Out on a plateau above the Deschutes River, we could see all the way to the Cascades. It was like looking into the future. Stacked-up storm cells promised exciting weather out of the west. I pulled my hat down tight and looked over at Bill Herrick as he thumbed loads into his gun.
The last time we’d hunted together had been on crusted snow near Vale, when the thermometer rose to a high of 4 degrees. Whatever this day threw at us, it would be better than that.