The Intense Beauty of Skiing through a Forest in its Coat of Deep, Fluffy Snow

     The weather was perfect last Saturday for a cross-country ski trip in the Cascades between Medford and Klamath Falls. Snow was falling in earnest as ten members of the Grants Pass Nordic Ski Club clipped boots into skis and headed down the Pacific Crest trail. The snow was deep and fluffy. The trail led through big firs and pines to an unplowed road and then again onto the Pacific Crest trail through the big trees. 

    When the snow is too soft because temperatures are too warm, as has been the case too frequently this winter, snow sticks to the bottoms of skis, necessitating a long pause for skiers to take off their skis and apply wax. That was not the case on Saturday. The snow stayed silky under the skis after trail was broken. We had good glide and smooth, fast downhill rides. The snow stopped falling early in the day, and in places where the clouds had lifted, the sky behind the snow-burdened trees was such a deep blue you might have thought you were looking down into Crater Lake instead of up into the sky.

    At what I think now was the most beautiful spot on the trail, we stopped for a rest and a bite to eat. Two skiers, dark figures in the snow-bound forest. were a good distance in front of Jan, Judy, and me. The three of us were ahead of the others, who had stopped around the corner behind us. We stood on our skis, absorbing the beauty. I was so immersed in the scene I forgot to eat.

    "It's so beautiful," I said, sotto voce, not wanting to beak the spell of the snow-bundled forest with its snow-dotted dark trunks and white-burdened limbs bowing to the earth. 

    "Strangely, it reminds me of being at the beach," Judy said, "that same sense of expanse and of solitude."

    I understood the analogy, though mine was different. "I have the same sense of immersion here as I have when I swim in a very cold high-altitude lake," I said, "the same oneness with the environment around me."

    "We are lucky to be here," Jan said, expressing what we all felt. 

    No more was said as we absorbed the silence, the immensity of the forest, and the beauty of the snow, feeling deeply our gratitude for being there.   

    The temperatures have been just at freezing on ski trips this winter, sometimes just above, sometimes a few degrees below. It used to be we would ski in temperatures in the twenties. One year, riding to a ski trail in a car with a thermometer mounted above the window, I watched the temperature drop steadily as we climbed higher towards the sno-park: 20 degrees, 15, 14, until it stopped at 10 degrees when we arrived. It was ominous and thrilling, and the skiing that day was superb.

    There has been nothing close to that for the past few years.

    We who ski together in the Nordic Ski Club frequently talk about how lucky we feel to live where we have such close access to excellent cross-country skiing. But this year I have been reminded that it will only take the earth warming two degrees to destroy that enjoyment. 

    I would be deeply saddened to lose the privilege of skiing through such landscapes as the one I experienced Saturday. The loss would be more than that of a favorite activity. It would be to lose a quiet ecstasy that helps keep my soul alive.