"Children do not understand the hearts of parents" is how the saying goes, and as such it is unrealistic to expect that my daughters will have the same passion I have for the Romance and Beauty of the Western Landscape.

- they are individuals, and have their own likes and preferences, which right now mostly revolves around horses and horse shows.

But I can't believe I just saw that - my seventeen year old daughter finishing the last 100 yards up a steep ridge to a mountain saddle and throwing off her backpack. Life will never cease to surprise you.

Then, while I hiked down to the river to get water for our stay, she set up her tent, fed the dogs, gathered a stack of firewood, and when I returned looked like she was at home in these mountains as anyone could ever be.

Towards dark we chose a safe spot for a campfire, with a rock base and no grasses or trees nearby to catch a spark, then built a fire to take the chill from a February night at 9000 feet. After we cooked our dinner we sat in front of fire talking til 9pm and then retired to each of our tents.

Everytime I woke up I could hear the sound of breezes in the long needles of the Ponderosa Pine forest, which is about as pleasant a nightime sound as I believe there is.

All Amy can really say about this trip right now is that it was boring. "But Amy", I said "You slept late and then just picked up camp and left." "I was out exploring for three hours before you even got up. - That was anything but boring"

It may have been boring for her, since there was no TV, but I think all that talk could also be somewhat a coverup for her being a little unsettled and fearful at being on the edge of wilderness, and the dark night, and the quiet, which is not something she is really used to.

It is my my bet that the memory of this trip will grow with Amy though: our ridgetop campsite, protected by cathedral rock formations behind us, the great view below, our dogs standing on the cliff boulders gazing down into the valley, and how happy they were to be on a backcountry trip with us.

She may recall staring into the fire and talking til late in the evening, or the the strong sense of accomplishment of climbing that far up the mountain with such a heavy pack.

And who knows, she also may sometime hear the breeze in Ponderosa Pine needles and also think of what a comforting sound that is. I may be optimistic or naive to expect this could happen, but I am not so sure. Life tends to surprise you .

Whether Amy backpacks with me again, or decides no, it was too hard, or too boring, won't affect my desire to be up on that mountain again.

I am certain on some midwinter morning I will journey again to Lost Creek Wilderness, to sit with my dogs as night draws down upon the peaks, over the Ponderosa forest, then retreat into my tent and fall into the most restful sleep I have ever known, on the shoulders of a great mountain, waking a few times to the sparse sounds of a wild land, and the silence, which is what I am yearning for when I climb up there.