There is something about a mountain meadow that is close to heaven in more ways than one. In the full bloom of the brief summer there is no place that feels fresher and cleaner. The air is bracing. The sky and mountains seem expansive and majestic, and the lush carpet of herbs and flowers is almost bubbling with vitality.

As we climbed to the ridge, we felt that nothing else was needed to complete this picture of paradise. Then we spied Dall sheep, and our hearts almost bounded out of our bodies! Their fleecy white coats were radiant, and their dignified gaze communicated contentment and tranquility. We spoke in whispers, partly not to alarm them, but partly because we felt we were in the presence of a group of gods of the mountains.

- Robert Bateman