Zach drives the side-by-side as close to the glassing knob as he can get it.

“This will work,” Chase says.

“Is that the missile range fence?” I ask.

“Yep,” Chase says. “We’re going to go up this knob. We should be able to see everything.”

I put my camera on the monopod and throw my pack on my back. Inside, I’ve packed rain gear, a spotting scope, and my tripod. Chase is hunting. I’m just here to film.

I follow Chase and Zach up the mountain. It’s steeper than it looked from the bottom. For a minute or two I’m gaining on them, but I stop to let my heart catch up with my body’s oxygen demands. They summit out of sight.

I get to the top and am met by a strong southwest wind that knocks me off balance. I’ll hunt in any weather. But wind. Wind makes me question my life choices.

I walk toward the last place I saw Chase and Zach. As I move, I’m slapped by the strap that connects the backpack shoulder straps. Whap. And then again. Whap, whap. I go ten yards, and it hits me in the face again. I can’t keep ignoring the slap, so I stop and buckle it, disarming the wind’s sharpest weapon against my resolve.

I catch up with Chase as he’s setting up his tripod. I turn the camera on, set up my shot, and hit record.

For the next hour, we look. You can see for miles in every direction. And everywhere we look, there’s brush and grass and cows, but no oryx.

I left my optics at home so I would film more. Now, I’m just sitting on the hill while Chase and Zach glass. And I’m slapped again, but not by the wind. I open my workout app. What am I missing today?

Whap.

Did I get a picture of my dogs from the sitter this morning?

Whap. Whap.

Did Emily message me back yet?

Whap. Whap. Whap.

I’m in the place I most love to be, being pulled back into the life I couldn’t wait to escape.