Part 1, that is.

Roughly two hundred elk convinced they want to spend the rest of the winter in some place that does not have toxic lichen.

Seven hours on a snow machine. Almost none of it on a road or trail.

I don't think I've ever cursed a snowsled so often or vehemently as I did today. Nor spent so much time lifting or shoving one of the things off sagebrush, out of draws, or out of drifts of powder.

Still. The elk left.

A good day.

Two hundred down.

Two hundred to go.

Watching the elk leave. I think I was smiling.