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Sharp. That best described the air that morning. The weatherman spoke of one final arctic blast moving down from Canada. Temperatures would dip about ten degrees below where they had been, but at this time, no precipitation was expected. The sun peeked above the horizon, but in the shadow of Wolf’s Ridge, the sky only lightened. They wouldn’t see the sun until it cleared the craggy rocks at the summit. If they were fortunate, they would have the opportunity to make two treks into the canyon today. One in the morning, hopefully tagging something that would make it worth their while to return to camp before heading out for an afternoon foray.
Lady Luck was riding on their shoulder as Bob, Paul, Jerry, and Dan set out along the canyon floor. Breath puffed out in white clouds, and the sun
