Sweet Solitude

If you've read my earlier posts, you know that I like to go out to ski at night a lot. There is something special about slinking about after dark in the wilderness that I really enjoy, and most of the time it is with a group. This winter has been pretty lean as far as snowfall is concerned, so when it started snowing today just before closing, my spirits perked up as I knew I would be skate-skiing tonight, Thursday night, all by and for myself. Looping out at dusk via Old Faithful Trail upon a velvet bed of fresh new powdery snow, it was clear that conditions underfoot were really nice. It was also obvious that the Johnsburg Ski Team was skiing hard in their training earlier this afternoon as their tracks were telltale -- wiiiide, long strokes of V-2 skating strides and chopped up snow from braking and turning where Bobcat Trail's downhill crosses Old Faithful eluded to the speed and intensity of their workout. But, tonight, it was just me and the trails and the falling snow. I proceeded to casual skate out and back on Andy's run and up Blue Jay Way, then back to my cottage to drop a layer and put on a headlamp -- I was inspired!

Looping out Old Faithful brought me to Bobcat again, and I descended that to Trapper down into Harvey's Tailings. In the dark, it was a kind of white-out as my powerful light illuminated the driving snow, blinding my progress. The falling snow was stinging my eyes as I picked up speed, and I had to really concentrate on the feel underfoot. Down in the Tailings I decided to ascend Lower Duffany's Run and take Lower Solitude toward the Sugarhouse trails. Gliding though Solitude's thick canopy of towering hemlock, birch and pine is such a beautiful thing; doing it by myself in the night always becomes a little eerie, however. There are noises down there, strange ones, real or imagined movements in the woods and energy that causes the hair on the back of my neck to stand at attention. There are always tracks, and the occasional sets of eyes glowing from the woods, the yellow piercing sharp eyes of coyotes being the most startling. I know they are just watching, though...

Back to Trapper trail and the long climb back to the shop. The snow was blissful and invigorating, silently falling and muting the sound and softening the glide of my trusty old skis. Ascending Trapper is an exercise in form -- form maintains momentum, form leads to efficiency, a shadowy form moving not so far off in the periphery of my headlamp turning it's head and blinking reflective eyes! Stopping to listen to the soft sound of paws pattering through the snow, barely discernible over the sound of my heart thumping from exertion and excitement. Back to the task at hand and back up to Old Faithful, animal tracks crossing my tracks in the snow, strange noises from animals not seen calling out from not so far off in the dark. The woods are alive, and whole 'nother world all around here at night.

Skiing can be such a workout, but it is also such a great opportunity to commune with nature on so many levels. Tonight's motivation was driven purely by the elation brought on by the falling of new snow. From our youth through to adulthood, that magic never ceases -- it only gets more powerful! I just hope it continues to pile up through the night bringing some much deserved accumulation to us for the morning. We shall see. (Ed. Note: It did not last, alas we got rain...)

Come on up and make your own tracks -- we'll see you out on the trails.

Night skiing, snow falling.

Personal powder solitude on Lower Solitude.

Tracks in the powder that were not there when I'd passed earlier.
What could it be?

Perspectives

What is your perception of this cross country skiing thing? Slinking about with friends on the groomers? Skating around at maximum heart rate and drilling technique technique technique? Or is it the silent solitude of backcountry trekking? Whatever your passion, there is always another tweak, another adventure, a whole new perspective to unfold around the next corner. Sharing that amongst friends is what I like most about being here, the collective energy and discovery of being in the woods, on snow, on skis.

This past Saturday night I went skiing with friends and season pass holders Peter and Beth after a fabulous dinner together at the Lodge. While sitting around the big stone fireplace plotting our strategy, it occurred to me that the options were limitless, right from here --no driving. The Plan: a late night ski down to and across 13th Lake to make echoes, then ski out to Elizabeth Point and return via Old Farm Road, no matter that it was nearly 10 below out! We set off into the dark down to the beach headlamps blazing, the world around a glistening white surreal winter scene fading to deep night outside the periphery of the beam, crisp air frosting your cheeks, gliding through the trees down to the lake. At the beach meant lights off, and we set out across as our eyes adjusted to the deeply purple moonless starlit sky. Overhead the Milky Way shimmered in a slushy state of frozen suspension, twinkling sharp blinking stars all around. There hung Orion, one of the Dippers, bold planets and an epic horizon ringed by Big and Little 13th Mountain, and the Balm of Gilead Mountain and unspoiled by light and sound pollution. Whooping out sharp loud yelps resulted in tremendous echoes far back into the mountains and all the way down around the lake. There is something spectacular about standing deep in the belly of the valley out on the middle of frozen 13th Lake, those mountains towering about and marvelling at the breadth of the clear sky during a windless silent still frozen evening. It is the under weight of the universe at these moments that you fully experience our remote wilderness splendor.

Skiing out the few miles to Elizabeth Point was wonderful natural light night lake navigation, gliding silently slinking along, feeling your nostrils freeze shut for a split second as you inhaled deeply. We paused numerous times to search the sky and make more echoes, seeking the familiar landmarks to guide our progress, chuckling at how our speech became more comical as our faces got colder. Climbing up and out to the Old Farm Road created comfortable warmth and lead to the nearly effortless night glide back to the start. Everyone had their own perspective of our little adventure: mine came while ascending Hagan trail to Andy's Run, experiencing the frost on my collar tingling my cheeks and watching my breath turn to frozen vapor as it whisked upward through my headlight's beam. It is amazing here, and sharing it all with friends is the best part of being here!

Come on out and make your own tracks, freeze them into your memory and breathe in the splendor of our wilderness location while spreading the winter joy. And don't forget to pack your headlamp -- the fun never stops here, and the Ski Director never sleeps...

Peter and Beth on Bobcat Trail, plus a Skullbuster bonus

Old Faithful Trail flyer

Skiing in full swing

Well it's been a busy week or so.  Last weekend we had a good snow and the trails were in great shape and the skiers were all very happy and excited about everything.  Then came some rain and wind that rendered the trails  not so good, but still skiable.  Then last night we got a couple of more inches of fresh powder so we're in good shape for some great skiing this weekend.

In addition to some great pictures we are planning to add video of conditions and activities here at the lodge and out on the trails.

Here's a few from today:

That's me.

And that's Mindy

 Doesn't she look good?

And here's the dork.

More tomorrow!