Our walk to the waterfall. Showshoes are better than just boots!
It is a beautiful day today. We went out for a walk as soon as we were up. I snowshoed from the road down the pond lane. Willem came along behind, walking on top of the snow until we got onto the clothwalk, buried under over a foot of snow. I know how deep it is cos it came up over Willem's knees as he walked. It wasn't a fun time for him!
We walked to the waterfall, stood and watched it and some geese flying overhead. The geese honking was pretty constant the entire hour we were down there. I suppose they will be honking all day long, actually! Or all week.
It's nice to stand and look at the waterfall, circles of black in the snowbed, clear glass icicles hanging from small sticks that cris-cross the moving water. Half of Iceberg Pond was open from the warmth of the meltage that creates the waterfall.
The other side of the fifty foot long pond was also black, open water from the spring that flows down the side of the pond and out the mouth into the Marsh Woods. I wanted to snowshoe to the spring where it flows out from under the boulder in the hillside, but the snowshoes weren't cooperating.
So I walked around the rim of the bowl that Iceberg Pond sits in, and opened the hammock at the end of the clothwalk trail, where it meets the bowl side. The plastic container I had carefully wrapped dry socks and dry mittens in, was lying on the ground beneath the hammock, still dry as can be. I didn't need them, but perhaps Willem would, as he was the one with snow in his boots today. I had been smarter than yesterday and not worn crocs but worn tall boots!
He stood by the poplars while I rested in the hammock, not wanting to dig down to release the chairs whose feet stuck out an inch above the snow.
I headed back across the clothwalk, feet above it. I knew where it was because of the slight indentations that were likely deer prints from long ago where they'd followed the triaqua trail from pond to pond instead of venturing through the tall canary grass in the autumn.
At Fiddlehead Pond, I wanted to go lie in the hammock in Deer Blind Tipi, but the step down off the snow onto the ground in the tipi was too high for me. Willem sat on the white reclining plastic lawn chair. I stood for awhile, then went for a walk on the snow over to Serenity Dippity Pond. It was such an easy walk with the snowshoes. I took a few photos. The pond is still buried under the ice and snow, but the stream at the far end of it is open as usual, a black line with silver ripples.
I sank into the snow when I tried to shortcut through the alders to Willem at the corner of Fiddlehead Pond, instead of walking on the denser snow of the clothwalk path.
I passed Willem after a brief hello, then snowshoed over to the hammock on Sumac Hill. The hammock was filled with a chunk of melted snow-ice. I dumped it out, took off my hot winter camouflage down-filled coat and draped it in the hammock.
Deer piles surrounded the base of the hill. They hadn't bothered to climb the steep little hill, created from the digging of the well nearby, but had made pathways all around it and radiating from there in several directions to the top of our hill and Hilltop Deer Café.
It wasn't too long before Willem trudged through the snow to the side of Joe Pye Tipi. I laced on my snowshoes. I love the lacing I had learned from Alba Wilderness School many years ago when I was writing for Wilderness magazine. They never slacken or come off. They are by far the best bindings I've ever used!
I took off my snowshoes when we reached the end of the pond lane and climbed the gravel road with my Willem. Such a great walk! I didn't want to come home!
We walked to the waterfall, stood and watched it and some geese flying overhead. The geese honking was pretty constant the entire hour we were down there. I suppose they will be honking all day long, actually! Or all week.
It's nice to stand and look at the waterfall, circles of black in the snowbed, clear glass icicles hanging from small sticks that cris-cross the moving water. Half of Iceberg Pond was open from the warmth of the meltage that creates the waterfall.
The other side of the fifty foot long pond was also black, open water from the spring that flows down the side of the pond and out the mouth into the Marsh Woods. I wanted to snowshoe to the spring where it flows out from under the boulder in the hillside, but the snowshoes weren't cooperating.
So I walked around the rim of the bowl that Iceberg Pond sits in, and opened the hammock at the end of the clothwalk trail, where it meets the bowl side. The plastic container I had carefully wrapped dry socks and dry mittens in, was lying on the ground beneath the hammock, still dry as can be. I didn't need them, but perhaps Willem would, as he was the one with snow in his boots today. I had been smarter than yesterday and not worn crocs but worn tall boots!
He stood by the poplars while I rested in the hammock, not wanting to dig down to release the chairs whose feet stuck out an inch above the snow.
I headed back across the clothwalk, feet above it. I knew where it was because of the slight indentations that were likely deer prints from long ago where they'd followed the triaqua trail from pond to pond instead of venturing through the tall canary grass in the autumn.
At Fiddlehead Pond, I wanted to go lie in the hammock in Deer Blind Tipi, but the step down off the snow onto the ground in the tipi was too high for me. Willem sat on the white reclining plastic lawn chair. I stood for awhile, then went for a walk on the snow over to Serenity Dippity Pond. It was such an easy walk with the snowshoes. I took a few photos. The pond is still buried under the ice and snow, but the stream at the far end of it is open as usual, a black line with silver ripples.
I sank into the snow when I tried to shortcut through the alders to Willem at the corner of Fiddlehead Pond, instead of walking on the denser snow of the clothwalk path.
I passed Willem after a brief hello, then snowshoed over to the hammock on Sumac Hill. The hammock was filled with a chunk of melted snow-ice. I dumped it out, took off my hot winter camouflage down-filled coat and draped it in the hammock.
Deer piles surrounded the base of the hill. They hadn't bothered to climb the steep little hill, created from the digging of the well nearby, but had made pathways all around it and radiating from there in several directions to the top of our hill and Hilltop Deer Café.
It wasn't too long before Willem trudged through the snow to the side of Joe Pye Tipi. I laced on my snowshoes. I love the lacing I had learned from Alba Wilderness School many years ago when I was writing for Wilderness magazine. They never slacken or come off. They are by far the best bindings I've ever used!
I took off my snowshoes when we reached the end of the pond lane and climbed the gravel road with my Willem. Such a great walk! I didn't want to come home!