“When there’s snow on the ground, I like to pretend I’m walking on clouds.”
~ Unknown
~ Unknown
There is a serene, hushed beauty in the winter expanses of pure, undisturbed snow. While forging through such snow, then turning back to admire the winter path I’ve created has it’s appeal, I often feel a little bit sad that never again and for no one else will it lie perfectly like it did before I left my footsteps—at least until the next storm. This past weekend I tried something a little different: walking above an expanse of undisturbed snow, doing my best to keep it pristine, so that it looked like I was hardly there at all.
Last month I posted that I’ve been striving to embrace the season more. According to a quite talented, but sadly unidentified epigrammatist, “To appreciate the beauty of a snow flake, it is necessary to stand out in the cold.“ Well, last Saturday the snow was deep, the day was a lovely mid-winter warm (33 degrees), the sun was shining through hazy skies, and my slackline withdrawal had reached unacceptable levels, so I decided to risk face-planting in the wet white and set up my slackline.
The cold necessitated some extra preparation and gear: a pair of Zemgear minimalist slippers and a white Tyvek ground cloth for a changing and staging area.
Of course, the photographer in me wanted a photo op, and I had to get creative to find angles and shots in the snow. I got really adept at finding unusual locations for my flexi-mini tripod, setting the time delay on my camera, clomping along at a gallop in my winter boots (made overlarge by the lack of thick socks), kicking off said oversized boots at the edge of my ground cloth, hopping into my slippers, and clambering up onto the line in time for my selfies. Once my camera had done its work, I’d cross a few more times till I was tired, hop down onto the tarp, slide back into my boots, and check to see if any of my shots had turned out. Reposition, reset, and repeat. Yes, yes, obsessed photographer. That’s me.
All in all, the snowline was a lot of fun. Being outside in the sunshine and crisp breezes was delightful. Like the waterline, the presence of snow (and my desire to stay out of it) added a level of mental challenge that I had not anticipated. Though my first several Chongo mounts were aborted, I found my rhythm in spite of wobbles and only fell off once—no face plant, just straight up to my knees after a shaky mount.
Other than the trails at the edges for setup and the ground cloth area for mounts and dismounts, (and those two leg holes), I managed to keep the snow around the middle of the line pristine and unbroken.
Rope walking often allows me to feel like I'm walking through the sky, and certainly adding a sleek blanket of deep snow added to the illusion of walking on the clouds.
Last month I posted that I’ve been striving to embrace the season more. According to a quite talented, but sadly unidentified epigrammatist, “To appreciate the beauty of a snow flake, it is necessary to stand out in the cold.“ Well, last Saturday the snow was deep, the day was a lovely mid-winter warm (33 degrees), the sun was shining through hazy skies, and my slackline withdrawal had reached unacceptable levels, so I decided to risk face-planting in the wet white and set up my slackline.
The cold necessitated some extra preparation and gear: a pair of Zemgear minimalist slippers and a white Tyvek ground cloth for a changing and staging area.
Of course, the photographer in me wanted a photo op, and I had to get creative to find angles and shots in the snow. I got really adept at finding unusual locations for my flexi-mini tripod, setting the time delay on my camera, clomping along at a gallop in my winter boots (made overlarge by the lack of thick socks), kicking off said oversized boots at the edge of my ground cloth, hopping into my slippers, and clambering up onto the line in time for my selfies. Once my camera had done its work, I’d cross a few more times till I was tired, hop down onto the tarp, slide back into my boots, and check to see if any of my shots had turned out. Reposition, reset, and repeat. Yes, yes, obsessed photographer. That’s me.
All in all, the snowline was a lot of fun. Being outside in the sunshine and crisp breezes was delightful. Like the waterline, the presence of snow (and my desire to stay out of it) added a level of mental challenge that I had not anticipated. Though my first several Chongo mounts were aborted, I found my rhythm in spite of wobbles and only fell off once—no face plant, just straight up to my knees after a shaky mount.
Other than the trails at the edges for setup and the ground cloth area for mounts and dismounts, (and those two leg holes), I managed to keep the snow around the middle of the line pristine and unbroken.
Rope walking often allows me to feel like I'm walking through the sky, and certainly adding a sleek blanket of deep snow added to the illusion of walking on the clouds.
