My snowshoes are still untested. They’ll have to wait for the next snowstorm.
Perfect cross country ski days come along once every few years where I live.
Saturday, I got out early enough to be the first person to ski the trail. Except for coyote and fox tracks, the pristine white trail stretched out ahead of me like fresh linen.
This particular trail is a nice balance of gently sloped uphills and downhills. It’s rare to find a good base of packed snow here that doesn’t erode at stream crossings. After years of visualizing riding a long downhill stretch of trail without falling - I finally did it.I skied the entire 3.6 mile trail perfectly. I negotiated the blind curves and the short steep hills, keeping my focus on the trail. The snow’s texture was ideal and that makes a huge difference. I loved the silence of the woods. I had time to notice the strobe effect made by the shadows of tree trunks across the sunlit trail as I cruised along.
I got out again Sunday. I went back to the same trail. Now that I was familiar with it, I was free to take the time to notice new details: the feathered shape my ski track made when I used my ski edge to gain control on a steep blind curve, the whirring buzz of my skis vibrating against the snow, and the imprints of my ski tracks woven with the canid tracks. Someone had walked in the ski tracks - annoying, but I thought about my tracking class. These tracks sank deep enough to puncture the snow and the feet pitched outward, indicating a heavy individual.
I didn’t bring the camera. I’m not that good at skiing or taking photos; trying to do both was not an option. I am profoundly grateful for this rare opportunity to really enjoy cross country skiing. Two perfect ski days in a row. The first day I skied six miles before the sun started turning the texture of the surface snow from gelato to soft serve. The last two days have been a celebration.
Yesterday I skied ten miles. By the time I got to the last lap, the snow was settling. Tips of stream-embedded boulders and bits of earth where boots punctured the snow make skiing a lot harder.
I love that feeling of being so involved in what I’m doing that time seems suspended and I forget about drinking or eating or even stopping to rest. I love the idea that I can ski the long stretches - a bit faster than I used to - and be in the moment. It’s a gift already imprinted in my mind’s eye.