Not much English is spoken here. I checked in with my Mexican friends who farm the vast acreage where we have shooting rights. Luis is already drunk on Christmas Eve busy enjoying his beer and mescal chaser. I decline his offer for the worm but will take a beer. "There are a few cordoniz (desert quail) this year," Luis says, "and the Paloma (doves) still winter up north but still there are some. You will have to hunt for them. "HaHa!" he laughs and goes back to check his mesquite fire. Luis along with the ten families are making carnitas a holiday mainstay in these Mexican farm camps. Luis's wife is busy holding her new grandson and wants nothing to do with the men who are drinking and will continue well past midnight. They will be ready after several hours of sleep enjoying their day off one of the few they have off.
Our camp site is well isolated and so we will have clear night skies. The moon is waxing almost waning. Our first order of business is to locate wood for the fire. Arizona is dry and there is much dead wood and so I chain a limb for the night fire. Besides, in several days, a friend with a varied camping, rafting and bloodsport experiences will join us for a couple of days. He will enjoy my wood collecting madness.
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