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blizzard warnings - 13:52 , 03 October 2013

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rushing into the waters - 09:53 , 21 June 2013

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01 April 2010 - 23:36

the great pedro sheep hunt - day 3

Third time's the charm, they say. The weather was crappy (rain, snow and sleet, on top of several inches of fresh snow from the night before), bighorn ewe #312 had moved to a new, larger rock pile three miles farther in on muddy roads,

and the creek was rising.

The drive up was pleasant enough, with sure signs of spring

and a fawn getting a face-washing from Mom.

But then it was sit and wait. And wait. Waiting for the radio-tracker and two gunners up on the rockpile to let us know they had the sheep down, and needed our help to carry her.

I sat in the truck, listened to sleet pattering off the windshield, doing monthly reports.

My partner went fishing. All of ten yards away.

And we waited.

A little before noon, we decided we'd waited as long as we could. In other words, I was bored, and he wasn't catching any fish off this sandy point.

We went walking. Him to a promising rocky point off the tip of the bighorn ewe's rockpile, me to climb rocks.

You know, rounded, eroded, lichen-covered granite is slippery (or, "slippy" as Bear Grylls would say) when covered with wet sleet and snow. Ask the scab on my left knee.

Took me an hour to get to the top.

The odds of finding three people walking around on that rockpile were dang small. Yet, there they were.

Sheepless.

Eight times they had gotten within 80 meters of her. But that doesn't help when tranquilizing rifles are only good within 30 meters. And the one can only shoot uphill.

Two got within eight meters before she stood up once, but she had strategically placed a tree between her and them, and a shot they did not have. And now her radiocollar had gone silent. The only sign of her was her tracks passing across my hilltop in the fresh snow. The stalkers were heading back to try the spare radio receiver in their truck.

An hour later we were at the vehicles, and the spare receiver confirmed that yes, her radiocollar was still working, and yes, she was still on the rockpile. Somewhere on the far side.

Nobody wanted to go back up after her again. Except the well-rested fisherman, who had had a more productive morning than the rest of us.

So, in the next wave of wet snow, we left.

Score to date:

biologists: 0
ewe 312: 3

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