Most of Nevada and Utah are traversed by night, by the California Zephyr, Amtrak train #6, on its return to “Sweet home Chicago,” as the conductors call it.

The passenger is well advised to enjoy the northern Nevada sunset—which is beautiful at all times of year, in vary hues. To sleep well and rise early, just before 6 A/M at the latest.

Leaving Provo Utah at dawn, headed for the desert canyon town of Helper, the sun will rise in the east as the train winds its way south of the building Book Cliffs and Helios appears on all sides of the train. At 5:45, the passenger is typically alone in the viewing car.

Leaving Provo on Friday morning, Mormon commuters on the lonely adjacent highway keep perfect 60-yard distances between bumpers—enough to drive a New Yorker insane!

Headed to Helper, dawn barely creeping over the eastern mountains, the train winds rightward to the south around a bend away from the highway, three mule deer stand on the rise above the tracks, observing the ominous progress of the 600-foot long rolling steel dragon. These skittish sentinels are the most attuned to the train, using their ears like radar dishes and their eyes without turning their head.

Snow is packed between the temporary green of the desert, about a foot deep and covering 25% of the land in its creases and north-facing heights.

Crag-bounded Helper gives way to the meadows of Carbonville with its cattle and a lone antelope to north and south as the Book Cliffs rise in the north and the train heads into the risen sun.

Down to Green River, Utah and Grand Junction, Colorado the land browns, and chalks to sand faces as the cliffs rise like towers and the snow melt river of greening brown feeds green fields where man’s sheep, horses and cattle—increasingly cattle, graze in unconcern, not even raising their heads to observe the giant steel snake.

Glenwood Springs marks the wildlife margin by train, with to small herd of mule deer three among six foot sage brush to the south and five in the shallows of the rushing, brown Colorado to the north.

The progress of the train usually as close to a river as possible, insures animal sightings.

Headed to Granby a small tragedy is only visible to one chance soul. Just below the numerous caves on the south side, where snow yet caked the north face in crusty slabs, a bear, fresh killed and not yet bloated, a brown bear seeming to approach 500 pounds, has been hit by the train in the left shoulder and tossed like a rag just off the rail. This was seen across from the double water fall—frozen at the moment—being gazed at by the now full complement of viewing car passengers, for two eagles nest there, and entertained with their fishing.

A hundred looked north into the sky in wonder while one looked south into the ditch in pity.

Geese are fat and paired every mile up the falling river. Ducks are thick about them in the roiling water, looking this time of year like the Potomac rather than the blue Colorado of summer.

Only one kayak is seen. Skiing is still the rage.

As Granby approaches cattle are common and fat—with one steer dead in a field just thawing. Some seven herd of mule deer, some nearly 20-strong, are seen on both sides of the tracks.

Down in the river, at the point of an idyllic islet, is the bleached rib cage of a large animal, perhaps a moose, seemingly as large as a horse, serves as a perch for a magpie.

The largest herd of mule deer is nearly forty strong and on both sides of the tracks, careful to watch the train as they listen to it rumble buy. Half the herd has just crossed the tracks, evidenced by the hundreds of hoof prints in the mud just off the siding.

As Winter Park, Famously cold Frazier and Moffit are approached at Amtrak’s highest elevation of just over 9,000 feet, the mule deer are fewer, grazing in the thawed spots between snow drifts that still bury vehicles in parking lots.

In years past, elk have been seen above Moffit, as the red-stone Rockies rise highest just before dropping to Denver. These elk are not up among the steep and still snow-choked peaks. Elk are generally sighted more close to Denver and the Great Plains, though in the summer they will be up in those steep mountain sides.

The train makes a huge hooking right turn, where wind gusts have blown trains over before. A train of coal cars filled with earth and grown in with grass, has been parked within the curve as a windbreak against the gusts sweeping up from the plains. There, a herd of some 20 elk are split by the track and worry the engineer as the conductor hopes out loud that one is not struck. These animals barely get off the track in time and leap over the cattle pasture fencing in the manner of a dear, but with the irritated arrogance of something greater as the train blares its horn and rolls by in its ominous progress.