Autumn along the Gros Ventre River has a rhythm all its own. On this morning, three cows wandered slowly through the willows and gravel bars, stopping often to feed before continuing toward the shelter of the Bridger-Teton National Forest. Close behind them stood this mature bull, never rushing, never straying far from the group. One thing I've noticed over the years is that I rarely witness the final chapter of the rut. It makes me wonder if, after the cows finally decide to cross the river, they disappear into the protection of the forest to finish a story that's hidden from view. Watching him that morning, I couldn't help but admire his patience. Whatever lay ahead wasn't his decision to make. He simply waited, confident that when the time came, following the cows would be worth the wait.