My breath choked out of me as I finally had enough courage to stick my head out of the tent. It was bitter cold, and my breath was like a turtle in danger, it just didn’t want to come out. But I smiled anyways for no reason at all, as I looked around at all the snow and the circling tracks around where we were calling home for the day.
As a cold shiver rushed through me, I pulled my head back into the tent and proceeded to do something that has become my pleasure on this trip: attempting to wake up my tent mate. I figure in case of emergency, such as bear attack and the like, I could always use snow to wake her up. I dare not otherwise for fear of my life, sanity, and general wellbeing.
I lean over, kiss her forehead, and shake her shoulders. She stirs slightly, mumbles something incoherent, and pulls the sleeping bag over her face. Next step, tickling. I slowly unzip the sleeping bag and reach in. Next thing I know there is a squirming sleeping bag caterpillar squirming her way around the tent, interrupted by me being smashed in the head with a pillow. My words "oh good, you’re awake," were punctuated with another whap from the pillow.
She sits up groggily and dazed, eyes half drooped and struggling to pull the sleeping bag over her as she declares "can’t you wake me up some other way? It’s too early for tickling." She smiles at me anyways.
"I tried the civilized method about three weeks ago, remember? You ended up sleeping the whole morning away because I was too scared to wake you up."
"I should kick you every time you do that, I have a right to, jerk."
She punctuates with another whap from the pillow, and just laughs at me. We start the slow process of packing everything in the tent before we pull the stove out to make breakfast in the tent vestibule. The warmth of the stove is a wonderful respite from the cold, but slowly warming, mountain air.
The sun has just begun her rising path in the east, and the sky is being painted with reds and purples only nature can conceive of. The trees are starting to wake up, and the snow is starting its usual early morning shimmer. The almost cloudless sky is slowly waking from the sleep of the night, and the last stars and planets have finally disappeared from it. The deep indigo blue has almost completely stolen back the day from the black of the night.
I pull on my boots and coat, and duck my way out of the tent. I stand all the way up and stretch my hands to the sky, wishing I could take a piece of it with me forever. I look like a marshmallow with legs, but at least I’m warm.
Something catches my eyes as I star off into the distance, and I look down to see that someone has visited us in the night. She stole nothing from us, but it looks like a wolf has come to see us during the night. The tracks wander lazily around the campsite, and then start off between two huge trees laden with snow. I follow off after her, but I don’t get far before the trees are too thick to walk through without getting snow dumped on me with every step. At least we know nature is keeping her eye on us.
When I get back, I get the evil eye and scowl for having wandered around without packing everything up first. My partner has finished packing the tent, the backpacks, and finished cooking breakfast by the time I get back.
"Now you know how I feel most mornings," I quip, which I know immediately wasn’t quite the right thing to say.
I turn to finish pulling the straps on my pack and to put on my snowshoes when I hear a giggle and feel a splat against my coat. I look up to see a grinning face and two gloves dusted with snow. I just smile and continue putting on my snowshoes.
* * *
It has been a few hours since we began breaking trail, so we decide it is a good time to stop and munch on a snack. We’ve been hiking uphill for a number of days, and are now quite strong enough to handle the altitude and uphill with ease. This is a new experience for both of us; snowshoeing in pristine mountain areas. The farm was done for the winter, so we asked a couple of friends to watch over the house and feed the cats while we were gone on our month long expedition. I kept thinking about how we should have brought one along to keep us warm.
After years of wanting for the mountains in winter, we finally gave up all our worries and just went. Both glad we did it, we are approaching our fourth summit in the wilderness.
We consult a map, and decide there is only another mile until we top out. It looks like lunch on the summit, maybe the night too. Nothing like sleeping with a 360-degree view of nothing but sheer beauty.
"Alright cutie, ready to go?" I ask, standing up somewhat awkwardly, and slipping a little, with my pack on. I just remember it would not be the first time I took a digger while trying to stand up on this trip.
The pace, as always, is a little slow as we stomp our way up the mountain. The snow comes up to our knees, at least my knees, with every stomp of the snowshoe in the fresh snow. It wouldn’t be so bad, except the snow has been falling off and on for about a week now. The new snow leaves everything beautiful around us, snow laden and wonderfully silent, but it is hard to walk in the stuff. I wouldn’t give any of it up for the world through.
We stop again a little farther down the trail to look around and take in all that we have come to see. I sometimes forget that my favorite part of backpacking in the winter is the absolute stillness of everything. It feels like we are the only two people alive in the world, and that we could stay here forever. It’s easy to forget all the problems of the world from this vantage point.
Something that catches my eyes up here are the snow-covered trees as they droop under their weight. Occasionally, one will shake off its snow-covered appendages with a resounding thump, allowing the branches to swing back to a more dignified position. The stillness is also broken by a somewhat more sorrowful sound of trees breaking under the snowy burden.
We have started our trekking again, and we are beginning to make out the end of our climb in the distance. The trees have been slowly thinning out, and we are now left somewhat alone as we continue to wander forward. The climbing has begun to flatten out a bit, and we are working less as we trek closer.
One of the most amazing things that we can see up here is how large the sky really is. From here, the sky stretches in its infinite indigo all around and over us. It covers like a blanket, and allows our eyes to swim in it. Clouds punctuate its stillness, and the sun travels across it and ends and begins each day with a brilliant light show reserved for those motivated enough to stop for a few minutes to view it in all its splendor.
Only a few more feet to the top now, and we proudly take the last few steps to the highest point we’ve been at in a few days. The weather is warming, and the view is mesmerizing. I try to soak it all in at once, but too much is left behind; I just stare and let it all wash over me. A smile creeps across my face and I turn in a circle to absorb all I can, ending facing my traveling companion.
"Well, what do you think?" I ask.
"Well, you know, sort of like the last one," she replies with a grin. "It’s beautiful."
All around us, the mountains stretched on for ever. Snow covered and prominent, they stood as brothers and sisters to the trees covering the valleys between.
"I wish everyone could see this," my friend states, "maybe then everyone would understand."
"Understand what?" I ask.
"Beauty, love, wilderness," was her reply, "and they might understand this too."
"Huh?" I start to ask before being pushed over and covered in snow. So much for the beautiful stillness, I think as I curl myself into a ball and try to defend myself from the snow monster.