We are six inches into a ten inch snow storm.  There are no hard lines on Chicken Ridge. It’s all snow and softness. With the car trapped in the carport I strap on snowshoes at the front door and head up 7th Street toward Basin Road. Aki acts like a three year old on Christmas.

Moving three feet forward with each leap, Aki sets the pace. She stops often to read messages written in yellow by her passing canine buddies. Once past Basin Road I free her from the leash and we both fall into the steady rhythm of the snow shoe.

We cross Gold Creek where it flows between snow covered banks and boulders and climb toward Perseverance Basin. A trail runner passes once but most of the time there is only snow falling on snow, spruce, and the arthritic limbs of windblown alders.

Looping back toward home we follow a steep track down to the creek. A Mr. Natural lean back and let them slide walk works best. Thank you Art Crumb.  Then we wind through tall balsam popular on a trail bordered by short segmented reeds. Close up they resemble small bamboo forests.  When the trail turns to offer a view of the creek filtered by the fine skeleton limbs of popular I half expect to find shelter from the snow in a Japanese tea house.  We do find tracks of the resident deer who passed through here at first morning light. The storm has almost filed its tracks with snow.

Shaking Off the Snow

Blessed with free time on this cold but sunny day we drive out north of town  to a maze of unnamed meadows and forest. It’s 5 degrees when I step into snowshoes and move through some scrub spruce to the first meadow. Aki hesitates before leaping her way to me through 8 inches of new snow.  Did she think we would find summer here?

We are in shadow but sunlight is reaching most of this long thin field of snow. Tall spruce trees border one side of the meadow while alders and stunted spruce run along the other side. More stunted trees form scatted islands of green on the sea of white. Even though it hasn’t snowed for days, we are the first to break trail. Aki follows in the wake of my snowshoes, saving her strength.

A half mile in we cross a fresh ski track. Aki exploits the long packed trail to speed ahead of me. She has to backtrack when I veer away to follow a stream that promises access to another meadow I’ve been wanting to explore.  Here we see a strange thing. There’s an otter slide on the steep stream bank that ends abruptly  at a small circle of snow free stream ice.  I can’t find any otter tracks on the surrounding snow. It’s as if the otters played a game of pain; sliding on their belly in their slick slide to crash headlong on the frozen stream. I imagine the concussed otters climbing  slow back up to slide to try again.

Later we find the answer where another well used otter trail leads from stream to woods. It starts at a circle of snow cleared area on the stream ice. The surrounding snow shows the efforts of otters digging open a hole in the ice. Mystery solved. The otters first made a hole in the ice being using the slide to fly down the stream bank and into open water.  Our local fraternity

Aki wants to follow the otter trail into the woods but I convince her that no good would come of it. Just before beginning our return to the car we break into the woods and find deep inside a stream no wider than my snowshoe. Having frozen after the snow it is still the rich color of amber, today made spectacular by a single shaft of sun light reaching it from the meadow.  Unexpected beauty always provides the richest feast.

Wednesday’s beautiful snow is gone. Subsequent rain turned it first into a messy barrier and then runoff for the storm drain. Today the apple tree’s bare limbs flex softly in a warm breeze that brings a false promise of spring. The tree is a fool about winter and will start unfurling leaves soon if the cold does not return.

Expecting  better out the road we drive north to hike near Eagle River. This is tall spruce country where any sunlight reaching the understory brings drama. We expect little drama on this high overcast day but the birds surprise. Thick flocks block out the sound of running river water with their high pitched chant — chit-chit-chit-chit. Bird song follows us deep into the woods where tree limbs wear unruly blankets of green moss. Two very upright hemlocks face each other with moss draped middle limbs forking out like the arms of lovers beginning a dance.The moss’ rich yellow green color seduces in this flat light. Much to Aki’s annoyance, I stop often to admire.

Warm temperatures and rain reduced the snow pack to reveal the broken tree branches and squirrel ravaged cones now littering the trail. I pick up a severed balsam limb and crush its sticky leaf bud with finger and thumb to release a smell like Chrism oil or the balm of Gilead.  After, I smell this promise of spring each time I remove my glove.

We follow the trail to the river. On our last visit polygon blocks of river ice lay neatly stacked on meadow grass. Reduce in mass by warm rain, the fused together ice has exchanged  hard edges for flowing Dali curves.

Common Mergansers float downstream in a small flotilla and then break formation to dive for food. On the near bank four Canada Geese walk slowly away from us with a nervous casualness. One sings a low monotone song. “You don’t scare me, dog in the fancy red coat.”  Aki, nose buried into an interesting piece of meadow doesn’t even notice.

Today we take the Eagle Glacier trail because a preceding herd of boy scouts tramped down its surface snow.  I tried taking a less traveled fork where only the tracks of a single wolf broke the snowy crust. A sore knee drove me back into the scouts’ wake.

The trail takes us along the edge of a flood plain  forest. Last night’s snow dusting still clings to spruce and hemlock needles but a strengthening morning sun will soon end that.  The forest’s lights and darks mix in satisfaction with the slate grays of river water that undercut translucent ice.

There is peace here until the trail climbs a small rise and becomes a narrow icy path cut into the river bank. Aki prancers over this icy shelf just a five feet drop from the fast moving river but I do not. We turn around and head back to the car.

Back on the plain, I stop often to enjoy morning light reaching around spruce trunks to give beauty to bare devil’s club stalks. I can not stop my self from whistling the theme of Holst’s Jupiter while Aki tears circles through the underbrush. I feel like we are being naughty in church.

This day is about measuring wind and lives well lived. It is hard not to think of wind today since it blows fierce across this beach. We could avoid the wind by staying on the old growth trail but the sound of a heavy surf draws me to the water. Aki stands by my side looking puzzled. She finds no magic here.

The wind strengthens as we approach Point Louisa where bending grass reminds me of a late summer morning spent watching spiders. Once, while my child was young, I sat in a tidal meadow at sunrise watching thousands of spiders climb stalks of beach grass. They were small—born that spring. As each reached the top of a stalk it would jump off, trailing a short line of silk that caught the wind and carried the spider away.

The spiders rode a stiff wind, strong enough to carry some of them across a fiord  to a healing clear-cut forest beyond to begin a life well lived. The journey of others would end when their silk caught on branches in a nearby spruce grove. Many spiders would fall to their deaths in salty water.

Today’s wind finally drives us into the trees where Aki stalks a well groomed Skye Terrier. Her owners, an older couple, find joy watching Aki trying to get the aging terrier to play. Tall, thin, slightly stooped, they look comfortable in this place of unkind winters. When we part I ponder measurements of a life well lived.

Society judges a person by attendance of their funeral or plaques on the wall. But isn’t success better measured by the peace reflected in an older person’s eyes when they smile.  It only took seconds to find it in the terrier’s owners.