Snow was gently falling as we pulled into the deserted trailhead parking lot. It was the first significant snow of the season and my daughters, and the dog were eager to get out and play in it.
We jumped out of the truck, stepped into our ski boots, and attached our skins to our skis. As we fumbled with start of ski tour stuff that would become routine in a few weeks, the dog ran around half crazed—sniffing all the new smells and chasing squirrels who had the temerity to squeak at him from their perch up high.
Eventually, we were strapped into our skis, backpacks straps snug against our shoulders. We glided across the snow-covered lot, scooted up and over a snow pile left by the plow and entered the thick pine tree forest. At first, we simply breathed, enjoying the amazing quiet you can only find in a deserted forest. We wound around dead falls, through gullies, and slowly worked our way up the slope we wanted to ski. As we got used to the effort, the girls started telling me about their day and their hopes for the coming winter season. They laughed as the dog hopped through snow over his head to check out a tree, then worked his way back to us to see if were doing all right. When he tired, he simply walked along on our skin track sometimes riding on the backs of the girls’ skis—much to their delight.
