“Let’s hurry, guys.” That might have been Scott or Doug.

The rain cloud had finally caught up. We’d stopped to regroup and put on rain gear when a cowboy in a pickup rolled up. “You want a ride?” he grinned. He was reasonable, friendly, and helpful offering to let us camp anywhere on his family’s property along Current Creek.

“My great grandfather was the third white child born in Owhyee County and my great uncle was the first sheriff in Owyhee County.”

But when Scott said we planned to ride Antelope Ridge, his eyes rolled and he made polite noises but disbelief permeated his bearing.

“I’ve been looking over my shoulder at that black cloud for awhile,” urged Scott. Earlier he had seen a turkey vulture circling above our heads. No more ominous than this cloud, though.

The last of the day’s fifty-five miles were under the leading edge of a gray mass skyline to skyline. The ground in front looked mottled rather than muddy. The storm sent Steve and I scurrying under a convenient tree. Scott and Jen stopped to put on full rain gear. But the rain stopped until, as we were setting up camp, a thunderhead rose massively above us on a black tower of rain.

We threw up the tents and disappeared into them. Ten minutes later it was safe to come out. The skies cleared, sun warmed us and we shared our first supper.

Continue reading Breathless.