Morning from Pocatello. 44 degrees and air movement not worth mentioning, unlike yesterday's trip across the southwestern quadrant of Wyoming. Holy cats. South Pass was especially envigorating.
I don't get much in the field anymore, but all the sheepherders I met back in the day were Mexican. Ran into one once in a Sierra Madre creek bottom about a mile off the closest road. I was working for Game and Fish doing cut Colorado throat trout surveys. The guy hadn't seen other people in days. To run into two folks carrying a generator and nets was weird enough, but to discover one of them spoke enough Spanish for a conversation amazed him. Kind of amazed my co-worker, too. He kept asking, "What's he saying? 'How much for you woman?' Am I gonna make money on this deal?"
Mind the thorns.
