The snowstorm of January 24-25 didn’t arrive unannounced. That doesn’t happen nowadays. Imagine the way-back days when a major weather event could surprise. Nowadays, we see every maybe storm, every possible dusting, as blobs and swirls of real colors moving across weather maps on our TV screens. Almost as if what’s happening on the screens is already what’s happening out our windows. You hear the buzz pretty much everywhere you go. I love this. Except when the storm fizzles out – diverted out to sea or nudged off course by forces invisible and mysterious. We’ve had our share of near misses.
That almost happened with this one. The snow – like double O flour sifted from heaven – began about 11:30 a.m. on Saturday, January 24. I was on the Sunnyside Double and saw the first flakes. Others did too. The buzz was audible. But by about 4 p.m. and with little to show, the storm looked to be losing gumption. Oh, well. Maybe next time. The 3 inches of flour were better than nothing. Not what we hoped for but all these 2- to 4-inch snowfalls begin to add up. It’s the little things, right?
Later at home, the snow resumed. Real flakes now. Dendrites. With the near zero temperatures it stacked up quickly. The deck railings carrying another inch every time I flipped on the outside lights to check. Perfect crystals – fern-like branches locking together – clustering and stacking into translucent piles, as much air as snow. Those big flakes fell through the night and all day Sunday. Never ferociously. But steady. In snow country it does a body good to have a feast like this. Served without haste. When all was said and done – sometime late day Monday – about 20 inches lay softly atop the decent base we’d been building all season. In the days that followed, as the storm departed eastward, it pulled in a hearty wind out of the northwest. For skiers that can mean fresh tracks. One run to the next. And we’ve been lucky in the week-plus since that the air has stayed cold, some might say too cold, but that’s the way to keep the leftovers from spoiling.
Last Thursday and Friday the local skiing at both Ole’s and Blueberry Lake offered up “choice conditions.” More than a week after the storm. Skiing that takes just enough less effort that the simple act of sliding a pair of skis across the soft surface makes time itself a sliding phenomenon. When what you’ve planned to do after skiing slides further and further into a “maybe future.”
All the snow and the “choice conditions” was an invitation to explore. To venture down trails I’ve never skied. Like Number 5 at Ole’s. One of my pre-season “to-dos.” Check. Sliding through the unfamiliar woods I lose myself in the easy rhythm of kick and glide, glide, and kick. Ahead the trees thin out and the mid-distance whitens with a snow-blanketed field. A wind straight out of the north – a wind blocked by the thicker forest behind me – hammers its way through the woods’ edge. The nearer the edge the stronger the wind. In a long life of walking, running, skiing through forest, I’ve never noticed this before: deep woods are impermeable to wind; nearer the edge less so. The sweat I’d worked up in the 5° air dried cold as I skied into the windy clearing.
There’s something about generating bodily warmth in frigid temperatures. It’s kind of a wake-up call: an “I can do this” that defies normal expectations. And the kind of snow that falls in a storm can be like a security blanket. It offers warmth. Even when the thermometer is stuck in the single digits. You feel it in the powder-day, lift-line conviviality. They say there are no friends on a powder day. Maybe it could be said there are only friends on a powder day.
MID-DAY GROOMING
For those of us who can’t, won’t or just don’t hit the trails first thing in the morning, a freshly groomed trail is hit-or-miss. If skier traffic and wind are light, the tracks might still be fresh even at sunset. But that’s not common, especially with how good the skiing has been. By midday, the snow has been etched by the strides of skier. A decipherable cuneiform. Lately I’ve noticed that the groomers at both Blueberry Lake and Ole’s have been working double shifts. The other day I turned from Llama onto Pony and found fresh groom, as the sun was falling behind Lincoln Peak. Thank you, Jen! The last couple km of my ski were smooth and silent. A treat for a typically late-day skier. The new grooming equipment being put to good use.
STORYTIME
For those looking for an “interactive” Nordic ski experience, check out the ski story along the trails at Blueberry Lake. Follow the adventure of “Cross Country Cat” as you make your way through the woods. Great fun for skiers of all ages.
