Even this mild winter can close in on me like dark, imposing walls.

Unanticipated challenges rat-a-tatting at me from left field day after day keep me at the computer and stuck sorting out mental puzzles far more than I prefer.

Add dry wind, short days and the monotony of wintertime chores to the equation and it becomes a desperate need for some mountain time.

My friend, Colleen, said she felt the same way.

Driving along the Rocky Mountain Front is spectacular, but walking among those peaks and crevices eclipses all a drive can offer.

The day was warm and dry, with dense clouds floating high, offering a promise for snow but not really meaning it.

Perfect for a hike.

Neither Colleen nor I could remember the last time we hiked together, but both of us knew we needed to get rid of the Winter Drudgeries.

The white mountain peaks gleamed so we wondered whether we would find deep snow.

Reports from the Bynum area offered low odds so we headed that direction.

Frankly, we knew we could hike throughout most of Montana without worrying about snow. Our friends in the Midwest, the Carolinas and Florida are hogging it.

The well-worn trail pointed us into a canyon of high limestone walls, pine trees and mystery.

Fresh elk scat and pebbles tumbling down the talus told us we weren’t alone.

The trail dissipated, but our dogs found several paths for us to follow. Sometimes, they were the easiest paths and sometimes we found ourselves ducking under branches and tripping over logs.

That didn’t matter.

The scent of the pines mattered.

The stillness of the air mattered.

We didn’t even pretend we would quit talking, though.

The vents were open and words poured out.

Mostly mine.

Mountains do that to me.

Somehow, they expand time and space so my hunched shoulders straighten.

My clenched jaw loosens.

My eyes see colors and shapes that I missed yesterday.

The round glacial rocks provide a background for sharp-cornered, green and brown mineralized rocks.

Wizened sticks curve like horse heads – symbols I relate to, left over after their career of trading air particles.

Trilobite tunnels carve into ancient limestone.

These remind me of Nature’s systems creating the foundation for all life.

As we walk, I think about my brother’s advice: Remember to notice the little things.

He is right – beauty is in the lines in a leaf and the sparkle of an ice crystal.

Or maybe beauty is in the noticing.

The trail crisscrosses a dry creek bed, offering clues to the mystery in the canyon with each bend.

Then we discover a trickle of water tinkling over some rocks.

A little farther upstream, we skate across ice between boulders.

The sun turns the tops of gray limestone walls to that glorious yellow of wintertime angles.

Our cameras come out.

I realize I had stopped venting about life — I just couldn’t think of anything else to complain about.

Instead, we laugh – at ourselves, the dogs playing together, the ice we slip on – anything and everything.

Then we round the final corner of the box canyon.

The mystery of our natural world reveals itself in all its glory.

A waterfall cascades into an icy green pool, Nature’s masterpiece waiting for anyone who makes the effort to find it.

Once again, I am humbled by the awesome wonder of a place far older than humanity.

I don’t know how the mountains do this every single time I arrive, but I count on this gift that I seek when no other gift is enough.

Then I carry the mystery and wonder and power of the mountains back home, sustained for another day.

Lisa Schmidt raises grass-fed beef and lamb at the Graham Ranch near Conrad. Lisa can be reached at L.Schmidt@a-land-of-grass-ranch.com.