No joy in the morning. It had gotten down to about 20
°F overnight - I'd slept like a baby, but my nipples got pretty hard once I crawled out of the sleeping bag. I put on my headlight and found my perch on a shale hillside - no deer there either after about 90 minutes of glassing. I made it back to the Burb and fired up breakfast.
With a full belly, I turned the key and got one lazy click out of the starter. WTF??? My batteries are about 1 year old, and the alternator is just fine. This sucks...
I hiked down to the paved road, which luckily wasn't too far, and hung out in my cammies drinking my coffee. The first truck to come along actually floored it when they saw me trying to flag them down (welcome to California

). The second vehicle that came along a while later had two guys in it, but they were pretty suspicious. I talked to them for a minute and asked them if they'd try giving me a jump start. I figured the extra amperage might kick out the frozen Bendix. They were waffling a bit, but I told them where the Burb was and said I'd walk myself back up there. They said OK and headed up. Turns out they were super nice guys (Jake and Pedro) and we chatted for a bit. They weren't hunters, but just out boondocking for a bit. The extra amperage did the trick and I got the Burb running, we parted ways, and I decided to get higher to see if the deer were up around 10,000 feet. I didn't want to get too far from the pavement with my starter fading out, so I basically just road hunted the rest of the day.
No deer all day, but it sure was pretty and had some good little mini-hikes throughout the day. Something did have to die however: I was creeping along and noticed a moving dot near an old spring, so I got out the binocs and saw a big old coyote staring at me. I jumped out of the Burb and he decided he didn't like that. He turned and started to trot along - I didn't have time to range him, so I just held three notches up on the ballistic plex reticle, held out on his nose for windage and his speed, squeezed one off, and he rolled over dead. I hiked down to take a look, and lased back up at the Burb when I got there - 589 yards! In the picture over the truck hood, he's right in the blonde patch at the bottom of the valley.Too bad the .308 SST wrecked him so bad - he had a really nice winter coat on. I was already out and walking around at this point, so I decided to mosey around in the bristlecone pines for a while. Found a neat piece of petrified bristlecone wood for the wife (she's into geology), had a little snack, and went on doing what I was before. I decided to take Wyman Creek/Canyon back out to the pavement and just hope I happened to see a buck in there somewhere.
