The day before yesterday a blizzard shut down nearly every highway, school and government office in our state.

So one might suspect getting up dark and early to go check sage grouse leks would be a waste of time. But when you live on the Continental Divide, you learn that sometimes you don't have to go very far to change the weather.

Yes, town was still covered in snow, including the drifts that took me almost two hours to shovel off the sidewalks and driveway. And the highway going north was less than accommodating.

But by the time the sun rose

the pavement was dry, along with fifty percent of the countryside.

Not true for everyone, however. I heard my neighbor to the north log in with dispatch, advising her he was heading out to check leks on another part of the Divide.

On a snowmachine.

Here in the desert you'd be hard pressed to find enough snow to ride on.

My goal for the morning was to head into the high, snow-covered hills on the edge of the desert. (Where a snowmachine might be handy.)

Looking for Sammie's lek.

I don't know if I've ever met Sammie. I don't know if she knows what a sage grouse is, much less a lek. But she has one now.

Thanks to her grandfather. Who discovered some grouse strutting whilst searching for desert elk to photograph. And told me about his discovery on Monday. And my rule is: you discover a new lek...

You get to name it.

So Sammie's lek it is.

If I can ever find it to confirm it.

There're two other leks along the way, and I reach the first about fifteen minutes after sunrise. And yet some grouse are just then arriving. Don't know if the blizzard has them off their game, or if they just don't feel like showing up too early when there's absolutely no moonlight.

The second lek was crowded, with mobs of hens hiding in the sage, brave members making fast forays into the open to check out the males on display.

That's the Oregon Buttes covered in snow in the distance behind the grouse, where my fellow biologist was at that moment buzzing around on a snowmachine to check his leks. Yet off to the right, just as high and only six miles away, sits Continental Peak with barely a drift of snow on it.

Desert weather for ya.

Then it was off to look for Sammie's lek. Pausing briefly to wait at the crosswalk:

As I plowed through soft snow towards the high ground, I stopped to glass the ridgeline for grouse. And spotted something bigger.

Elk. The desert elk the grandfather'd been looking for.

Practically on top of where the lek was supposed to be.

It was almost twenty minutes after eight o'clock by the time I get myself up there. Just about too late to expect grouse to be strutting, and I found none.

Maybe another morning.

But I did find 58 elk.

Then it was time to scout a new way home. Having fun busting through fresh, soft snowdrifts as I went.

Miles and miles of fun.

Only occasionally finding some big enough for tracks.

Nine miles from town I hit the icy roads again.

Faring better than an elderly couple from North Dakota.