We've been doing this for eight to ten years now. But I don't think this has ever happened before.

We were on schedule.

Usually the time when we use the helicopter to fly our winter classifications for deer is prolonged and delayed by our fickle winter weather in the Divide country.

If it's not the wind, it's the storms. Or vice versa.

So it was odd when my biologist neighbor to the north kept calling every morning to let me know that, while the winds forced then to swap areas to fly a couple times, there were no delays. We would have the bird Saturday.

So yesterday it was my turn to call the next fellows in line, letting them know we would have the helicopter and, weather willing, they would have it Sunday.

"Already?!" was the first response.

Yeah, they figured they'd have days, if not a week or two, before they had to hang around waiting for the chopper to arrive.

Some weekend plans got rearranged.

Our flying?

Great. Absolutely great.

Mainly because I didn't have to do any of it. The new warden, who claimed to love flying, really does love flying. From what I could see when I met them at both refueling stops (just in case he needed to swap off), his only problem was getting hungry.

How anyone can take off whilst munching on food is beyond me.

That and cold feet. There's only a quarter-inch or so of plexiglass between your bootsoles and the outside air, which was colder than 15 degrees and whizzing past at 30-50 knots, so your toes get cold. My greatest contribution of the day for all my driving was giving him a cab to warm up his feet.

But they were done before dark, and the crew was on to the next town.

Ahead of schedule.