It wasn't what I had hoped for the morning. It was selfish, of course, but I had hoped to sneak away from the ranch, climb a nearby outcrop of pre-Cambrian ganite, and watch the sunrise from a new benchmark. But we confabbed the night before, and agreed it would probably be best if we headed out on our tour for the bighorn sheep experts early in the day, while it was cool. With a departure time of 07:00, it would be hard to be on the rock around 6:30, and still make breakfast.

And since I was sort of co-host for this thing, skipping out on the breakfast discussion would not be good.

Just the same, I woke early, only to find the ranch wife already in the kitchen, well at work on breakfast for eight. After freshening up, I headed out, and greeted the blue heeler lying just outside the door. He was only too happy to have someone rub his belly full of beef steak and fat, his bowl still half full of scraps from last night's dinner.

So much beef and fat a heeler couldn't eat it all. Hard to believe. But his groans and moans as I rubbed his belly showed he had tried his best.

Grabbed the camera out of the pickup, the fourth or fifth truck in line, and stepped up onto the granite rocks south of the house. No time for an excursion to the benchmark rocks, but at least a clear view of sunrise over the hayfields and lake.

As dawn faded, and the day approached, I could see I would be disappointed. The clouds were low, leaving only a narrow gap for light. The morning would be grey and dim, easily outshone by the lights of the ranch house.

I returned to the home, and the fresh, hot coffee. About half of us were up and about, and conversation naturally drifted towards bighorn sheep, the topic of the day's tour. There in the high-ceiling room, an open space to encompass dining room, kitchen, living room and office, all in one.

And trophy room. I was seated under the alligator head, the story of whose demise had entertained us the night before. About gator hunting in the bayou, and an 11-foot alligator in a 14-foot boat.

A supposedly dead gator that failed the eyeball test. Repeatedly.

And awoke to thrash the occupants, and rip the seats right out of the boat. And thoroughly chastised the local guide, who had never heard of the eyeball test.

Alas, the alligator's last fight was to no avail, since his preserved head is here, a thousand miles from home. On the same wooden beam as the Cape buffalo, who was facing the kudu. The walls were lined with the head and shoulder mounts of African antelope, which overwhelmed the local pronghorn and bighorn specimens.

My seat also faced the glass doors to the patio, to the east. And I glanced outside.

All I remember saying is ohhhh, but no one remarked on my sudden departure. A return to the truck, and to the rocks to the south.

Because I saw this.

I wasn't alone, out there on those round pieces of granite, as I watched the rotation of the planet progress.

As we watched, the sunrise progressed, from this

to this.

Breakfast arrived soon after I returned to the house. Thick, crisp bacon, with light, delicate, perfect pancakes, crunchy hash browns.

And within 40 minutes of sunrise, we were on the road.