“We came to the dead end of the road, where a slight pull off allowed us to park. The dog was already whining in the back seat, waiting for a change, anticipating release, but somehow clinging to the warmth of the vehicle, and the safety it represented. I guess we knew the feeling, as well. That of wanting to explore, with some reticence towards what we might find. It was a new corner of our known world, yet foreign. A skewed angle, somewhere east our familiar ridges, our home, our compass point, our comfort zone, our places of repose. Late enough in the day, that other snow travelers were long gone, back to their stoves, their dinner preparations, their screens. I snapped into my snowshoes, while she snapped into hers, while the dog continued to bounce around us, still whining. “When is sunset, exactly?” I queried her, knowing she would quickly call it up on her phone. “5:05” she said. My birth time, I thought, a number that would come up, again and again, during the long winter hiatus, for some unknown reason. We had about an hour, to figure out this new trail system, before it would get hard to see known landmarks, or even our own tracks. But sometimes, this pressure is the fuse, that ignites hidden mysteries. I had to trust, that I knew, what I knew. We trudged forward, taking steps to avoid the trenches of recently melted water, & the uneven potholes made by boots. This was not a place to amble about, casually, not really. A lifetime of studying snow would tell us as much, and give warning. I may be done with screwing myself, I thought. For it makes much more sense to prepare for the land into which you are entering. The dog was off, and running. I felt the lift of gaining altitude, as soon as our choice of trail began to rise. The sun seemed caught, amongst the branches of half-tipped conifers, torn violently, by some recent storm. In my mind’s eye, the map I’d studied of the area, suddenly seemed both relevant, and less so. This was virgin terrain, for the most part, a neighborly patch of conservancy land that served only small groups of locals. Things were going on here, but not many knew, because the importance of minor holdings is often left to the ones who care, which is an oddity in our age. As we pulled ourselves towards the crest, following a lone ski track’s curving arc, I felt somewhat certain we would meet the loop we’d left, and come home, yet as always, this certainty was accompanied by an unwanted moment of flux. “According to the map,” I offered, “there’s a way to Lisa’s house, from here.” I stopped, and she stopped because I’d stopped, and we stood there for a moment, deep in woods, no imposition intended. It was always good to have an excuse for stopping. On “Town-wide Yard Sale Day”, we’d discovered Lisa, at the top end of a precipitous, hairy driveway. But it had been summer, and we were game. I’d bought a box of incandescent lightbulbs, and a hand-forged. barn door rail, and an amazing piece of fabric. However, now, in the waning light, Lisa’s house was not where I felt I should be heading. “I think we want to head this way, not this way”, I suggested. To the west, i imagined I was viewing Deer’s Leap, a cliff down the valley, with a pronounced profile, even as seen through mountains of bare trees. “Oh, I’m completely backwards,” she said, good naturedly. “I would have placed Deer’s Leap this way”, as she gestured in the opposite direction. We reveled in the confusion. This is what a good friend does, among compatriots. The hills were beginning to dim, in a profusion of unreal, pastel colors. Our skis continued to move forward, in tandem. Down into the glade we went, meeting a huge, fallen pine, that obscured this designated path. One lone set of ski tracks guiding us still, we clambered under its maze of inert branches in need of trimming, which she crashed deftly with her sturdy, aluminum poles. The dog had run ahead, racing out of sight, after some elusive prey. “Allis”, she yelled, “come back, girl!”. The blankness of the woods, brought a silence, almost deafening. Finally back at the truck, our sense of direction felt reluctantly triumphant. It was still, a place we didn’t know. The sun was doing strange things, in stranger hills: hills we loved and almost felt we belonged to, but somehow knew, we didn’t. “What planet are we on?” I said, and we both laughed, as if the whole world was never going to be anything, but a challenging, beguiling playground, in which we found ourselves, each and every day. We tossed our gear into the truck bed, listening to it clatter, unnaturally, in the muffled stillness of the forest. Humans are clunky, but in the end, this is the only platform we will ever, truly, inhabit, and rightly, so. Our imperfect mission, awkwardly executed, will be forever, our saving grace.”
