Skiing Suburbia

You've probably heard of the blizzard of '66, and of '77.

You may have survived the ice storm of '91.

But now it's time for

THE MINOR INCONVENIENCE OF 2020 !!!

Finally, some snow.  Time to slap on the skis and explore the big back yard, provided by Ridgemont Country Club.

Not a lot of golfers today.

The camera catches the limbs catching the snow.

It's not like skiing in the woods.
It's difficult to smack into a tree.

But you can really see the individual trees
apart from the forest.

The white pines are particularly good at snagging passing snow.

Even with the ice deposited by the previous evening's freezing rain.

Too high for the deer,
perhaps the fermented drops
will get the deer high in the spring.

In the creek,
ice flows as snow falls.

A wind-blown limb
makes its mark in the snow.

It's a glorious day.
Old Glory is flapping for my eyes only,
and now for yours as well.

A trail through the trees is preferred on a windy day.

The semi-random texture of the drifting snow is a sight to behold,
but one's tracks don't last long against the wind driven snow.

Such is life!

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Addendum

Though beautiful, breaking trail through the wind driven snow was a bit of a slog.  Wimpy knees prefer a slicker surface.

The following day, the wind was gone, and lovely large flakes fell gently to the ground.  The skiing surface was delightfully slippery, and the skier parted the flakes with pleasure.

Uphill or downhill or on the flat.
All great!

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Addendum 2

The day after that combined fine skiing conditions with bright sun and blue sky.  

It was a "Great to be Alive" Day!

Don't forget that SPF 2000 !!!

Dashing Through The Snow...

... on a no-horse pair of skis, a few days after Christmas.

The sun is trying to poke through the haze.
It hasn't been cold enough to freeze the flow.

It's not quite freezing and the wind is not quite whipping.  A good day for a trek through the woods.  But since the snow has just a tad of melt on top, it's very slick, so it's also a good day for a healthy amount of caution when headed downhill through the trees.

Enough snow to ski upon, but not enough to bury the rocks and logs.
Also worth consideration are roots and buried limbs
positioned perfectly for arching over fast-moving ski tips and grabbing ankles.
None found this trip, thankfully.

Water gurgles below thin ice.

The large paw prints show that others have also used the trail.
Maybe not all the bears are sleeping.

It's always nice to stop and appreciate the microforest
under the spreading hemlock tree.

The woodpeckers and milli-mushrooms are fond of this tall stump,
sill upright though long past life.

A major mass of milli-mushrooms.

There are many wind-assisted deadfalls in the woods.
The route must be adjusted when a big one has fallen across the trail.

It looks like there has also been a deadfall on the deck.
Ice chunks coming off the roof may have caused this,
but the sleigh marks and hoof prints found
indicate a poor landing caused by overloading.

The metal roots failed to hold this stump upright.
I should probably get right to fixing it.

But I think it's better to plan the fix
next to the nice warm fireplace,
thus preventing rash mistakes.

Wonderland

Stratford is a township in the northwest corner of New York's Fulton County.  It covers about 77 square miles of the earth's surface, and supports 640 full time residents.  8 people per square mile.  Less in the colder months, since many of the locals do what they can to spend time in warmer places.

The population density is even more astounding when considering that Stratford is a 4 hour drive from the Bedford-Stuyvesant neighborhood in Brooklyn.  That's assuming the arrival or departure from downstate is near 3 AM, to minimize the travel-limiting effects of the 38,000 or so people per square mile found there.

Roughly 1300 feet higher than Lake Ontario to the west, like most of the Adirondacks, the town collects moisture from the lake and from regional storms in the form of snow.  Lots of it.  As one drives up from the lowlands, the weather changes significantly, the snowbanks grow, and you enter Wonderland.

The open spaces beckon, but Wonderland is mostly  in the woods.

Welcome to Wonderland.

Up the hill and into the woods
on skis or snowshoes,
depending on preferences and conditions.

Choose a direction.
It really doesn't matter.
Don't worry about getting lost on such a nice day.
Follow your tracks or the sun to get back home.

Hardwoods, 

or Hemlocks?

We'll explore both.

Curls of the paper birch bark catch the snow.

Slim trimmed limbs grace this space.

Not only is a grove of mature hemlocks a visual delight,
the snow caught in the limbs blots out sounds
to make for a rare total silence.

A gust catches the tall top of a nearby lifeless trunk.
The silence is broken by an ominous creaking.
Look up and look out, Mary!

Lattice work created by the big wind a day before.

Mushrooms and driven snow
hugging the same tree.

Someone else was here first.
Perhaps a fisher,
or a porcupine dragging his belly through the snow.

Quite pretty, these small hemlocks, thick at the edge of a swamp.
After the 3rd failed attempt,
it was determined that going around
was preferred to going through.

Time to follow the sun back home.

Almost there, we see a sign of human activity.
Thank goodness snowshoeing and skiing are not mentioned,
and that we forgive those who trespass against us.

Back home, one realizes that
even the edges of the dwellings
are conscripted for Wonderland.

But some just don't care.

The Trifecta

The first day, there was enough snow to ski.  Mary and I took advantage of the opportunity.

Lots of snow in the air makes for and off-white day.
The low mountains beyond are invisible.
Skiing across the lake is not an option.

Far enough for this day.

The second day, there was a lot more snow.  Mary and I took advantage of the conditions with our snowshoes.

Mary is in great shape and not afraid of breaking trail uphill,
which was not for the faint of heart with all that snow.
It was more like corn meal than powder,
spilling onto the top of the snowshoes with every step.

This still life is called,
"Snow-laden hemlock with old guy."

There she goes!.
Time to put the damn camera away and catch up.

The third day, we hit the trifecta.  Copious snow, bitter cold, and high wind.

The lake was completely frozen,
with the wind driving the sub-zero air and abrasive snow crystals
 across the open expanse.
A great day to be alive!

"There is no bad weather," I declared.
"Only bad clothing!"
Attired for the cold, I was ready to go skiing.
"You're nuts!" declared Mary.

The chickadees did not impugn my sanity.
The feeder was filled prior to skiing.

They waited patiently as I finished the job
before I set out, upwind along the lake shore.
Into the wind first is a good policy.
Best to come home with the icy wind at your back.

The goal was the point about 3/4 of a mile away.
Almost there, this is the path to the interior.
The shelter of the trees was appreciated.
Even good mittens can produce thumbsicles!

Can't be sure about the thermometer reading,
but it wasn't far off.

The hemlocks on the edge of the clearing
made reaching the goal worthwhile.

Heading back on the broken trail was a breeze.
30 MPH is much better on your back.

Back out on the frozen lake, a short pause provided an observation. The ridges of the drifted snow perfectly matched the undulations of the low-hanging clouds, as both receded into the distance.

I don't think he noticed.