3:00 p.m., MT | Bearpaw Lake, Teton National Park, WY — Against all odds, the weather cleared as we neared our campsite at the outlet of Bearpaw Lake. Then, to our surprise, it stayed that way. When we’d booked it that morning at the campground headquarters, huddled out of the pouring rain, the Park Ranger gave us directions as if delivering last rites to the doomed. But here we were. The site was the end of the line, in essence, off on its own trail at the end of a four-mile hike that ended at our tent pad. Our new home looked out over the lake we’d passed, filled with low waves sharpened by the stiff afternoon blow. A too-friendly woodchuck entrenched himself in our fire pit until I routed him with warning-shot stones. We pitched our tents in the little clearing among the pines. I hung my hammock between two trees facing the mountains and drank the beauty of the scene. Bearpaw Lake, rising pine forests, the omnipresent Tetons. Where before the mountains were laden with storm clouds, frowning at three forlorn travelers, now, like our spirits, they were free to pierce the sky.