Friday was a long, pleasant day.

Leaving before dark, and riding with one of my wardens, we took the long way across the desert to a meeting in Regional Town. Classifying pronghorn as we went.

Sunrise found us over 50 miles from home, heading north from Gas Field Town.

Past their brand new water tower, which I had not even known was going up.

'Course, I hadn't been through here since, what, May? Things change quickly in a gas field.

The pronghorn were more than cooperative. Living in the gas field as they do. they're fairly nonchalant about vehicle traffic.

Even if one truck stops, and the passenger climbs out the window to glass and count over the cab of the rig.

Then it was north and west towards the high mountains for the meeting. A congenial, helpful meeting. As most are when everyone in the room is wearing the same color of shirt. Followed by a terribly unhealthy, but delicious, burger at the local establishment named for the highest peak around.

And then home. With a detour across a corner of the desert. Which brought us to this...

A chance encounter with a successful bowhunter. Our first pronghorn harvest check of the year.

Hunting seasons are officially here.

Which means, summer is over.

Fall has arrived.

And then, after an enjoyable detour across the high desert, with a touch of rain and plenty of lightning, a brief stop in Oil Field Town.

To set a conibear trap (yes, a lethal trap) to remove a squatting beaver from the town's water supply.

A young beaver recently kicked out by mama, most likely.

Another sign of the end of summer.