Big fat flakes were coming down last night when Enrico picked me up after my 90-minute massage. When we got home, I went directly to bed, had a long, deep sleep, and woke up to several more inches of new, fluffy snow!
The clouds had cleared, the snow was shining, so I geared up for a spring ski. The remaining kick wax on my Kneissl classic skis was a perfect match for this morning's cool conditions. Like yesterday, my eyes drank in the unbroken canvas of new snow, sparkling in the sun. I couldn't even tell where yesterday's trail was, so I began breaking a completely new trail.
After a few minutes, I saw I was not alone--a red fox was running across the river. When it arrived in the shadows at the opposite bank, it paused to look at me for a few seconds before darting into the woods. I skied up to the point at which its tracks led across the river and took the photo below. I followed its tracks in reverse order to see where it had been. I could see that just before making a beeline across the river, he had been meandering around where the pipes from the water treatment plant join the river, and I could see he had slipped and kicked up some slush where the river was not quite frozen.
As I continued on my way, I kept seeing that fox's trail. He must have been hunkered down during the storm last night, and so was active this morning. For awhile, his track ran parallel to my ski trail, and in a more protected part of the trail, I could see the faint indentations of my track from yesterday.
When I got near Lindenwood Park, I came to the open water where I saw the geese yesterday. They were not there today, and I could see that the river had risen since then. Because the Red River flows north, upriver is south, where it is warmer, so the spring "break-up" is quite dynamic, though the signs are subtle right now. Something not so subtle, however, was that some water had flowed over the banks and seeped under the ski trail, and I had an unpleasant breakthrough where I got my skis wet.
I tried continuing on, but it felt as if someone had attached lead weights to my skis, so I had to stop and deal with the issue. But first, I had to pee, so I stopped by a big tree and relieved myself. Using the tree for balance, I took off one ski and used the basket of my pole to scrape all the ice off the bottom. I tapped my boot on the tree to get the snow off before stepping back in my binding. Then I took off my other ski and repeated the scraping. When I continued on, this seemed to have solved the problem, though I would not be breaking any speed records today. As I continued, I watched carefully for other signs that there might be some water under the snow.
When I got near the campground at Lindenwood Park, I saw more geese and a pair of ducks hanging out in the open water. A lot of water had seeped under the ski trail, so I veered upland near the camp ground to avoid it. This spot is always very sunny, so I stopped and watched the geese for awhile, before heading uphill. I decided to ski across the field rather than along the river--a decision with unpleasant consequences, as the wind was roaring across the open field and hitting me head on, sucking all the warmth from my body. I regretted choosing to wear only a headband today instead of a hat.
After making a dash for the woods again, I got to put in a little telemark turn on the hill descending back down to the river bottom--fun! Once I was down there, I had to bushwhack a bit to get back over to the trail, but I didn't want to rejoin it until after the wet spots I'd encountered on my way out. I picked up a few burrs and got slapped by a few branches, but I didn't care, as I was happy to be out of the wind again.
As I got near the ski trail, I saw a skier coming toward me. Could it be? Yes, it was my husband. He had his head down, concentrating on striding along at a good pace. I decided to have some fun with him. I hid behind a tree, and when he got close to me, I whistled at him.
No response, I whistled again, louder, still no response. "Hey, good lookin'," I shouted.
Still no response. I guess he doesn't tolerate sexual harassment from his spouse.
It was then I realized that he had headphones on and he had passed me and was moving at a good pace, so if I wanted to say hi, I had to disentangle myself from the brush quickly and hop into his tracks and sprint to catch up, which I did. I then skied right up next to him. When he finally saw me, he was appropriately startled, having been deep into listening to his jams--Deep Purple, Dire Straits, and Meatloaf.
We chatted for a little while. He told me he wasn't even sure I had come this way, as my track got completely filled in by the wind-driven snow. By now I had been out for an hour and half, and with that windy section to look forward to at the end, I reluctantly said good-bye and continued on my way.
Before getting to the windy section, I put some muscle into my ski to build up internal heat before it would be leached away by the wind again.
I got back to the part where I had seen the fox. His tracks were almost erased, as mine will be--whether by wind or by spring melt. But I remember seeing him, and I hope, by reading this blog, my "tracks" left behind in this world, some soul will remember me.
The clouds had cleared, the snow was shining, so I geared up for a spring ski. The remaining kick wax on my Kneissl classic skis was a perfect match for this morning's cool conditions. Like yesterday, my eyes drank in the unbroken canvas of new snow, sparkling in the sun. I couldn't even tell where yesterday's trail was, so I began breaking a completely new trail.
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| The blank slate of snow left by last night's storm |
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| The fox's tracks crossing the Red River to the Moorhead side. |
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| Fox on the left, human on the right |
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| This is where the fox first came over to the Fargo side from Moorhead. |
When I got near the campground at Lindenwood Park, I saw more geese and a pair of ducks hanging out in the open water. A lot of water had seeped under the ski trail, so I veered upland near the camp ground to avoid it. This spot is always very sunny, so I stopped and watched the geese for awhile, before heading uphill. I decided to ski across the field rather than along the river--a decision with unpleasant consequences, as the wind was roaring across the open field and hitting me head on, sucking all the warmth from my body. I regretted choosing to wear only a headband today instead of a hat.
After making a dash for the woods again, I got to put in a little telemark turn on the hill descending back down to the river bottom--fun! Once I was down there, I had to bushwhack a bit to get back over to the trail, but I didn't want to rejoin it until after the wet spots I'd encountered on my way out. I picked up a few burrs and got slapped by a few branches, but I didn't care, as I was happy to be out of the wind again.
As I got near the ski trail, I saw a skier coming toward me. Could it be? Yes, it was my husband. He had his head down, concentrating on striding along at a good pace. I decided to have some fun with him. I hid behind a tree, and when he got close to me, I whistled at him.
No response, I whistled again, louder, still no response. "Hey, good lookin'," I shouted.
Still no response. I guess he doesn't tolerate sexual harassment from his spouse.
It was then I realized that he had headphones on and he had passed me and was moving at a good pace, so if I wanted to say hi, I had to disentangle myself from the brush quickly and hop into his tracks and sprint to catch up, which I did. I then skied right up next to him. When he finally saw me, he was appropriately startled, having been deep into listening to his jams--Deep Purple, Dire Straits, and Meatloaf.
We chatted for a little while. He told me he wasn't even sure I had come this way, as my track got completely filled in by the wind-driven snow. By now I had been out for an hour and half, and with that windy section to look forward to at the end, I reluctantly said good-bye and continued on my way.
Before getting to the windy section, I put some muscle into my ski to build up internal heat before it would be leached away by the wind again.
I got back to the part where I had seen the fox. His tracks were almost erased, as mine will be--whether by wind or by spring melt. But I remember seeing him, and I hope, by reading this blog, my "tracks" left behind in this world, some soul will remember me.
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