Friday night I too was naive enough to believe the NWS prediction about the weather, so I ventured to the usual gravel pit site in Summit County. The first surprise was that the Peoa-Oakley road was torn up for the entire 4.2 miles to the gravel pit turnoff; in fact, there were warnings about local traffic only and that the bridge was out, though no bridge was missing before the pit. But there was no pavement, just rutted dirt with roadwork vehicles parked here and there. Sunset was lovely at the gravel pit -- thanks to the dense clouds that were lit up red toward the south. I was about to set up when some vehicle began roaring around just ahead of my location, and I decided to head out. I drove back to the Peoa-Oakley road, then continued the way I had come until the entrance to, I think, the Eagle gravel pit. There a big turn-out had been scraped beside the road for the heavy equipment and I thought I could work there -- it wasn't on the road or in the gravel pit entrance. The sky cleared and I had a lot of hope as I set up. Something was bellowing from a nearby mountain -- I thought it was too steep for a cow. Maybe an elk? The seeing was poor and I had trouble focusing on my target, M57. (I'd also wanted to revisit M51's SN but the galaxy was so low to the horizon by then that I didn't bother.) Breezes kicked up, the telesclpe bounced, but I kept at it. Coyotes began to yip and howl, a sound I always enjoy. Just when I put on a counterweight, I couldn't see M57 -- it was immersed in clouds. The cloud cover also magnified light pollution from SLC, so there was a bright obnoxious glow over much of the sky. About 3 a.m., maybe later, I shifted my attention to the Pleiades. The cluster was fairly high in the east by then, in the small area not yet clouded out. Fiddling with computer and camera and telescope, I heard something scuffing rapidly along the road. A deer, I thought. I had seen several deer beside that route before and I did't want one to stumble into my cords, table, chair, etc. So I let out this loud "WOO!" to warn it away. "---you!" yelled the obviously startled deer. It was a young man hiking along the road. I said I was an astronomer trying to use my telescope, and asked what he was doing. "Walking along the ---ing road, what does it look like?" he shouted. As he trotted off, he said, "Hillbilly!" Hillbilly? Hillbilly? That didn't compute, until I realized the locals must call each other that when they're being insulting. He must live in the area or he woudln't have been on such an obscure stretch of road in the middle of the night. I wondered if he doubted my telescope story, as by then the sky was almost completely clouded over. Shortly afteward I packed up and drove home. On the way, I noticed a new vehicle parked on the road, besides the graders I had seen earlier: some kind of big 4WD, maybe a Ford Explorer. The guy must have run out of gas, or broken an axle or something, and decided to hoof it the rest of the way. Back home, I looked at my puctures from the night -- worthless, all of them. -- Joe