As the day drew to a close, everything was pretty much on schedule.

Yes, the sky had been a little cloudier than desired. And the air drier.

But those two things kind of balanced each other out.

As the sun began to set, I sat parked on my lonely vantage point to the south.

And watched my favorite mountains burn.

Unfortunately, the snow earlier in the week left a lot of moisture in the ground and shrubs, so most of the face that we wanted to burn, would not burn. So they sent the helicopter up to torch the high ridges, where there was more ground cover, and more trees.

My beloved Ponderosa Pines. What our Dad and all his lumberjack relatives call "Yellow pine".

The scientist in me knows most of those ponderosas will survive the fire. They've evolved to do just that. And all our flames will clear away the brush and stagnant plants below, opening new foraging areas for so many critters.

Particularly our new bighorn sheep.

But still, there is a pain in my gut. 'Cause I know not all of those wonderful, centuries-old, neapolitan flavored trees will survive.

I know.

Today, I've watched them die.