After they bypassed the massive pile of rocks, the view before them suddenly opened up.
A bowl-shaped high mountain meadow, surrounded by mountains, unfolded before their eyes.
A clear stream formed by snowmelt meandered through the center of the meadow, its banks adorned with lush willows and alders standing a little over half a man's height.
And on the rocky high ground at the edge of the meadow, near the hillside, moved about a dozen white figures, like scattered snow patches.
It's a herd of Dall sheep!
Their hearts skipped a beat in unison!
They almost simultaneously crouched down slowly, hiding their bodies completely in the shadow of the rocks.
Old George's movements were the most skillful; he didn't make any unnecessary moves, quickly and silently adjusting his Leica binoculars to focus sharply, his lens steadily aimed at that peaceful white scene.
"A group of damsels and youngsters," he mumbled in the lowest voice.
