There really isn’t time for all the wonderful things I’d like to say about Sage Creek basin. These hills, opposite Sage Creek, were particularly beautiful in the morning sunlight. And these hills were the last thing I saw before I went to sleep, their grassy knobs glowing faintly with starlight as if phosphorescent, and the shushing-rushing song of Sage Creek, louder than usual, pouring over ice-dams down in the draw, just beyond this grove of shadowy, winter-burnt cedars.