White knuckles of billowing clouds were draped up and down the mountain valley contours. Sitting just above those valleys, the lower elevations were layered in paper thin ribbons of gauze, as I drove past the turnoff to Big Sky. When I pulled into the deserted Fawn Pass Trailhead, the sun was trying to burn a hole through the heavy mist. I crossed over the four wooden bridges that span the deep meadows and the rushing headwaters of the Gallatin River.

I entered the woods on the far side, just as flashes of blue started to wink overhead. Everything was wet and cold and the heady smell of forest filled my lungs. About a mile in, a small herd of large Elk crossed my path. I’m not sure who was more surprised.

I veered to the right at the fork, and I could feel the wind shift. The sun was suddenly touching—blessing—everything. The mist was lifting, evaporating in sheets. Prehistoric Sandhill cranes began to shout and dance. Fresh Grizzly tracks and scat were clearly visible. Five miles later, up at the pass, a larger herd of elk marched across my path, while a tall male stood guard, gauging my intent. Finally, he turned and splashed through the runoff of newborn streams, his hooves clapping against mountain stone as he climbed towards the summit. There is still snow on the pass, and the world up here is full of singing streams, soaring mountains, blue skies and yellow sunshine. And flowers.

Up here, the wind hears your prayers; and maybe that’s enough.

At the seven mile mark, an extremely large Grizzly, still wearing its golden winter coat, was busy rooting for grubs (or fresh onions) in the sagebrush, on the Bighorn side of the pass. He was 150-200 yards off to the south, and my binoculars framed him perfectly. (Note: Bears can easily blend into high Sagebrush. Startling them is not an option.) The river here was roiling, and brimming with ice cold snow melt as it swiftly slid past. I followed its sibilant whisper through this quiet sanctuary for another three miles. Lots of bird life was rustling about in the reeds as nests were prepared for new arrivals. Everything was brand new, untouched, and green here in the spring light. After trekking 10 miles, I emerged at the Bighorn Pass Trailhead, where I was fortunate to meet two “Good Samaritans,” who offered me a lift back to my car, parked a few miles north.

It never did rain.