I Shouldn't Have Skipped the Snowshoes

Pages of wisdom from a woman of adventure

Expedition Log:
Entry - Preliminary Thoughts:
The Weather Channel is full of crap. They predict "10 inches of snow by midnight! Stay tuned for live updates!" Then the weather does nothing for two days, and there's barely a light powder of snow on the third. Useless. NOAA’s not much better—but then they don’t really claim to be; NOAA just says what they think will happen...but it amounts to the same.

Checklist: Weather forecast (ha); good rubber boots; woolen outer coat; knit hat and ski gloves. All checked; ready to begin the grand trek. Despite the local mythology, it’s really not that far.

Entry: Wow. This cold is bitter—that kind of cold that freezes the little hairs in your nose upon your first breath. It gives you an ice cream headache after about a minute. But it is a dry cold, so it doesn’t penetrate; and the walking feels good.

Entry: I’ve passed the last house in, and the wind howls across these wastes, now, like an angry demon straight from the ninth ring. I am still very optimistic. My legs are cold, but my torso is as toasty as the fire will be tonight. Damn—!

Entry: Snow drifts, and it hides the true landscape. A hard gust of wind got a finger under my cap and blew it to my right. I’ve gotten it back, no worse for the wear, but just three feet from where I had been standing, the ground beneath the snow dropped off sharply. Thankfully the bottom of the drop-off was even: I didn’t roll an ankle or anything. Something small like a lost hat can turn into catastrophe just that fast. I need to be more careful.

Entry: The snow has started falling. And it seems to mean business. I’m afraid The Weather Channel might have been right this time.

Entry: Jack London hinted that optimism is a fool’s game. That the cold is a thief that steals first your judgment, then your course, then your life. Well, I’m still optimistic, though very aware of how seriously cold my feet are getting. I have passed two unidentifiable mounds, and I wonder in the back of mind if they are drifts, or igloos...or icy cairns. —Enough of that kind of thought. That’s about as optimistic as a felon in a gun store. Stay focused.

Entry: It’s hard to stay philosophical in the extreme cold. More and more attention is directed to just staying warm, staying moving, staying on the right course. Whether it is pessimistic or realistic, I am afraid I may have strayed from my charted course; I expected to see my next landmarks five minutes ago. Five minutes is a lot of time out here...

Entry: I am off course--and the wind has hidden my tracks as quickly as I made them. There is no way back. The snow is deeper out here—knee-deep and getting worse. I don’t suppose the wind is any worse, actually, but there seems to be more snow for it to use as ammunition. The painful stinging has subsided to a frightening numbness. Everything has become frightening, even the tremendous increase in effort each step entails. Maybe Jack London had wisdom. At least there have been no reports of wolf attacks in this area.

Entry: I’ve taken refuge from the wind behind the cover of a stone wall. With my eyes sheltered, I think I might recognize a landmark or two. Maybe I just hope I do. While I’m hoping for things, I hope the wind dies down, even a little. I can’t wait here forever…

Entry: My mother always told me the Lord will provide. While He missed the ball on my late husband, and is apparently not paying particularly close attention to my IRS situation, He has come through for me in this situation, at least. The wind has dropped, and I see I have only been off course by a few degrees. Safety and shelter is in sight!

Entry - Conclusionary Thoughts:

         With the wind howling on the other side of a wall, and one’s breath no longer a fugitive ribbon over her shoulder, thoughts begin to to overlay instincts: others’ mistakes need not be repeated; do not ignore the inventions mothered by the necessities you must endure; it is safer to bring too much than—

~~~ ~~~ ~~~

         “Hey, lady. Why you talkin’ to your cell phone? You know we don’t get no reception down here in the valley.”

         Dullards. None of these men around me understand. Their pioneering spirits are dead, like my husband, Dan. The only thing they explore anymore is the inside of a whiskey bottle.

         “What’d’you, wade through the snow to get here, Allie?”

         I recognize that voice. Dan’s old friend MacHenry. He was interested in exploring; but I wasn’t exactly virgin territory anymore.

         “I got a little off-track, Mac. It happens.”

         Sweet silence: at least Mac knows when to keep his mouth shut.

         “Anyway, lady—”

         “It’s Allie, Mike—not 'lady.' Get her a cuppa coffee, okay. Black...uh, one sugar...right?”

         I nod at MacHenry, my face thankfully beginning to sting again: no permanent damage. But I could do without his look of concern...

         “Hey, Allie, why’d’nt you warm up for a few. You look colder’n hell. After the coffee, then uh...then I’ll give you a ride back to your place. You still live just a few blocks from here, up on Maple, right?”

         See? No adventure, no pioneering spirit. Dullards...