We have had a fair amount of rain recently. Much needed rain mind you. The cow feed is coming, and the aquifers are replenishing.
Took my JR Willie for a mid day run, over hill and down dale, on the red clay trail. When I saw a little white pickup on the rough bladed, fire break road. As he came over a knoll and headed towards a gully, I stopped to watch knowing that this was probably not going to end well. I could have told him that a bit of gravel on top of wet red clay can be deceptive, is slicker than snot on top, like glue after that, and has kept stouter pickups than his til the beginning of summer. I could have told him that he would not make it up out of the gully. Of course he tried, but didn't have enough of anything to make it up the far bank. With tires spinning he slid back into the gully. Now would have been the time to go get the friends with Warn wenches and long line cables. But hope dies hard for some, so there he sat, spinning his wheels, throwing red clay everywhere, as he buried it to the axles. Since he now was effectively damming the gully, water started running through the pickup. He was only about a mile from the edge of our subdivision, and had a cell phone, so I left him to it. Heard them from my house, at about midnight, trying to pull him out. This morning the remains of his misadventure are a torn up field (no cow feed there for a long while) and a hefty trail of red clay globs on the street.
I miss the ol red clay hills of the home ranch. There are so many memories there.
If you haven't been there, you don't know that "whoa" moment of being on a steep sidehill, spring disking with the Knudson
and hitting an un-see-able slide area. Even with the awesome crab steering, the only thing that's going to save your hide is to bury the disk, crab walk the K out, and pray that the gods are with you, cause if you roll that thing it isn't going to be pretty.