I've been meaning to write an entry about my favorite outdoor activity, checking sage grouse strutting grounds, ever since I started this journal, but I'm not going to get to it today, either.

The heelers and I were heading down the interstate just south of town yesterday morning, right at sunrise. We were heading out to check a couple strutting grounds (leks) out in the gas patch. If you know anything about checking leks, then you know that if I'm seeing sunrise as we leave town, I overslept and we were about 30-40 minutes late. I was admiring the orange glow reflecting off the back ends of several semis when I saw the same glow on Jesse's house.

Jesse's house is the southwestern-most house in town and, I suspect, the smallest. I've only been in it once, and I'm sure the room I'm in now is larger. When I visited, all it had was a stove, a small twin bed, a metal table with 11" TV and broiler plate, a kitchen chair and one stuffed chair. I assume the side door went into a bathroom with tub and toilet, but I'm not sure. It wasn't that Jesse was poor. She had plenty of kinfolk around, and I'm sure they could have set her up in something bigger if she would let them. But this was apparently all she needed. A place to eat, sleep and warm up. Jesse's house is empty now, has been for several years since she passed away. But this isn't another sob story, folks, Jesse had a long and good life. I don't know for sure, but I suspect she was in her 90s when she finally died.

Jesse was one of the pioneers for this country, and spent most of her life outdoors. That's where I first met her. She proceeded to chew me out for a list of grievances, some of which I agreed with. The others I respectfully agreed to disagree. We got along fine after that. I always enjoyed our visits in the sage or along the highway, and wish we'd had more of them. I always seemed to learn something.

Once I was giving her directions to a spot south of town, which included reference to Separation Peak. She looked at me like I was speaking Greek, so I repeated myself. She still looked like she didn't understand. I was beginning to think Jesse was starting to lose it. So I patiently explained that I was talking about the high spot on Atlantic Rim that had all the radio towers.

Oh, she knew what mountain I was talking about, Jesse explained, but that's not its name. That's Scotty McKay Peak.

Now I'd been here a few years by then, and I knew the names of the major landmarks. Every map of the place called that hill Separation Peak, as did most residents. That's where the Continental Divide separates in two. But whoever named that peak on the maps forgot to consult Jesse. She explained how the peak got its real name.

Scotty McKay was one of the early sheep ranchers in this country, before there were paved roads and fences. He wintered his bands of sheep on the flats north and west of that peak. That's how Scotty Canyon got its name. But he summered his sheep way northwest in the desert, a good 65-70 miles. There, Scotty Lake is also named after him. A half-mile to the north of that is McKay Lake.

Now I've flown over McKay Lake a few times, but never been there. But Scotty Lake I know. One of my favorite spots in the desert. My oldest boy found his first arrowhead near there. Heard my first loon call from that lake. I never knew those two lakes were named for the same man. And now I also knew about Scotty McKay Peak.

I had another opportunity to mention that mountain to Jesse a few years later, and I made a point to use the correct name. She smiled, grabbed my arm and said I really knew how to make an old woman happy.

The last time I saw Jesse we were deer hunting in the north, and she was doing the same. Her eyes were still sharp, and her hands steady. She had gotten her buck, and was heading home. She had a young man with her, a grandson or great-grandson. She could still hunt alone, but needed help getting game loaded into the truck. When her obituary came out, it mentioned she had been cremated and no services would be held. Too bad, I would have liked to have gone.

We have quite a few volunteers helping with sage grouse strutting ground checks these days, and I was going through the reports for a couple of them this winter. They reported seeing grouse strutting in a new spot last spring, on several different mornings. I checked their GPS coordinates, and it was a new lek, just northwest of Separation Peak. My rule is if you find a new lek, you get to name it (within reason, of course). So I stopped by and asked one of the volunteers what name they wanted me to use. He didn't care, they were just grateful to be of help. So I told him I would call it the Separation Peak lek. That was fine with him.

I went home, opened the database and filled in all the particulars for the new lek. Then I changed the name. My database went into the statewide records a month or so ago. It's official now, at least as official as it can be. The new lek is the Scottys Peak strutting ground.

I think Jesse would be smiling again.