Winters night solo sojourn in Grand Teton National Park in the bitterest of cold, one woman's curiosity, a childlike heart, a searching in the dark wilderness. Cross country ski out to Lupine Meadows, exploring the Bedrock of winter and the weight of cold upon creation. Awakenings, nature's changing in the deep winter, in light & color, sight and sound. Cold, dark, unknowns and the effects that play upon the journey. Meditations in the exploration of winter's wilderness. Stories unfolding for rest and relaxation in the midst of the crush and pressure of hardship. Peace in the midst of struggle. Mystery and revelation in the darkest of nights.
A midlife crisis, an answer to prayer, inspired by two decades of solo night adventures in the Tetons of Wyoming. These are the tales of this woman's journey, seeking hope in the darkness and finding a childlike heart renewed in the night...in my wilderness sojourns with God.
So listen, relax and perhaps...find a place of peace to dream.
Winters night solo sojourn in Grand Teton National Park in the bitterest of cold, one woman's curiosity, a childlike heart, a searching in the dark wilderness. Cross country ski out to Lupine Meadows, exploring the Bedrock of winter and the weight of cold upon creation. Awakenings, nature's changing in the deep winter, in light & color, sight and sound. Cold, dark, unknowns and the effects that play upon the journey. Meditations in the exploration of winter's wilderness. Stories unfolding for rest and relaxation in the midst of the crush and pressure of hardship. Peace in the midst of struggle. Mystery and revelation in the darkest of nights.
A midlife crisis, an answer to prayer, inspired by two decades of solo night adventures in the Tetons of Wyoming. These are the tales of this woman's journey, seeking hope in the darkness and finding a childlike heart renewed in the night...in my wilderness sojourns with God.
So listen, relax and perhaps...find a place of peace to dream.
It will be snowing stars in the cold dark of the wilderness tonight, and I am dreaming with my eyes wide open as I ski out beneath the shadow of the Teton. The parking lot at Tiger lake was empty when I arrived at dusk, sometimes I wonder why I feel so compelled to come out and play in the cold and the Dark Winter wilderness while everyone else rushes to safe havens. Friends ask why do you bother to go out in the night? What can you see in the dark you'll freeze your crazy self. Yes, I do get frozen a bit. So my face is painted with bear grease instead of makeup. And I am wrapped in all the layers that can capture heat and push back the cold. I wear buffs and beanies. And around those I am wrapped in a loose woolen scarf so that when I breathe out, it makes a pocket of warm air that puffs back out like Dragon smoke goggles to keep my eyelashes from facing together when I squint against this kind of bitter cold crystals of ice thing to wisps of my gray hair already and dangle like silver bling lashing with starlight when I head out. It isn't how cold I feel that matters. It is how the cold makes me feel. And it isn't what I can see. But how I see it. When I am alone in the dark in the wilds. This sojourn isn't shrouded in fear. Although I do let out a few yelps of surprise here and there. But I escaped into it with anticipation. Winter teases and my childlike heart wakes up full of hope and the vastness of these dancing shadows and lights and the expanse of the wilderness. It is just dusk when I set out the Tetons are in black and white silhouette. But winter pastels linger in the sky. Soft hues of Rose violets and blues, just blossoming with starlight. The pastels melt into the darker shade, Russian blues mulberries and wine, night sins. Never a flat black canopy. This shroud of darkness that blinds me this sleeping silence that makes me feel almost deaf makes me look and listen more intently. familiar elements shift their shapes, molded with shadow and light and reform into new creations. Again, I see them as if for the first time surreal and dreamlike. In this blind world in the snow covered quiet my ears can hear whispers of the Wild. A ravens ka Creek ice cracking the breeze shushing the pine. And finally, I'm hearing sounds that tell stories about wild things all around me. Raven nearby is really laughing at me with his call. The water in the ice are wrestling in the cold. Wind is singing in the trees telling it stories as it moves down the canyon and moves the trees themselves today. I am skiing away from the day's distractions and into the night and into the present. The weight of the cold has begun pushing deeper and harder now against the elements as I crossed little Cottonwood Creek is still gurgling beneath the bridge. But few pools remain as tendrils of ice clasp over the bits of racing water, like hands, cupping it, wooing it, slowing it down, whispering words asleep and stillness sculpted in still. There is a heavy resisting tension and cold. All Things move against the king of winter that compels the world to slow down, sink down sleep, perhaps die. The cold pushes against me as I move whispering to me to slow down to stop to rest. It is already seeping into my flesh and bone and movement is the only thing that will keep me from yielding, pausing, stopping to sleep. And as I move I think about the winter of my life and when I will slow and sleep and die
