There are moments that are so serene, so peaceful that I can’t help but pause my endless search for wildlife, to sit and admire my surroundings, soaking it all in. It was one of these moments I found myself in late one summer evening. After a grueling, nearly vertical hike up the mountain, I had finally reached my destination. I had a late start hitting the trail that afternoon and the hike up the mountain had been a humbling experience. As I hustled to reach my destination, it quickly became obvious just how out of shape I really was. Yet, I pushed on at a determined pace, anxious to reach the lake I planned to camp at that night. Mountain Goats, Pika, Marmots and Weasels all called the area home and I hoped to photograph something before the sun dipped below the horizon that night.

It was still summer, but there was already a slight chill to the air at these high elevations. It was going to be a pretty chilly night. Hints of color began to show themselves in the sky, the sun was starting to set and I’d nearly arrived. Out of breath and panting heavily I made the final push to the lake. I hurriedly dropped my pack and grabbed my camera as I headed to the boulder field above the lake. No sign of wildlife yet, but I knew there would be Pika and Marmots in these rocks. I began ascending the great rock-slide with camera ready, ever on the alert for any sign of wildlife. Turning around and looking back towards the lake, I was immediately left in awe by the breathtaking scene that lay before me. Color filled the sky, the small lake reflecting the vibrant green of some nearby pine trees and as far as I could see sprawled rolling mountains and verdant forests. Settling down on a nearby boulder, I soaked in the scene that lay before me, trying to engrave this moment in the recesses of my brain forever. The words of the great John Muir came into my head then, “The mountains are calling and I must go.”