BLM Dispatch #12 - Humboldt Sink, Nevada
I woke to the sound of something chewing on the side of my tent at exactly 4:53am, two minutes before my alarm was set to rustle me from sleep. As if the creature and the clock were in cahoots.
Tsk, tsk, tsk.
Tsk, tsk, tsk.
My head, turned sideways on the pillow and snug against the tent wall, put my face just inches from the sound, my breath like a strange little space heater for the fellow.
I gave a gentle flick toward the noise (kangaroo rat? western whiptail?), and the visitor abandoned its post in search of less polyester fare.
Alright pal, I said, I’m up.
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