To my eyes, Grand Teton National Park is never more lovely than in June.

Each season has its own unique beauty, of course, but there is something particularly special about the Tetons in late spring. (Remember, summer doesn't begin until tomorrow!)

In the spring, the peaks are still decorated with white: a souvenir from copious snowfall over a long winter.

Courtesy of snowmelt followed by early season rains, the landscape is painted in lush greens - even in this semi-arid, high-altitude climate. Green season may only last a few weeks, but it's a spectacular sight.

Add to that the annual wildflower display, and you've got quite a show.

Each year I spend a great deal of time working in the park during spring. I typically begin in the middle of May and keep going as long as the greens hang in there. A few years ago, green season persisted well into July: quite unusual but more than welcome. This time around I expect it'll be truncated since we've had a few periods of warmer-than-usual temperatures and the rain has, for the most part, stopped falling.

I just returned from my latest wildflower shoot. Most of my visits over the past six weeks were timed to coincide with periods when low pressure was moving through the area. Overnights were cold, there was some unsettled weather, and fog made multiple appearances. I love fog, in spite of the fact that it can wreak havoc with a shoot if it wants to. Case in point: last week, the mountains were completely obscured for nearly an entire day.

Sometimes, though, the pieces of the puzzle all seem to fall into place. I experienced one of those days early this month. I wanted to share with you what happened on that morning to emphasize how advantageous it is to know a place well. Familiarity is an asset!

At the campground, I was awakened overnight by the sound of rain falling. This was a surprise since it hadn't been forecast. I had trouble falling back to sleep since my mind went immediately to the fog I knew I could now expect in the morning. This would more than likely require a change in strategy since the location I'd planned to work at when the sun came up would probably be fogged in.

A few stars were visible overhead when I got up; the rain had exited and it wasn't completely overcast. So far, so good. I decided to head out in the opposite direction from where I'd originally intended to begin the day in order to quickly get to a clearing where I could see what was going on over the mountains.

Fog swirled around them, but they weren't completely obscured. Mount Moran was lovely with fog dancing around it and some clouds overhead. This could easily change; it often gets foggier as sunrise approaches - but for the time being, it was a positive sign.

I called an audible and decided to head for a location nearby from which I could shoot the conditions I was seeing around Moran. I pulled the camera out at 4:50am and began playing with long exposures. By 5:25am and with sunrise 15 minutes away, the fog over Jackson Lake began to expand - rising, drifting and shifting. There was a chance the mountains would soon be hidden. Time to leave.

I'd mostly abandoned the idea of capturing sunrise, which was fine, but thought it might be prudent to head back in the direction of the wildflowers I'd scouted the day before and see what the fog looked like in that area.

This was when the magic began.

Long story short, it took a while before I made it back to those flowers. Over the next few hours I called one audible after another, and nearly every one of them worked out. With one exception, I hadn't planned on shooting at any of these locations. None of the places I ended up working at were the usual "photographer hangouts." Most of the time I was alone, and the few times someone did show up, I never saw another camera. In June. In a national park.

Eventually - finally - I ended up at the spot where I'd originally planned on kicking things off well before the sun came up, and did make a few photographs. I had to wait quite a while on the fog there, but that was okay with me.

The conditions that morning were excellent, the scenery was lovely, and it was an incredibly productive shoot. One fine day, to be sure.

The point of all of this is it's highly unlikely I would have had that kind of output had I not had a great deal of experience with the park. Sure, there was some luck involved. But it was my familiarity with the area and knowing what to expect from the conditions there that enabled me to make educated decisions about where to go and when to go there. That familiarity also helped me to determine whether or not to wait it out or move on.

Like I said, a string of audibles. Most were successful.

The quarterback doesn't call an audible without a comprehensive understanding of the playbook as well as the situation at hand. Flying by the seat of the pants generally isn't a winning strategy. The audible is a well-informed decision based on a foundation of preparation and knowledge.

Can you make good photographs in a place you don't know well? Sure. But experience will dramatically improve your odds, especially when the situation calls for a deviation from the original plan.

Is visiting the same place over and over boring? Hardly. It's an asset.

This is some of what I found on that day: