Winter Day

Yesterday I went x-country skiing. Fresh snow had fallen the day before on old hard-packed snow, and I was eager to ski on the snowmobile trails through the forest. The sun was bright, the sky an intense blue, and the temperature only -2C - quite warm for this time of year. The trail I choose was packed by a snowmobile, yet the snow was soft and as I skimmed along, it whispered beneath my skis.

Fresh wolf tracks were pressed into the snowmobile tracks, and I followed them as the trail descended gradually, twisting through the forest. In three minutes I was past the last turn and onto flat ground and soon reached a large abandoned gravel pit.

I was a half mile from the Alaska Highway and the centre of Watson Lake town, but the only sounds I heard were from my skis and surroundings. The wind shook bushy tops of spruce and pine and snow cascaded down the trees. Two gray jays fluttered across the sky. A pine grosbeak called from the forest. Ravens flew on their air path from the garbage dump to the sewage lagoon, and at times circled downward to check on this creature on the trail.

The gravel pit opened up before me and snowmobile tracks led off in numerous directions. Do I ski an hour longer down to the Liard River? Do I go upward on a snow covered road to circle back to my pickup? Or do I continue through the gravel pit where the wolf had gone? I follow the wolf tracks.

Other animals had left signs of passage. Snow hare prints were in the soft snow and disappeared into willows and brush. Tiny paw prints stopped where long feather marks were spread out on each side of the snowmobile tracks.  An owl had found a meal.

The open gravel pit allowed me a wide view of the sky and landscape. Clouds floated lazily through the blue expanse, often changing shape from elongated pools to swirls and spirals created by a master artist on a canvas. Sun rays dressed poplar and birch trees and spread as fingers across snow covered side hills.

As the sun lowered, the sky and clouds turned purple, rose and deep orange. Time to leave the wolf tracks and return to my pick up. A squeaky chirp from the forest stopped me and I 'cheed cheed' back to the boreal chickadee. It chirped back. We continued the conversation until the wind shook the trees and the bird flew away.

When people ask me how I deal with northern winter cold and darkness, I smile and remember a day such as this, and reply, "Oh, I survive."