Good Things Take Longer
Could’ve taken the one-way lift at the neighboring ski resort. I’d be up there by now and all would be downhill, but no, I’m slogging up a black diamond, Herringbone all the way. Tied my coat around my waist after ten minutes of climbing. Now I jettison face-mask and gloves. Hard to believe I can be this heated while flakes settle gently in the surrounding trees. Certainly doesn’t feel like 22 degrees.
Its worth it, I think; to work up the mountain manually in scale-less skis. I fall into a rhythm of alternating poles and steps. There is a rocking motion and I remind myself of a waddling duck. The slowness of the ascent affords me the opportunity to note many things I wouldn’t on the way down. Rabbit tracks disappear in every direction. Globs of snow on Spruce become the gnarled noses of gnomes. Jack Frost is quite the abstract painter. Small treetop gusts slightly dislodge the snow on branches creating pseudo snow showers. Plop! There goes one right down my unprotected back.
Would the descent mean as much without the arduous struggle up? When I meet people in the shacks up top, I know they have probably done what I have. We have something in common just being there. The playing field, or rather, ski trails, are even at Baldy Grove shelter. Good things take longer. Like waiting for a bird to eat from your hand. Patience and persistence produce ponderous prizes.