Last Thursday, as we were finishing up our antelope survey, I was struck by these outcrops.

The neat layering of colours, in muted pastel tones.

'Course, part of the pleasure may have come from knowing where we were. In our first flight, we'd covered six transects, each about 50 miles long. And included two bouts of vomitus eruptus. Now in this, our evening flight, we'd covered a transect 45 miles long, followed by another, long bout of filling a sick bag (we were off line, so I knew I could empty at my leisure), then another line about 26 miles long, and a third only 18 miles or so.

At the moment I took this shot, the highway is just below us, on our right. Less than a minute later we hit the start of our fourth, and final transect.

Which was only nine miles long. Little more than a carnival ride, stomach-wise.

So, knowing we were so close to being done probably made these hills a little brighter than they really were.

Oh, and if you don't know the place... that gentle, rounded slope, all dark in the cloud shadow behind the coloured benches?

That's the Continental Divide.

Really.

Pay no attention to where the highway department put their "Continental Divide" sign.

They're wrong.