A couple of weeks ago I went bird hunting in Montana at the invitation of Dave Perkins. A gracious invitation to say the least, and one that offered up a most notable new experience. This was different. Standing on the ridge I looked across a sea of grass with mountain islands here and there, and the distance defined only by the last jagged range in the distance.
“How far are those?”
“ About 120 miles.”
I was hunting sharptails near Great Falls. Next-door neighbors are calculated in miles. It looks flat, but it’s not. It rolls and dips and rises like ocean swells and not until you get out of the truck and immerse yourself in it, do you discover the detail, the variations of terrain and vegetation, the places where sharptails find cover.