For the Love of the Ladies

All along the ridge of Pleasant Mountain the snow has collected into deep, velvety drifts. It covers the blueberry bushes and boulders with a forgiving, white, creamy pillow nearly two and a half feet deep. It is the first real snow of the season here and twice as beautiful for that.

Oakley and I begin post-holing across the ridge to the summit, some mile-and-a-half away. Our hike up had been well-traveled and we had moved quickly with just our crampons. But now, at the summit, with each step we plunge our legs into the snow up to our mid-thighs. Nobody has been here, so there is no packed trail. We have no snow shoes with us, no gaiters, and no snow pants, but the sun is out and due to both our giddiness and our exertions we do not feel cold at all. In fact, as our pants become sodden and their wetness sticks to our legs, it feels almost welcome. We feel ridiculous in a perfect way.

Oakley bounds ahead, laughing out loud every time he steps off a ledge and is startled by how deep the snow pockets are. “This is crazy!” He calls out to the world. He is giraffe-like these days, and his long legs nimbly step up and out of every drift, before he plunges purposely into the next.

I follow him, weaving and staggering in his wake, but I am laughing as well. He looks back and giggles at my clumsiness. I grin back. “I am coming, I am coming!”

Taking up the rear is our dog, Cricket. She has to hurdle up and over the deep snow, again and again. Ice balls gather between her toes and every few moments she takes a break to sit back and nibble them out. Her efforts look monumental.

As we travel on, Cricket begins to wear out. She goes slower and slower and the distance between us lengthens. Then I hear her start to cry. This was something I hadn’t anticipated. I wait for her and when she catches up her eyes are pleading. This is too much for her, but we have gone too far to go back. “Oaks!” I call, “We need to drag our feet to make a path for Cricket! No more post holing—she can’t make it.”

Without further ado he begins dragging his feet through the piles of snow to create a path. I follow suit, and Cricket, the little princess, begins prancing jauntily behind us.
This is hard work, and we begin to truly sweat. Our energy begins to flag. If we stop, though, we will freeze. Our pants are now soaked up to our hips, and it is well below freezing.
I take out our peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and we eat them and share them with Cricket as we continue on. She is delighted, unaware of how hard we are working to cross the ridge for her benefit.

Finally we reach the second summit, where to our surprise we meet a band of 12 senior women who had snow-shoed up the other side. They are chattering on like a flock of Canadian Grey Jays, offering encouragement and suggestions to one another as they navigate their way to the look out. Talk about some some hardy ladies. I hope I get a chance to join them some day when Oakley finally does leave me behind. Thanks to them, there is a packed trail all the way back down to the road.

And so we run, down off the mountain, feet flying, crampons sticking, wet pants drooping, jackets flopping and deliciously exhausted again.