Stake.
As meteorologists had promised, it was snowing pretty intensely when I first peered out the window this morning. Nice breeze, a few inches on the ground already, some good-sized drifts. I heard this was a gigantic storm system covering much of North America. Cool.
Birch.
I also heard the occasional caw of a crow coming from the hill out back. At midday it began to snow more heavily. I waited until a bit of a lull in mid-afternoon before bothering to tackle any shoveling—and only in the little dooryard so we could reach my pickup, Jack and I. (Also swept off the truck.) After a little while, we headed out in it, thankful that the plow guy had made a recent pass in the parking lot.
Not a lot of traffic out, but the public works drivers had been busy: nicely passable roads, I thought. As we approached Beech Hill—especially judging by the size of the plowed ridges along the roadsides—I wondered if we’d be able to make it into the parking lot. Sure enough, there was a good sized drift, but I plowed through and we slid to a stop. Sweet. Still snowing, but not as heavily as at midday. I tightened up my snowshoes, let Jack out, and we set off.
No one else had been up there today, clearly. Considering the way the hill lies, and the way the trail winds around, and the direction of the wind (north, or north-northwest, or north-northeast), I suppose it’s no wonder we had to slog through some massive, fresh drifts—a few knee-deep on me (therefore over Jack’s head). But the little guy gamely leaped and bounded up ahead. That is, until we reached a particularly intractable snow, when he hung back behind me and began to walk on the back of my snowshoes.
Beech Nut.
I brought my little video camera today and documented the whole hike, complete with a running commentary (and a few laughs at Jack’s undiminished delight at deep snow). By the time we reached the summit, my face hurt from the cold (18-20 degrees (F)?) and wind. Must’ve reached 40 miles and hour a time or two.
Yes, we were the first. Virgin white snow, a desolate winter landscape. We both loved it.
But we didn’t linger. Headed back down right away. As exhausting as the slog up had been, the way down seemed like a breeze. Still, we got ourselves some good exercise.
Nearing the road, astonishingly, I heard the voice of a bird. A brown creeper calling from somewhere in the little copse by the gate. And not a minute later, I heard the peeps of a chickadee across the road. A surprise that of the three birds I heard today, two came from windswept, snowswept Beech Hill.
Still snowing at about 8 p.m. tonight—but not hard. Guess I’ve got some shoveling to do tomorrow.
Beech Hill List
Beginning at 4:15 p.m., I hiked the open trail.
1. Brown creeper (voice)
2. Black-capped chickadee (voice)
Elsewhere
3. American crow
The back stairs.
