A Winter Adventure

We went cross-country skiing in Acadia yesterday. Sam forgot to put the poles in the car. I didn’t think I could ski without poles, but apparently I can. I stayed upright the whole time although it took concentration and some muscles I didn’t know I had.

We got going the wrong direction immediately. We were on the wrong side of Duck Brook. We should have crossed the bridge and then we would have been on the carriage trail where I was planning to take us. Instead we blithely skied along, wondering why the trail was so poorly groomed and had road signs like a regular road (even though it was not plowed).

When we came to a major intersection, I consulted the GPS on the phone. Okay, not where I thought we were. But we could recover by taking the next right. Of course, we missed the turn or maybe I misread the map. Or whatever! We were actually having fun, not running out of time or energy, and it wasn’t as cold as I thought it was going to be. As long as we kept moving, I was toasty warm.

After I realized we missed that turn, we had to make a decision. Either turn around and go back the way we came, or go forward, hoping there was a trail connecting the road we were on and the carriage trail we were supposed to be on. The map showed the two were parallel and very close together for a short distance. Sam asked me why I thought there would be a connector trail and I said “It’s my imagination.” Ha. It just seemed reasonable to me that it would be there and I might have been remembering clues about it from past experience that I couldn’t completely bring to mind.

Ok, yes, in fact there was a connector. We saw evidence of it when we switched the GPS from Drive to Walk mode. And it was close. In fact, it should be right there! Looked for it, saw nothing but snow and vague animal tracks. Hmmmm. We decided to chance it and headed off into the woods. No poles, remember. I thought this is crazy and my imagination went into hyperdrive, imagining the worst: getting more lost, falling down, breaking a bone, having to be rescued… But it wasn’t too much longer until Sam called out “I see ski tracks!” We found it. Another skier had been through ahead of us. I don’t know why we didn’t spot his or her tracks where we entered the forest, maybe he or she turned around when they saw the road. Here’s Sam on the newly discovered trail, waiting for me.

I could finally relax enough to enjoy the scenery around me. I took a few photos. It was a brilliant day. The snow was perfect for skiing. The wind was blowing but we were mostly in areas that were sheltered by rocky hills or woods.

The connector trail ended shortly at the carriage road just like it was supposed to. Now there was no more mistaking our route or direction. We started to pass other skiers. Some just said hello, some chatted briefly, one said “I’ve never seen anyone ski without poles.”

Finally, the Duck Brook Bridge. My body was fatigued after approx. 4 miles of skiing. I could feel my hips, legs and torso complaining, affected by the weird effort of trying to stay upright on top of my skis. I still felt it necessary to get near the edge of the bridge to take a photo of the brook. This is the same view I posted about last fall when the autumn colors were blazing. So different. It’s hard to see, but the dark gash in the photo is the flowing brook.

A lot of things could have gone wrong, but they didn’t and we had a big adventure on a winter’s day. A real feeling of accomplishment. And it was my birthday! 69 years old and thinking a lot about the next decade, my 70’s.