revise each list published under the authority of this subsection to reflect recent determinations, designations, and revisions made in accordance with subsections (a) and (b).
Â
âThe Endangered Species Act Amendments of 1982
11
The triple funeral for the three dead outfitters was unlike anything Joe Pickett had experienced before. Ote Keeleyâs wish that he be buried in his 1989 Ford F-250 XLT Lariat turbo diesel had caused complications with the staff of the Twelve Sleep County Cemetery in that they were required to dig the biggest hole in the ground they had ever dug. The rental of an earthmover was necessary, and the size of the hole created a fifteen-foot mound of fresh soil at the head of the grave. The ceremony had been organized by the widows of Ote Keeley and Kyle Lensegrav (Calvin Mendes was unmarried) and the âunconventionalâ Reverend B. J. Cobb of the First Alpine Church of Saddlestring.
Joe Pickett stood soberly in his suit, hat, and bandage on a hillside listening to Reverend Cobb give the eulogy as he stood perched on the hood of the pickup. The Keeley and Lensegrav widows and children flanked the crowd and the truck. Behind the families, a blue plastic tarp hid a large pile of something.
It was a beautiful day at the cemetery. A very light breeze rattled the leaves of the cottonwoods, and the sun shone down brilliantly. Dew twinkled in the late fall grass, and the last of the departing morning river mist paused at the treetops.
Although Reverend Cobbâs eulogy covered the short history of the outfittersâboyhood friends who hunted in Mississippi, joined the army together, served the country well in Operation Desert Storm, and relocated to the game-rich mountains and plains of WyomingâJoe couldnât stop looking at the massive hole in the ground in front of the pickup and wondering what was under the blue tarp behind the families.
The mourners consisted of a few fellow Alpine Church members and several of the outfittersâ drinking buddies. Joe noticed that there were no other outfitters present, and when he thought about it, he wasnât that surprised. Keeley, Lensegrav, and Mendes had been drummed out of the Wyoming Outfitters Association for their radical views and tendency to commit obvious game violations.
âThey were salt-of-the-earth types,â intoned the Reverend Cobb, a pudgy bachelor with a crew cut, who was known for his survivalist tendencies and small but fervent congregation. âThey loved their trucks. They were throw-backs to a time when men lived off of the land and provided for their families by their outdoor skills and cunning. They were prototypes of the first white Americans. They were frontiersmen. They were outdoorsmen. They were sportsmen of the highest caliber. And these boys knew their calibers, all right. They ate elk, not lamb. They ate venison, not pork. They ate wild duck, not chicken ...â
The three mahogany-stained pine caskets were in the bed of the pickup, two side-by-side on the bottom and the third laid across them on top. Joe couldnât tell which casket contained whom. The weight of the caskets made the four-wheel-drive pickup list to the rear. The Reverend Cobb finally finished up his comments about what the outfitters ate.
Ote Keeleyâs wife wasnât hard to pick out as she was the only pregnant woman there. She was thin and small and severe. Joe guessed that normally she wouldnât weigh more than 100 pounds. She had short-cropped blond hair and a pinched, hard face. Her mouth was set around an unlit cigarette. She tightly held the hand of a small girl who wanted to go look at the big hole instead of stand there respectfully with her mother. The girlâJoe would later learn that her name was Aprilâwas a five-year-old version of her mother but with a sweet, haunting face.
Joe had introduced himself to her before the services began and had said he was sorry about what happened and
Â
âThe Endangered Species Act Amendments of 1982
11
The triple funeral for the three dead outfitters was unlike anything Joe Pickett had experienced before. Ote Keeleyâs wish that he be buried in his 1989 Ford F-250 XLT Lariat turbo diesel had caused complications with the staff of the Twelve Sleep County Cemetery in that they were required to dig the biggest hole in the ground they had ever dug. The rental of an earthmover was necessary, and the size of the hole created a fifteen-foot mound of fresh soil at the head of the grave. The ceremony had been organized by the widows of Ote Keeley and Kyle Lensegrav (Calvin Mendes was unmarried) and the âunconventionalâ Reverend B. J. Cobb of the First Alpine Church of Saddlestring.
Joe Pickett stood soberly in his suit, hat, and bandage on a hillside listening to Reverend Cobb give the eulogy as he stood perched on the hood of the pickup. The Keeley and Lensegrav widows and children flanked the crowd and the truck. Behind the families, a blue plastic tarp hid a large pile of something.
It was a beautiful day at the cemetery. A very light breeze rattled the leaves of the cottonwoods, and the sun shone down brilliantly. Dew twinkled in the late fall grass, and the last of the departing morning river mist paused at the treetops.
Although Reverend Cobbâs eulogy covered the short history of the outfittersâboyhood friends who hunted in Mississippi, joined the army together, served the country well in Operation Desert Storm, and relocated to the game-rich mountains and plains of WyomingâJoe couldnât stop looking at the massive hole in the ground in front of the pickup and wondering what was under the blue tarp behind the families.
The mourners consisted of a few fellow Alpine Church members and several of the outfittersâ drinking buddies. Joe noticed that there were no other outfitters present, and when he thought about it, he wasnât that surprised. Keeley, Lensegrav, and Mendes had been drummed out of the Wyoming Outfitters Association for their radical views and tendency to commit obvious game violations.
âThey were salt-of-the-earth types,â intoned the Reverend Cobb, a pudgy bachelor with a crew cut, who was known for his survivalist tendencies and small but fervent congregation. âThey loved their trucks. They were throw-backs to a time when men lived off of the land and provided for their families by their outdoor skills and cunning. They were prototypes of the first white Americans. They were frontiersmen. They were outdoorsmen. They were sportsmen of the highest caliber. And these boys knew their calibers, all right. They ate elk, not lamb. They ate venison, not pork. They ate wild duck, not chicken ...â
The three mahogany-stained pine caskets were in the bed of the pickup, two side-by-side on the bottom and the third laid across them on top. Joe couldnât tell which casket contained whom. The weight of the caskets made the four-wheel-drive pickup list to the rear. The Reverend Cobb finally finished up his comments about what the outfitters ate.
Ote Keeleyâs wife wasnât hard to pick out as she was the only pregnant woman there. She was thin and small and severe. Joe guessed that normally she wouldnât weigh more than 100 pounds. She had short-cropped blond hair and a pinched, hard face. Her mouth was set around an unlit cigarette. She tightly held the hand of a small girl who wanted to go look at the big hole instead of stand there respectfully with her mother. The girlâJoe would later learn that her name was Aprilâwas a five-year-old version of her mother but with a sweet, haunting face.
Joe had introduced himself to her before the services began and had said he was sorry about what happened and
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