ferruginous hawks in the past, but today I can see they are Swainson's hawks.

A prairie species.

And then, as we approach the reservoir that actually has water in it, we find the horses.

Lots and lots of feral horses. With several of this year's foals.

Just what the world needs... more feral horses.

Pretty, just the same.

I am surprised to find the reservoir frozen. As in, the top layer of water has become sufficiently cold as to enter a solid state. All the ducks, geese and shorebirds are gathered together in a dark knot at the other end of the lake, in the only patch of open water.

Yeah, it's cold. Been cold for several days. But enough to refreeze a whole lake?

Guess so.

Check the old buildings at the dam, and find the raven's nest in good repair. And get croaked at by a raven flying to the east. Can't see if the nest is actually occupied, though.

A mile or so southeast is the lek I am hoping to check. There is a faint two-track that goes right through the spot the grouse use most years, and from my window I do not see any sign of use on the usual spots. But these birds sometimes move their lek around. Too freakin' cold in the wind to do a thorough search.

So, status of the lek this year? Unknown.