These trumpeter swans were spending most of the winter along the Yellowstone River between Fishing Bride and the Upper Falls. I observed them sleeping or resting for ten minutes before they started to stir. Two stood up and preened their feathers, flared out their wings, and settled back down. After a few more minutes one of the adults got up and walked to the open water, slid its breast down over the edge of the ice, and paddled away upstream. The rest reluctantly followed. The gray cygnets were the last to go.