I worked my way out of the valley timber and eased through a stand of trees on a long finger ridge. The rim above, where winter snows melted in late spring, extended long timbered fingers down to the valley. Deep canyons and meadows between the ridges grew knee-high grass in the summer where snow and ice scoured clean the rest of the year. The sun was just rising above the eastern rim and shafts of sunlight filtered through the tall pines. I stood in the shade of a tree and scanned the line of trees opposite.
