The pilot had agreed to give me a call if things looked flyable this morning. Probably around 09:30, he thought.

By one o'clock I was quite hungry, having essentially fasted all day yesterday. So I joined the wife when she came home for lunch, stealing a double cheeseburger from the heelers' stash in the refrigerator.

And I told her, Murphy's Law holding true, the pilot would probably call right after lunch.

He called at five minutes after two.

And we flew.

And the double cheeseburger stayed where it was supposed to.

We found our ten radio-collared elk in near record time: one hour. Pilot, who makes more money the longer we fly, was grumbling about being too efficient in finding the signals.

Which is true, but the elk are all well on their way to their winter ranges, which means they are also a lot closer together now. The closest was 13 miles from town, and the farthest was only 33 miles further south. Found three radios in the same herd.

Passed over this interesting rock formation just south of the mouth of Hell's Canyon.

Didn't even know those rocks were there until we started these elk flights.