as push and pull of skis across the snow thinning puffs of No dust glittering into the air around my feet. Clouds of breath with whispered size, life drawn in life breathed out. arms lift up and down as if in supplication and prayers, I push ski poles forward and back and forward again into the unknown. My only focus right now is to huff and puff my way along. Little Cottonwood Creek out to discover the wonders God has for me this night. I have the night and the Tetons and this mystery to myself. Not another soul to be seen. Not another new ski track in the snow. Nice smile to myself. midwinter is deeply snow bound this year. The hard surface gives me easy passage north through the meadows below the mountains, past the old log cabins I go zigzagging towards Lupin Meadows. Delicate frost crystals mirror the stars, gilding stone and tree spinning dry grass to gold. A layer of hoarfrost grows up out of the meadow snow crest, Aspen and cottonwood branches are coated with its fringe, as if they were covered in spring blossoms. Sage Brush laced in a twinkling myriad of frost fairy lights as I brush against them. My coat glitters too. It feels like a holy night. With these tiny fires ignited with the spark of cold shimmering everywhere. Night is where God speaks into the darkness. When Christ strikes the match, and the light leaps and flames of burning bushes. The Whisper of curiosity, it compels Come closer. Come see the magic unfold. Winter is filled with the crushing quiet of silence. It works on things of this earth it works in my spirit. Questions furrowed out, worries banished with the slap of cold that shouts live or die, breathe, move, live or be still in that stillness is death. And so I push on, push through the miles until I reached Lupin Meadows stand at the base of the Tetons exhausted and doubling over breathing hard. And then those threats of death. Winter has breathed life into me again, and I breathe it new and feel free and young and full of life again. Even though I still look like a wee little old woman in the endless wilderness. I pull out my tea party. One I always celebrate when I reach my goal, or even if I don't, is too cold to sit and be still so I stay standing resting on my ski poles as I drink hot Irish Breakfast tea laced with lots of sugar, pieces of chocolate and a chocolate salted caramel cookie. I can taste a little of it because it's so cold that I imagine the flavor and the bits of sugar and the warmth so they have tea soothe body and soul. The wavering shadows, glitter off snow and the mountain peaks seem to shift and move gray blue purple, white interchange, merge briefly and then drop away into the blacks of the canyons. The thumb of T Wynot seems to twitch snow absorbs sound and the crash of an avalanche is faint. All I can see are the puffs of snow chasing each other down the Gully. I turn for home, slipped back over the creek bed at the edge of the meadow and stepped onto unbroken snow. It shifts and drops around me with like a bear sighing in the night. I know what it is, but it still makes me jump and pause when the snow breathes like that. I move between the tall cottonwoods gray bark, drooping twigs and branches that reach toward the creek standing like old gray women. The miles fly by the Big Dipper hangs low above the northern peaks and reaches towards the ground. I stopped for a breather. It's minus 10 degrees Fahrenheit 3am in the cold sings and the elements are still dancing. The Night Skies swept clean and so pure. That Starlight fractures this dark and sins lights spiraling down around me like snowflakes. It is snowing stars tonight. I reached the bridge at little Cottonwood Creek the last school before the car and home and a hot bath and a fire. My mind is only on pushing forward. My flesh is cold to the bone and I ache with it.
But as I crossed the bridge Suddenly shudders the slow rumble comes from beneath. Groan echoes down the creek bed, and the squeal of metal on metal races overtop the iron girders above me. As the cold pushes against the joints, the weight of it slowly permeating the very core until even iron shifts and mold in his grass. Tonight the king of winter presses down into the very soul of the earth. And all of creation groans with the burden of the season. And the wilderness exposed and alive, is pushed down to its bedrock, refined, remade, winter glorious, its time. Its purpose, its season of blessing, as it brings rest, sleep, and even death. As it makes way for the rebirth of spring. I am out in this winter in this cold in this tonight. I am a part of this winter blessing. be fine, changed in this wilderness. Breathing in this cold. Hearing the quiet and dreaming with my eyes wide open as the stars swirl like snow around me.