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.