It was not a good night's sleep.

I could always blame it on the bed, which was just the front seat of a pickup cab. Which is about six inches too short to be comfortable. And the damn steering wheel.

But in truth, it was the Arbies sandwiches.

Nothing wrong with them, I just ate them too late Thursday night, without a lick of exercise since, and they kept coming back up. About every fifteen to twenty minutes. Until two-thirty in the morning.

Make a note: next time we're gonna stay overnight on a lek after the public hearing, eat dinner before the public hearing.

Didn't wake up again until 04:50. Just in time to catch the moon before it set over the western horizon.

And dozed off again, until the sounds of strutting grouse woke me.

Even without a comfortable pillowtop mattress, I had managed to oversleep, rousing just minutes before sunrise.

Made several counts of the lek, named after the hawk that was there the first morning I discovered it. Lots and lots of hens. We're certainly in their peak.

Then it was rummaging around in the cab, without opening the doors because it was a freaking 34 degrees out there with a brisk wind, to get the bedding stored away and boots back on my feet. And taking care of the in-truck latrine I had used at moon setting.

Who ever invented wide-mouthed plastic bottles should get a bonus.

I barreled off down the county road to check a second lek, watching the cold, damp clouds race and swirl close to the ground, while an upper layer drifted by with the sunlight squeezing in between.

A couple quick counts on the second lek, then I turned back to find birds still strutting on the first lek. With two males close to the road, trying their darnedest to impress the bevy of cute hens hiding nearby.

To no avail.

Headed west, further into the desert, but found no grouse on four more leks. Not surprising, since three of those have been abandoned for years. But they still need to be checked, just to be sure.

A snowdrift across the road just west of the cabin stopped my travels, as I opted to not follow someone else's tracks through the sage and mud along the side.

Used to be, my tracks would be the first ones out here. And that would be in early May.

Was surprised to find a domestic sheep flopping around in the middle of the road on the drive south to get home, two huge white herding dogs harassing it. To save it or kill it, I do not know. But I stopped and petted a couple large white heads while I rolled the sheep up onto its feet.

By the mud on its side, and the tremendous amount of pee that she immediately let loose, I'd guess that ewe had been down a while. Her band of woolies was just to the south, and I could see her herder's wagon and trailer sitting on the rise beyond, the horse tied to it, but no herder.

Maybe a little early for a sheepherder to be up and about, maybe not. I don't know. But no one came running out with any mail to have delivered.

Which was a shame, since I had muffins and clementines to share. And could have used some hot coffee.