Last week it rained a lot down in the Tucson Valley. Right
around the start of the storm, I realized this just might be my best chance to
have a little snow fun in my own state. Although Arizona ALWAYS is blessed with
at last SOME snow, the past few years have been particularly barren. For a
cross-country skier like me, that makes me seek trails in other states. But
where there is rain in the valleys, there’s a fair bet there will be snow in
the mountains.
I quickly talked a friend into carpooling (he’s a downhiller
but likes Sunrise Ski Resort and is willing to split the ride) and off we
rolled to the White Mountains. Sunrise has been around for ages and has three
mountains for apparently all levels of skiing. The mountains are lovely,
rolling things but it’s the area under the base on the way up the ‘ski road’
that invites me – a charming, sun-dappled forest where the trees grow tall and
straight.
During the summer this area is a campground for Apache
Sunrise. During the winter, the relatively maintained campground roads and high
elevation provide a wide, open often snowy lane for Nordic skiing and
snowshoeing. Or your best winter boots. Probably enough snow, too, if the skis
were mine. Outfitters can be peculiar about their gear.
Being in a snowy forest is a treat too few people
get to experience. Particularly alone. But cross-country skiers and winter
hikers often crave solitude (that’s why we like to hang out in the forest and
desert). An open forest, where the sun has the opportunity to cause the
crystals of snow to sparkle, is particularly agreeable. Even though there IS a
marked trail, if you don’t have to worry too much about running into something
under the snow, taking a sans-trail walkabout in the deep, crusted stuff is
very relaxing. It is hard to get lost since you have left your own breadcrumbs
(ski or snowshoe track or postholes) to follow back to the car.
If you are lucky, the snow lies unbroken in sparkling mini-meadows.
You walk through a beautiful, glistening carpet of white stuff. Birds whisper about
you; tell-tale prints through the pines remind that other animals are watching.
An open, snow-covered forest is toward the top of my list of places to enjoy in
which one can safely get lost alone. You can always follow those breadcrumbs back
from where you came.
When I am clearly the only person left on a particular patch
of the planet, I like to find a place to sit on a sunny stump or convenient
rock and breathe. In. Out. When I breathe in, in my head I send the oxygen
directly to whichever body part sends signals it need a lot of help. Usually my
neck. When I breathe out, my body feels like it can release into just a bit
more space, giving my bones and joints just a little more room.
Ouija breathing gets me started on merging my full breath with
the rhythm of the universe – local or otherwise. I hear the air whistle past my
tongue with a sound like an ocean wave. Ebb. Flow. Out. In. Pretty soon my ears
tune in to the din of the forest. Every forest has a din - peculiar sounds made
up of noises like water trickling, birds chirping, wind blowing, leaves and
needles quaking, bugs crawling and twigs snapping.
Breathing deeply, my hearing becomes acute. I might breathe
silently or I might find the rhythm of the forest and breathe with that. Today,
I found the perfect perch and deposited my daypack on the stump next to mine.
The snow had generously accumulated on the long dark pine branches the day before
sufficiently melting to freeze into small hanging icicles at their tips. Plenty
of snow still hung all along the pine branches and cones but the crystals were
becoming water, providing a slide for larger clumps of snow. In my meditating,
I heard a large snow clump loudly plop on the fabric of my daypack.
I listened to the forest changing around me, the snow
becoming part of the life-sustaining watershed feeding the rivers that feed the
rivers that feed the rivers flowing to the Sea of Cortez and on to the Pacific
Ocean. It sounded like rain taking its time in the falling. I heard the sound
of the trickle of water under the snow’s crust. I swear I heard the pines
drinking in the moisture. I may have heard the fish flip their fins in joy at
the replenishment of their rivers.
This is what brings me to the Whites – or San Francisco
Peaks – or the Bitterroots – or the Ozarks – or the….. Although I’d rather
visit snow than live in it (as I have on occasion), I love Mother Nature’s
Winter, to feel its icy kiss on my cheeks. Especially when there is snow to ski
or hike or snowshoe, laying before me Mother Nature’s most beautiful cloak.
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