This was one of those days that may never leave my memory. In the forest, the snow fell slowly, steadily, and silently. The steam from the hot springs rose and coated the surrounding trees with a mist that quickly turned to ice. In the open plains, the wind bursted with gusts of up to 35-40 mph. The bison dug through several feet of snow in search of food, and the trumpeter swans swam as though they were unaffected by the drone of the snowmobiles. The hot springs, geysers, and mud pots somehow seemed more spectacular in a season with very few visitors. While I'm enjoying temperatures in the 70's, every winter I remember this unforgettable trip to Yellowstone, and dream about a real winter.