Another twelve hours, sitting in the same spot as yesterday.

Less than half the hunters.

More than twice the boredom.

Over 300 photos taken. Which is actually quite a trick, when you think about it. Most are of this hill...

or these mountains.

Some of the corrals to the north. A plane that flew over. The biker whose BMW conked out at the Divide and who coasted down to me. Yielding a two-hour wait for a two truck for him and his buddy.

Pretty sure they're not gonna make Canada by Tuesday.

A few pictures of dead things, like nice pronghorn, and a 4-point muley still in velvet.

And dozens and dozens of the nice sunset.

Lots and lots of radio traffic, all day. With the beginning of hunting seasons, and the last holiday weekend of summer, to be expected.

Not sure of the particulars, but I heard part of a conversation between a dispatcher and one of the law enforcement people she needed to contact with yet another incident report.

Dispatcher: "What's your twenty?"

That means, what's your 10-20, which is the ten-code for "location".

In plain English, "Where are you?"

Warden/Ranger: "Well, that's kind of a secret spot."

One of my wardens called me at 10:36. Asking if I'd had much traffic at my station.

At that point, two trucks of hunters, one harvested pronghorn. A really slow day.

"Well, I just spotted a bunch of traffic headed your way."

Good. I can use the business.

"No, I mean dragonflies!"

I don't think she believed me yesterday evening when I told her about dragonfly migrations.

Until one went whizzing by us just before sunset.

This morning she's sitting about 20 miles north-northwest of me. Watching for hunters doing things they shouldn't.

And noticed a dragonfly passing by on a bee-line for the south-southeast.

Followed quickly by four others. That's when she became a believer, and called me.

A sixth went by her as we talked on the phone.

I suggested she grab the next one and put eartags, or paint, or something on it to mark it.

So we can see how long it takes them to get here.