Skiing in Moonlight

Altitude and Azimuth of the Moon on January 27, 2016, 3:00AM, per Astronomical Applications Dept.,  U.S. Naval Observatory

Altitude = 52 degrees  

Azimuth= 215 degrees 

Fraction Illuminated= 0.89

Four days after its fullness

The waning moon delivers 89 percent

of its full luminosity

When full, it rises with the setting sun,

each night afterword

it moves about an hour’s arc eastward

until at three o’clock this morning

a brilliant moon shown

from 52 degrees altitude

and 215 degrees azimuth

I care not about its azimuth

but I set my alarm for its altitude   

Out my window at the bell

clear sky revealed the waning moon

beaming as predicted and seemed

waiting for swish of skis

on four feet of snow

a foot of which was new and soft  

Nordic skis called restlessly

and to the woods I went

Eyes adjusted to moonlight

trees and snow clear as in daylight

swish and crunch of skis   

Silent when I stop, cold and cozy

alone with the moon

an essence of something more  

Pictures require long stops

set tripod, set delay, 20-second-open-shutter

all without gloves in cold morning air.  

 

I was led to the opinion that

my angular factiness of pursuits

keeps too cold a distance

from the spirit world

that seems close

in a mystical night in the woods  

Still with Friends

Skiing alone in winter woods, and not alone.

Deep snow I’d fall through were it not for long skis spreading the load.

Once in a while the plop of a snowball falling from a limb.
The swish of my skis.
 Otherwise silent.

I’m not sad alone; my friends the trees are with me.

My father and mother, Mary and Bandi, are with me.  And you back home are with me too.  

Fire and Ice

Silver Lake above the magma

Sunset

Morning

I arrived in June Lake Village last evening and settled in for five days.  Two pictures from my window.

July, 2010

Today

In 2010, as part of what I called “Sharon’s Summer,” I came here to start hiking into the Sierras and came out in Yosemite Valley six days later.  Today I went back to two places where I had taken pictures in 2010.  They are both at Silver Lake which is a few miles from June Lake.  The comparison of summer and winter is quite striking.  

July, 2010

I was happy to find this lodgepole pine still standing, having made it through six winters and summers since I last saw it.

I call this Fire and Ice because even though Silver Lake has a thick sheet of ice on its surface, covered with a thicker layer of snow, it, like all the lakes in this region is underlain with magma not too far down.  liquid rock is near the surface, and it sometimes sends warm plumes of water up into an otherwise cold lake. 

So when I ventured out onto Silver Lake on Nordic skis, caution seemed wise.  The skis distribute my weight over the snow and ice, reducing the pressure on any one spot.  My only concern was the chance of a thin spot in the ice, weakening its support. 

I stayed close to the lake’s edge just in case.  And sure enough, there it was, a place where the snow had melted and maybe the ice too.  I inched around it, poking with the ski poles before each step.  

Why, you ask.  Why not just stay off of such a lake.  No one else had been on it, or I would have seen their tracks.  I’m still working on that.  Will get back to you.

Luscious Snow

My story begins near Palm Springs a week ago.  The aerial tramway carried me and my Nordic skis up to 8,500 feet on the slope of Mt San Jacinto.  I hope you will keep secret the wonders I am about to share, for if general Angelinos learn of this and make viral the white wilderness so close to their homes, they will spoil it.

I wish she were my daughter, this small maker of snowmen and admirer of my long skis.  I met her and her mother near the top of the tram.

She watched my easy glide over deep snow where she can only trudge clumsily in getting to the top of a little hill before sliding down on something like a garbage can lid.  Her wide eyes wanted my Nordic skis, on which I slide both uphill and down.

I have learned much about wilderness travel over the years, and suddenly her interest in how easily I do it dredges up the old loneliness.  She would learn quickly if I taught her, and then she would surpass me.  Perhaps when I am old she would tolerate my slowness, where I have been intolerant of slower partners my own age. 

But having grown older than that option allows, I left her there and made new tracks into the snowy woods, among old trees, making new memories with old granite.  Both granite and trees wear new white wedding dresses, the likes of which I have never worn, and now with the baggage of too much love for wilderness, probably never will. 

Please stay tuned.  The story does not end here.  Sunday, I go to June Lake for five days, where snow is four feet deep.  My skis are waxed, and snowshoes ready too.