Another shot from last month's elk roundup.

The elk on the ridge in the foreground are part of the 200-some head that we were encouraging to live elsewhere.

On the far hillside, which isn't really that far, are several hundred other elk, that are living safely right where they're supposed to.

To my Sister... the lead elk is usually whoever seems to think they know where to go. Which in most cases seems to be an old cow.

And the snowmachine?

What you can't see in the photo (I was alone, and kinda busy) is the deep little draw that I just barely managed to climb up out of.

The elk crossed it, so I had to.

Problem was, it was too deep and narrow to just dive into (one of the wardens made that mistake in another draw, and broke the front end of his machine). So, like the elk, you wanted to cross at an angle.

Problem was, you couldn't hit it too hard, lest you bury the front end into the dirt bank (like he did).

Too slow, and you're stuck in the draw, sinking probably up to your shoulders in a narrow ditch. Almost impossible for one man to lift, tug or jerk the machine out.

So when my machine petered out right at the crest of the ditch, there was no way I was gonna let it slide backwards. Just gunned it and crabbed along, teetering sideways along the edge.

Until I hit something solid.

Worst part was, there was a boss and a warden watching me all the time. From the crest of a cliff less than a mile away. But it would have taken them a half hour, and a five-mile trip, to get to me.

So they bemusedly sat up there and watched me struggle and curse, struggle and curse.

For forty-five minutes.

Oh, and to my reader from what appears to be a really pleasant suburb of Edmonton (curling club and everything!)...

By my tally, that's well over 500 entries in the past week.

And not one comment? Or even a Howdy?