Fall and winter are amidst a duel here in Park City, Utah, on this eastern side of the Wasatch Mountains’ crest. Winter wants to settle in, felling graupel, snow, and a fierce little wind. Fall fights back with good effort, though, clinging tight to browned leaves on trees and burning warm sunshine through snow clouds.
While this atmospheric opposition continues, local folk are talking about winter. They (We?) are ready. Conversation is all ski wax and snowball fights, and, wow, the ski resorts are opening soon! I’m enthusiastic for winter, so long as my body stays warm. When I have the right gear to feel toasty, I like to get after it out there. While scheming and dreaming for this year’s winter, I unearthed a photo from one of last year’s expeditions, one of our Yosemite backcountry snowshoe trips:
The back story: as we concluded our snowshoeing trip, we descended to lower elevations where the snowpack wasn’t complete. We had taken our snowshoes off and were making a good go of it via hiking. Bryon had crossed this field of snow with little incident but I, on the other hand, fell in to my waist.
This pictured result wasn’t painful or dangerous, merely precarious. There I was, stuffed waist deep in snow with a 40-pound pack on my back. Turtle-like, I rolled out of the hole and crawled across the top of the snow until I could take off my pack and distribute the weight of my pack and my body in separate places. Eventually, my partner in crime put away the camera and stopped laughing long enough to render a bit of help, as well.
While we wait for fall to fly south with the passing flocks of geese and for the winter to get itself over this mountain range’s crest and stay a while, I’ll keep on dreaming. Of past adventures, yep, and futures ones, too.