But it is morning now, and woods we had run by the previous night now take on new life. The sun is low enough to still be cutting sharply through the trees, laying scattered light on the snow. We pull our sedan off the asphalt, parking it in some 6 inches of stale slush a few feet from road. The trail head is visible just a few yards behind us. We take off.
The skeletal branches of the trees stream by occasionally clipping us around our face. Running through ankle deep snow, we choose our own lines, charging sometimes off trail, jumping over frozen streams, the remnants of old growth biting at our calves. Other times we consciously redirect onto a cut trail, narrow but free of snow covered roots and looming tree boughs. We push on this way for a few miles, sometimes straying off to break a new path through deeper snow, other times methodically moving over the sloping natural aisle of the marked trail. I grab a heavy birch and try to swing myself into an acceleration, when my shoe bites a covered root. I take a quick spill, landing ass in the snow. I fumble my sunglasses back over my eyes only to see Robbie, blazing past me, Matt another 50 meters or so ahead of him. He offers me a quick "you okay?" before streaming back out of the clearing and into the deeper woods ahead, I don't have time to answer. I regain my footing and give pursuit. For a quarter mile I follow the steps they've both left in the snow ahead, and eventually match stride some 10 meters off Robbie's back.
The day is brilliant. Since leaving the car, the sun's risen some, warming the air. We peal over an old wooden bridge. The bridge sits only a foot over the surface of the water and is caked in ice. I slow to gain purchase on the old boards. It works and soon my feet are again covered in the old snow laying on the trail. The line we've chosen hugs a lake for about a mile. As we open stride the blurred forms of trees fill our peripherals, their movement standing in strong contrast to the calm, expansive surface of the still water. Soon, our steps become familiar. We are nearing the trail head, our car lays close, within a mile. I offer the suggestion of cutting a direct line to the car, through the denser, congested forest ahead. Matt and Robbie nod in acknowledgement and plunge ahead through deeper snow. Within meters, we realize the decision was a poor one. Winter hardened thorns catch our socks and we slow to a clumsy walk. Robbie takes point, rooting a hard, misplaced step into a snow covered pond. He sinks smashing his shin on a submerged log. Leaning back he twists his soaked foot free from the pond's icy crust, "Cut through the woods, yeah great idea".
We back track our steps and decide to drop into a trail leading behind some old cabins. The last mile we close fast. Fanning out we all taking a unique line, hearts pumping hard, breathing steady. 30 meters off my left shoulder Robbie clears the woods, closing on the car. To my right, Matt closes the gap between us. I shift my weight and focus and cut perpendicular to my current line. Snow crunches below my feet. Old vines grasp at my lower legs while the trees ahead begin to thin. I spring over the lip of a small ridge marking the line of the woods and land firmly on the road. We're out of the wilderness and back into the town. Wind spills through the woods behind and the trees groan. Another good run is in the books.
"The farther one gets into the wilderness, the greater is the attraction of it's lonely freedom."
—Theodore Roosevelt
Photo by Robbie Mason
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