When this morning started, it was most certainly Spring.

The grouse were strutting. At least on five of the seven leks we checked.

And traffic was even kicking up a little dust.

The pronghorn were resting peacefully, no longer worrying about whether or not they'd survive the next hour or two.

The country had opened up tremendously, and we made it more than 25 miles into the desert before snowdrifts forced us to turn back. Startling some spring migrants along the way.

But shortly after the day's strut had ended

The seasons changed.

And Winter came back.