At the top of the first peak were clumps of cut-leafed fleabane.

And on the saddle between the mammary peaks, several specimens of alpine goldenrod were blooming.

As were a lot of spotted saxifrage.

All these were very late; and yet there was much evidence of the coming fall.  Roseroot makes just as much of a show at the end of the season as when it is in flower.

And the snow willow glowed like jewels among the black lichens on the rocks.

The wet meadows below the peaks had their end-of-season scruffy look.  It is obviously not going to be the best year for them.  Most of the colour now was made by spear-leafed scenecio.

There was a small breeze above the treeline but I could see by the lower lakes that there had been very little air movement all day.  And, strangely enough, for it was hot enough to need no coat even at the top, there were very few bugs.   Otter lake, as I came down, was as motionless as it had been early that morning.

No, that is not the sky that you are looking at: it is the reflection of clouds in the water.