The Highest Snag was painted from memory. I used to ride the mountains of North Idaho, and, if I started very early, I could reach the summit of one or another of the Selkirks to watch day break. The rise of the morning sun would bring the mist to rise from the valleys and mountains below me, one of the most wondrous events of the North Idaho wilderness, the mist rising and peeling off the hills to rise as foggy clouds, wisps of moisture dissipating as the sun rose higher and higher. One of my favorite vistas was near this very, very large, tall larch snag. The base of that old snag was located a good 100 yards below me, unreachable because of the steep terrain. It must have been a good two-and-a-half or three feet at its base when it died because the upper third of it was easily a foot and a half in diameter. Sometimes an eagle would land on one of its branches as the mare cropped mountain grasses, me sitting quietly on her back, just enjoying the clean, brisk air, the quiet, the view, and being with my best friend, my horse.