We met up near the southern end of Spike Ridge.

The rendezvous wasn't planned, of course. Not really any way to make plans when you're herding elk.

Mainly because you can't really herd elk. At least, not out in the open flats like this. And not with only three snowsleds.

Rather then "herding", the term I came up with as I once again bounced my way across sage, greasewood, ice and snow and rocks was... "selective discouragement".

You convince the elk they don't wanna be where you are, and hope they pick the right direction to leave.

Here, we want them to go south. Out of the fields and ridges covered with toxic lichen. Which will be soon exposed by melting snow, according to our local forecasts. We found a few urine spots with orange or pink tint, which means some of these elk have already begun munching on lichen.

So, almost seven miles after we started on our first herd of 50 or so elk, we found ourselves within sight of each other again. Somehow I, who had started on the left flank of 50 elk, was now on the right flank of roughly 200.

And the warden who started on the right came drifting in from the left, complaining that she'd lost her hundred.

They're right in front of ours, headed single file down the ridge. The lead of our herd has probably caught the tail of yours by now.

That gives us 300+ elk headed south.

Any sign of the six to seven hundred we pushed yesterday?

"Nope. They're not where we left 'em."

A plan is made to push these 300 off the south end, out of the worst of the lichen (but still miles within the killing fields we saw seven years ago) and then swing wide to the east on the way back to see if we can find yesterday's herds.

Once again I take the left flank. The elk are moving slowly, but perfectly, when our right wingman takes off and disappears over the ridge.

Ooookay. Had to do that myself when I was on the right flank. Too many rocky ridges and bare draws to run a straight line. It was 'down the ridge to deep snow, then back up in a deep draw, then down again' for the last two miles. We keep easing the elk south without our wingman, and the elk cooperate beautifully.

We're soon at the end of the ridge, where it drops off in steep draws and rocky outcrops where sleds cannot go.

Or, at least, you don't want to.

I zip up to the high ground on the left, to discourage any sweep back to the gentle, lichen-filled country, and the warden on their tail pushes a little harder. With little hesitation the leading cow bails off, and the rest obediently follow.

A half hour after our planning rendezvous, three hundred elk are headed off the rim. South.

Where's our wingman?

A quick run down one of the right ridges finds him sitting on a rocky point.

Bringing in 600+ elk, all by himself.

Presumably the ones we "selectively discouraged" yesterday.

These elk certainly seem to know what they're supposed to do. They bail all the way down to the deep sage in the creek bottom, and round a rocky ridge out of sight.

Guess we don't have to take the long, eastern route back after all.

As we climb out of the rocky canyons back onto Spike Ridge, I turn and look south.

And grab the camera, for last shots of the 600+.

Still moving south.

If the winter breaks, hopefully they'll keep moving that direction, getting started on the migration to their summer ranges. Only 8-10 miles for some, possibly over 50 miles for others.

And if the winter doesn't break? If we get any more heavy snowstorms?

They'll probably turn around and come right back north again.

And again we'll have to watch. And wait.

And worry.