It was a crisp winter’s day when I set out on my drive from Boise to McCall, Idaho, traveling the beautiful 112-mile Payette River Scenic Byway. While the primary purpose of the trip was to give a talk the next day, I knew that the journey itself would be just as valuable as the destination. The road between Boise and McCall is one of my favorite drives in Idaho. The dramatic scenery, with its winding rivers and rugged mountains, offers endless photo opportunities. The abundance of wildlife—sandhill cranes, osprey, red-tailed hawks, eagles, and pelicans, along with foxes, deer, elk, and the occasional bear—makes it a photographer’s paradise. I timed my departure to take full advantage of the late afternoon light, planning to reach McCall just before sunset. As I left Boise, the road meandered through rolling farmlands and foothills before entering the winding Payette River corridor, where steep canyon walls rise above fast-moving whitewater. Just above Banks, the river divides into its South and North Forks. The road follows the North Fork, home to one of the most notoriously difficult whitewater kayaking stretches in North America. This high-volume Class V whitewater run is relentless—fast-moving currents, enormous waves, and one of the steepest runnable sections of river in the U.S. As I emerged from the canyon, the fury of the river gave way to serene meadows framed by towering pines and snow-capped peaks. Scattered ranch houses and rustic cabins dotted the land, and the remnants of long-forgotten outbuildings of aged timber leaned toward the landscape. At the north end of the valley, the mountain town of Cascade nestled along the western shore of Lake Cascade. Beyond the town, the road ascended a tree-lined ridge before revealing a breathtaking view of the lake. In the distance, I could see a beautiful sunset that was quickly building as warm glowing light was transforming the unique cloud formations into a canvas of color. Knowing that capturing a sunset is all about timing, I instinctively hurried toward the Gold Fork River, just before it emptied into the lake. By the time I arrived, the sky was bathed in deep oranges, purples, and streaks of golden light which seemed to set the lake on fire. I pulled off the road and ran down to the shore, arriving just in time to witness the peak of this miraculous display of nature. For the next 15 minutes, the colors shifted and danced, ebbing and flowing before gradually softening and fading into the horizon. As the final hues dissolved, my camera dropped to my side. I had been at the perfect place at the perfect time—but had I truly captured the magic of the moment? I sat on a weathered log, nervously reviewing my images. Even on the small screen of my camera, the reflection was nearly perfect—the sky and lake seamlessly joined in a moment of divine symmetry. A dark silhouette of dense pines and distant shoreline divided the composition, framing the fire in the sky. In those fleeting moments, as I watched sky and water merge into one, I was reminded of something Ansel Adams once said. “Sometimes I do get to places just when God’s ready to have somebody click the shutter.”