As always, the last stop of my western breeding bird route last month found me several miles outside my district. None of the antelope, deer, elk, sage grouse or anything else around there are my responsibility. Nor are the mountains on both sides.

But they were. For a few years, about twenty years ago. When an experiment in redrawing biologist boundaries took them away from a man who had had them for a decade or more, and gave them to me. Only for the powers that be to realize the impracticality of the arrangement a few years later, and put the lines back where they had been.

'Course, the other guy had retired by then, and never really got any of his favorite stomping grounds back.

Me, I pretty much gave up on these lands that I'd tried to come to know. A few incursions with group tours onto the larger mountain over the years, and lots of annual trips through the gaps when working seasons, leks or wing barrels. But I hadn't been up on the smaller mountain in well over 15 years.

And I wasn't going to on this day, either. Yes, it was a beautiful day, and yes, I had nothing to hurry back for. And yes, the flowers were fading fast down in the desert and were probably still going strong up high. But there wasn't any real need, except for the fact that I hadn't been up there for a long time.

But despite all these arguments, somehow I found the truck veering right as we passed the gap, heading up the winding road to the oil wells and radio towers on top of the mountain. The heeler sisters got quite excited at the novelty of it all.

Someplace new! A place they'd never been.

And I was right, the flowers were just perfect, and changed as we climbed. Penstemons everywhere, and bright red paintbrush on the lower benches. Along with pale lavender asters, and bitterroots just opening.

A few more turns and we were in the trees, the short limber pines that carpet patches of this flat-topped mountain. Still lots of penstemons, more blue though, as well as lupine, stonecrop, golden banner, and Eriogonum.

More turns, and we were out of the trees again, near the bare tops of the mountain, over 8,000 feet. Thick trees down the steep, wetter north slopes, but bare, gentle slopes to the desert to the south. Heelers got in several drag races, and a quick game of hide-and-seek. And while enjoying the view of the ancient landscape below us,

the snow-covered Winds to the west, and the hazy desert to the south, we came across a benchmark set in granite.

No, I didn't know it was there. But kinda expected one, seeing as how we were on top of a mountain, covered with rounded, solid stones. (Actually, if I'd looked at a map, I'd have found out there were two other benchmarks up there that we could have searched for.)

And then it was time to go. Felt too guilty exploring country that wasn't mine. A little over an hour after our truck veered right, we were back down on the desert road, headed home.

We never made it to the huge snowbanks on the north face.