Layered
My kicks were finding little purchase in the new snow strewn across the University's ski trails. The website said they had been groomed early in the day but with this rate of snow fall, there was bound to be a good layer of powder that skiers would have to glide over. For those of the alpine persuasion, these conditions would have been a welcome start to their seasons, but for the rest of us, it made for slow goings. Still, I was at least able to ski. So far this season, the clouds have been reluctant to grant the Valley with an abundance of snow fall. Last year, I was skiing in a single layer by the end of September. This time round, the indifferent skies rolled in freezing air much more readily than flying snow.
For better or worse, my first Fairbanks winter was far more mild than most. Several publications espoused stories on and on about how things were different last year, a decade ago, when they were children, how they had to walk to school in negative 40 nearly every day in the winter. Perhaps there was some elaboration but the weather data did not lie. The temperatures barely scratched the surface of -30 last year. This year, Winter had other plans.
This Friday, I was able to get away form work early in my pursuit to hit the Lighted Loops now that they were finally covered in a decent layer of white. At 3:45 in the afternoon, I looked out my Jeep window to catch one last glimpse of the sun. Staring into the beautiful, pale orange globe was no more taxing to the eyes than gazing directly into a streetlight thinly veiled by the evening's glitter snow. By the time I clipped in to my Fischer skate skis, the only light to be found was artificial. After a few stumbles, I found my ski legs and proceeded to refresh neural pathways that had lain dormant for some nine months. I was not moving quickly. I had to stop several times to readjust gear, catch my breath, or focus my head lamp.
The diminishing sunlight always caught me by surprise. It's the fourth time I've been introduced to the arctic winter and you'd think I'd be used to it by now. While we all adapt to the temperature, indeed, it doesn't take a genius to add an extra layer, the deep dark is a different beast. The brain is not fully prepared for it. Vitamin D supplements, wool base layers, $500 dollar boots lined with state-of-the-art aerogel insulation will no doubt prove strong defenders against the conditions, but no light bulb, aurora, or full moon will ever replace a reasonable amount of natural, unabated sun gently encouraging the skin.
I coasted off the Potato Field and slid onto Smith Lake. It was approaching five in the afternoon yet I had the frozen flatland to myself. I paused at the far side and relocated my fleece buff from my neck to the top of my head, sweeping off the frost created by my wet breath.The world was still and silent as the flecks of snow dust gently collected on my ski tips. My heart rate settled out and I continued my fun across the iced lake.
The inside of my house grows more familiar. When the forecast calls for consistent temperatures well below -10 degrees, I already know I won't have another chance to visit the local trails for a while. Everyone has a cutoff temperature. Whether that's based on the quality of one's equipment or their personal mettle, I shouldn't know, but I do know what mine is. During those cold snaps, if you consider a fortnight a "snap," we learn to be creative with our endurance training. Our floor fan finds lots of use while we stream video after video of workout routines or online training games. Staring into the screens where fitness instructors guide us through a series of challenging exercises, I find myself actively opening my eyes wider in an attempt to fill my head with light and trick myself into thinking it's a normal day outside anywhere else in the lower 48. It's a fun distraction but there comes a point where the mind thirsts for real adventure that can only be satisfied on the open road, the hard packed ridge trail, the birch covered mountain side.
I didn't make it far before I knew I had to pack it up for the day. After just a few times up the hill leading back to my starting point I was finished. The effort was difficult and if I had been a more adept skier, I may well have continued on much longer, but for my first ski of the season, I'd take it. Plus, I had plans for the night. An hour later, I yanked the extension cord out of my car's plug-in and fired up the engine allowing it to warm up for a few minutes before starting my trip to the yurt. My friends were baking homemade pizza and some others were bringing full growlers of tasty amber ale. We drained our pint glasses through blithe banter of frosty Alaskan adventures as our backsides were pleasantly warmed by the fire stove centerpiece.
For better or worse, my first Fairbanks winter was far more mild than most. Several publications espoused stories on and on about how things were different last year, a decade ago, when they were children, how they had to walk to school in negative 40 nearly every day in the winter. Perhaps there was some elaboration but the weather data did not lie. The temperatures barely scratched the surface of -30 last year. This year, Winter had other plans.
This Friday, I was able to get away form work early in my pursuit to hit the Lighted Loops now that they were finally covered in a decent layer of white. At 3:45 in the afternoon, I looked out my Jeep window to catch one last glimpse of the sun. Staring into the beautiful, pale orange globe was no more taxing to the eyes than gazing directly into a streetlight thinly veiled by the evening's glitter snow. By the time I clipped in to my Fischer skate skis, the only light to be found was artificial. After a few stumbles, I found my ski legs and proceeded to refresh neural pathways that had lain dormant for some nine months. I was not moving quickly. I had to stop several times to readjust gear, catch my breath, or focus my head lamp.
The diminishing sunlight always caught me by surprise. It's the fourth time I've been introduced to the arctic winter and you'd think I'd be used to it by now. While we all adapt to the temperature, indeed, it doesn't take a genius to add an extra layer, the deep dark is a different beast. The brain is not fully prepared for it. Vitamin D supplements, wool base layers, $500 dollar boots lined with state-of-the-art aerogel insulation will no doubt prove strong defenders against the conditions, but no light bulb, aurora, or full moon will ever replace a reasonable amount of natural, unabated sun gently encouraging the skin.
I coasted off the Potato Field and slid onto Smith Lake. It was approaching five in the afternoon yet I had the frozen flatland to myself. I paused at the far side and relocated my fleece buff from my neck to the top of my head, sweeping off the frost created by my wet breath.The world was still and silent as the flecks of snow dust gently collected on my ski tips. My heart rate settled out and I continued my fun across the iced lake.
The inside of my house grows more familiar. When the forecast calls for consistent temperatures well below -10 degrees, I already know I won't have another chance to visit the local trails for a while. Everyone has a cutoff temperature. Whether that's based on the quality of one's equipment or their personal mettle, I shouldn't know, but I do know what mine is. During those cold snaps, if you consider a fortnight a "snap," we learn to be creative with our endurance training. Our floor fan finds lots of use while we stream video after video of workout routines or online training games. Staring into the screens where fitness instructors guide us through a series of challenging exercises, I find myself actively opening my eyes wider in an attempt to fill my head with light and trick myself into thinking it's a normal day outside anywhere else in the lower 48. It's a fun distraction but there comes a point where the mind thirsts for real adventure that can only be satisfied on the open road, the hard packed ridge trail, the birch covered mountain side.
I didn't make it far before I knew I had to pack it up for the day. After just a few times up the hill leading back to my starting point I was finished. The effort was difficult and if I had been a more adept skier, I may well have continued on much longer, but for my first ski of the season, I'd take it. Plus, I had plans for the night. An hour later, I yanked the extension cord out of my car's plug-in and fired up the engine allowing it to warm up for a few minutes before starting my trip to the yurt. My friends were baking homemade pizza and some others were bringing full growlers of tasty amber ale. We drained our pint glasses through blithe banter of frosty Alaskan adventures as our backsides were pleasantly warmed by the fire stove centerpiece.
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