CHEYENNE WELLS,
3 DECEMBER 2010
3 DECEMBER 2010
We arrived at the M****leman family ranch, south of Cheyenne Wells about noon, parked beneath a two lane overpass and ate lunch. It was too warm, the upper 60's (F). A soft breeze whispered here and there. Unusual weather for the high plains at any time of year. Ragged, daily winds are the norm.
Mark and I saw no Pronghorn herds on the drive from Denver. That too was unusual. We spied only one small Mule dear doe, close enough to shoot. And we passed up on the shot, hoping for other big Muley does to cross our path.
After a quick sandwich, we hiked west along the edges of the arroyo, waiting for a bedded down deer to pop up, giving us a chance at a shot. We hiked the full section; one mile in and one mile back thru the dense prairie grass and dead sunflower. Up and down the arroyo walls we searched...Nothing. Few footprints, no fresh spoor found in our quest. Only silence, blessed silence.
On the return, we found that the right rear tire was going flat. We scowled and packed up the truck in haste, then slowly nursed the old Chevy the three miles into town. Something had punctured the tire. The folks at C&P Gas and Repair fixed the flat while high above, a squadron of F-15 Eagles (probably from Peterson AFB) flew maneuvers in the crystalline blue sky overhead.
THAT, beloved, was enough to make the whole trip worthwhile. Tomorrow held the promise of deer for the winter freezer.
Mark and I saw no Pronghorn herds on the drive from Denver. That too was unusual. We spied only one small Mule dear doe, close enough to shoot. And we passed up on the shot, hoping for other big Muley does to cross our path.
After a quick sandwich, we hiked west along the edges of the arroyo, waiting for a bedded down deer to pop up, giving us a chance at a shot. We hiked the full section; one mile in and one mile back thru the dense prairie grass and dead sunflower. Up and down the arroyo walls we searched...Nothing. Few footprints, no fresh spoor found in our quest. Only silence, blessed silence.
On the return, we found that the right rear tire was going flat. We scowled and packed up the truck in haste, then slowly nursed the old Chevy the three miles into town. Something had punctured the tire. The folks at C&P Gas and Repair fixed the flat while high above, a squadron of F-15 Eagles (probably from Peterson AFB) flew maneuvers in the crystalline blue sky overhead.
THAT, beloved, was enough to make the whole trip worthwhile. Tomorrow held the promise of deer for the winter freezer.
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