Just enough snow and no more

This Side Up

John Howell
Posted 3/24/15

I found myself asking, “Is there enough snow?’

What could I be thinking? We’ve had nothing but snow and I was wondering if the dusting on Friday night was enough. Maybe it was an inch, not …

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Just enough snow and no more

This Side Up

Posted

I found myself asking, “Is there enough snow?’

What could I be thinking? We’ve had nothing but snow and I was wondering if the dusting on Friday night was enough. Maybe it was an inch, not sufficient to bring out the plows. The snow would have been a nothing event if it didn’t happen on the first day of spring, a twist that provided TV anchors a way to remind us of this never-ending winter.

Even so, it was beautiful early Saturday when the fluffy flakes drifted down. It wasn’t cold. The birds were in full voice. I heard a robin, but didn’t catch sight of it.

It was then I realized that, unlike other winters, I had not yet been cross-country skiing. This winter has been a battle, not a carnival. Rather than get out the skies and tour the neighborhood before the plows ruin it, the mindset has been to crank up the snow blower and hope that all the work doesn’t get buried by another storm. I’d missed out on a fun part of winter and snow, or so I thought.

Cross-country skiing can be a lot of work. My introduction to the sport was on a weekend trip to New Hampshire shortly after we were married. We were visiting friends and planning to do some downhill skiing. For whatever reason, we got off to a late start, realizing by the time we got to the mountains we would only get in a few runs.

The sports shop where we stopped offered a cross-country track and we decided, after driving all the way to New Hampshire, that some form of skiing was better than none.

We rented gear and soon were introduced to waxing. We had wood skis and wax is critical to the right balance and glide. The wrong wax and the snow builds up and about all you can do is waddle. We watched as a young man first scraped the bottoms of the skies, applied the wax and then burnished it with a block of cork.

We were outfitted with soft leather boots with a row of three holes in their square toes aligned to fit into pins on the bindings and a pair of bamboo poles.

We were ready.

The means of forward travel (You don’t want to go backwards) is a sliding glide, using poles to push off. Unlike downhill skis, the heel is not fixed to the ski, just the toe. More accomplished skiers use a form of skating, where they push off from one ski and the next to achieve remarkable speeds.

We weren’t ready for that.

Our initial venture was comical, especially attempting up hill. We’d get just so far using our poles and then start sliding backward, resulting in leaving the trail and plowing into shrubbery before collapsing in a heap. Getting up in deep snow is not easy.

The answer to steep hills is to turn diagonally to the incline and “step” up sideways. A V-like walk and positioning the poles behind you works on moderate hills. You need to know this in case next winter is as daunting as this one.

In any case, we were in a sweat within 14 minutes and still in sight of the shop, where a group of amused customers watched. But we were hooked. The thought of not having to drive for several hours to reach the slopes was appealing. Golf courses, parks, even roads all became ski territory.

Our first skis were wood. We still have the cylinders of wax and the cork block although we switched to fiberglass skies with fish scale indentations on the bottom negating the need for wax years ago.

I pulled the skis out Saturday afternoon, wondering if there was enough snow for at least one excursion before winter’s end. The roads were clear and wet. What little snow we got was melting. Instead of rejoicing, I was lamenting I may have missed the chance to ski, but Rocky Point was my choice to try. I have never skied there.

It was the right place.

The snow was soft and sticky but thick enough in most places. I crossed the great bowl that was once the Midway and climbed to the base of the old Observation Tower and its view of the bay. This was a new “ride,” one that I wished I hadn’t waited until then to take.

Quahoggers were working the still waters offshore. At the site of the cliff house, I met a young couple pulling their 18-month son in a wagon. We talked about the park and how it means so much to so many. Close to the parking lot, I met a man walking his dog. That was it. Hardly anyone was at Rocky Point; I had the place to myself.

I took off the skis, balanced them on my shoulder and headed for the car. The sun was shining. I was in a sweat. It was the perfect way to welcome the first full day of spring.

It was also time to put away the skis.

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