Space travel

Small to medium snowstorms over the past couple of weeks have left a dense base of snow in the woods around my neighborhood. It's not a deep base, but it is very substantial, allowing for some easy travel and careful turning on a couple of inches of the top layer. At least that was true when I took this picture:

That was a week ago. A small storm had dropped 2-3 inches of powder on top of the firm base. A bigger storm arrived the next day, bringing about 7 inches of much wetter, denser snow. That set up firmly when the temperature dropped to overnight lows just above and below zero.

A week ago, I ventured far into the logged area up the back mountain. The loggers had finished cutting, so the only noise and activity came from their loading area down by the road. The little powder layer offered surprisingly good turning, although the deep skidder ruts, and reefs of logging slash kept me from letting my speed build up. And I still have to thread dense saplings to get clear of my little patch of mature forest to make my way to the clearings.

Bushwhacking on skis isn't just a matter of slithering through the first gap you see, or even the widest gap you see. The consistency of the snow determines how steeply you can climb. Slope angle is the primary factor in route finding. Even if the snow has good density and moisture for climbing, slope angle determines how hard you will work to gain elevation. It's always easier to proceed obliquely than it is to charge straight up the fall line. Within the general angle of a slope you will find lots of micro terrain around which to shape your course.

I'm not one to want to get all sweaty and out of breath when I'm not on a groomed trail. On the groomies I will act more like I'm on my road bike, pushing things aerobically for a specific length of time. Trail conditions are usually consistent, and the way is clear. Out in the woods, I'm usually alone, and obstacles may be anywhere.

Coming down last week, I could link a few turns at a time before I had to work around slash, ruts, stumps, or rocks, mostly buried in the base snow.

Today, with the benefit of more than half a foot of added base depth, more surface obstacles were covered. But the higher water content made a breakable crust that was stiff to turn in. Below the crust, the snow was granular, so it didn't support a high climbing angle. In addition, once I got out into the logged area, the sun made the top layer clumpy. This really surprised me after three nights near or below zero, and daytime highs that stayed well below freezing. It was a good reminder that New England is not as far north as it acts. The sun is already starting to climb higher each day, and apparently can exert quite a bit of power, even through bits of high, thin cloud that kept the day from being completely dazzling.

Last week, even descending through the sapling cover I was able to fit in a few turns here and there. This week, that would have been an invitation to multiple injuries. But up in the open I was able to link a few.

There were still snags to avoid. With more snow due in a couple of approaching storms, the open spaces will offer more and more freedom just to carve it up. But the reward of bushwhacking is not just the skiing itself. It is also the quiet and the chance to peek at nature. I saw a porcupine dozing in a sunny treetop on my way up, and saw the tracks of deer and bobcat in the clearings.

Back down in the woods, the snow was even crustier because it had dripped from the trees for a couple of days after the storm was over. That wet mess refroze, making a fast surface. The firm crust resisted turning. Progress was a bit jerky, but it was still more fun than snowshoeing. If I had a firm objective, like a mountain summit, snowshoes would be a better choice. It's a plod on snowshoes, but a reliable plod.

Every time you go out on skis you learn a little more about what works. If you get to cover even an extra foot per stride, that's distance you would not have gotten "for free" on snowshoes. You may have to average out your gains with a bit of extra effort or ingenuity, threading the gaps and working the angles, but it's fun trying.

Open terrain

The technical term for what they're doing to almost 300 acres behind my place is "logging the shit out of it." It's the most drastic timber harvest I've seen on this face of the range since I moved here in 1989.

This is just the easternmost swath. The real work stretches to the left of this view, farther than I cared to venture on this recon. They're still noisily at work over there.

Features are exposed that I had only seen before under mature trees.

This rocky step is ten or fifteen feet high. The mountainside has two or three such formations on the rise to the nearest summit.

The open slope would provide an exhausting number of skiable lines with enough snow. The ground was already rough, and has now been churned and trenched by the passage of massive machinery. The snow will need to be deep, with a dense base. Even then, knee pads and controlled speed are advised.

When the slope was completely forested, back in the last century, it was overlooked by everyone except a couple of skiers and a few hunters.  But a big white snowfield is like a giant billboard. It could attract motorheads who will gash it all up and make depressing noises while they're at it. Previous logging operations, as big as they seemed, were way less drastic than this one. This one can be seen for miles.

Even worse would be if it was subdivided and developed. I used to have nightmares about the forest being torn down and various things built on the mountain, including a WalMart. Elements of these dreams have happened in real life, but without the intrusion of human structures and permanent activity, for the most part. I have to learn not to care. Give it up. Go elsewhere. But the convenience of a wilderness that abutted my yard was pretty darn nice.

The loggers have been at it for what seems like months, and they sound like they're still at full throttle.