In the afternoon sun, a bald eagle gripped the sunburnt bough of a dead tree, eyeing the ducks bobbing in loose formation on the lake. Nearby a herd of bison encircled a copse, heads bowed. Their contented grunts sounded every now and then, as if they were clearing their throats.

I paused in the long grass, watching the surface of the water and the rippling reflection of the mountains beyond, turning to radio waves with each passing breeze. The scent of pine needles, fresh sap and mud hung in the air.