Celebrating Themeless Discontinuity: Snow Quiet

One of my favorite parts of winter, at least the cold snowy kind, is the snow-quiet. That damp silence that takes over when the snow is thick and cold. It's so loud it even drowns out the sounds of the city, the sounds of the wind. People are suddenly avoiding the outside, and those that must venture outside bundle themselves up and refuse to speak to each other until safely warm by the fire, rubbing hands and drying socks. Car engines and rusty mufflers are even dampened in the snow, rumbles and chugs only an echo of their normal torqued vrooooom.

The snow quiet was even more dramatic in Rocky Mountain National Park, where tourists avoided all but the most well-worn and populated ski trails. We had been waiting for snow to go snowshoeing for weeks, but the December weather in the Rockies as proving fickle. The lack of snow was distressing even the Visitor Center volunteers, who lamented that more trails weren't open for winter use. "The waterfalls are real pretty," drawled an older gentlemen about one particular flat hike, "but you'd be better off hiking with the smidge of snow we got up there." He directed us toward Bear Lake, and area which we had already explored, but one that looked the most promising without venturing into the backcountry. So we headed out to what looked like Emerald Lake, which we had missed by about half a mile on our fall excursions. We tromp our way past skiiers and overdressed snowshoers in their REI catalag wear, past tours of tired and grinning Japanese men on cheap, rented snowshoes and their bored-looking guide. We make some awkward twists and turns up the side of a mountain that takes us about 500 feet OVER our desired location, looking down on windblown snow and pine trees disappearing the the mist and rock outcroppings obscuring our view of the frozen lake below. Turns out, we inadvnertantly following the trail of a lone skiier who, very ambitiously, skied up a mountain. We stopped for bananas, and within seconds the brutal wind had numbed out fingers and made our decision to turn back that much easier. But it was a swift clumb back down to the car, our trail already work in and the snow broken.

A job well done deserved a good beer, so we hit up Estes Park for a pit stop on our way out of town. A disappointing selection of local beer joints, Estes was deserted. We tumbled into a local joint, with at first little charm. But it turns out it was their Christmas party, and we got to celebrate the season with locals, who exchanged gifts and cheer and a free buffet table of snacks.