Gifts of the Winter Trail: Leg 2

2026 Full Circle Semester Blog #3

A Book of Verses underneath the
Bough,
A jug of wine, a Loaf of Bread—
and Thou
Beside me singing in the Wilder
-ness—
Oh, Wilderness were Paradise
now!

VERSE XII of “The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam”

We made it! Again! Alive! We’d say it was “against all odds”, but really, they were stacked in our favor. We knew what we had to do – stay on top of our stuff, and not let the exhaustion get its foot in the door. Much to everyone’s surprise, we actually did it – in the face of conditions and days ten times harder than leg one. You remember when we started talking about circles and ruts and how all our wrinkly wrinkles in trail life would get ironed smooth? Well, after spending a lot of time and elbow grease digging new pits to get stuck in and steaming our routines, we got them down. We actually got enough sleep on this leg, and every day seemed more than manageable. If you had told us this was possible two weeks ago, we probably would have laughed at the concept.

The discomforts we mentioned last blog are now routine. It’s cold? Go figure, dude – it’s winter. Gotta poop? Just do it – what’s there to whine about when the snowballs are this good? Wiping your butt with sticks will never be as nice as 4 ply, but we’ve just toughened up a bit… and started stashing like it’s COVID.

The tent feels roomier now, and we have figured out how to not burn the snow we’re melting for water. Yeah, leaps and bounds of progress. The upcoming three week leg seems more than manageable – we have time to ourselves, and a schedule that actually accommodates what we’ve been working for. We ski fast now: able to cover over 25k in a day without too much effort, and without our feet exploding.

The comforts are starting to sneak in as well – we have free time now, because of our efficiency. Hot chocolate in the tent on layover days, which are about twice as frequent, and tent spas before you start smelling truly horrendous.

On top of all this, we are really learning. We know the forest, the weather, and the land. In making ourselves comfortable with the familiarity of routine, we have carved ourselves a home (and about a million failed spoons).

So what I’m saying, I guess, is don’t worry. We’ve got this in the 13 heavy bags we’re lugging around together. While our wilderness might still be just short of paradise, we are drinking (Chaga, not wine) and breaking bread together, singing and reading poetry underneath the bough.

HISTORY
We are skiing through history. We pass ghost towns (remnants of lumber barons making their fortunes), root cellar remains (dug and abandoned). We move through mountain passes, historic trails and routes that led to the establishment of the National Forest. Each slope slides us further into the story of the land we inhabit, and we get to learn our route into the future from the steps of the past. Native American practices and colonial errors show us what to pursue, and what not to – we get to connect with the land they inhabited before us in a way they inadvertently decided.

We’ve learned an in depth history of New England, going through its tectonic movements, geological developments, historic events leading up to the first colonial landing, its agricultural practices and rapid deforestation.

WEATHER
Clouds race by in the rapidly brightening sky, galloping mares-tails (Cirrus clouds) blown by southeastern gusts. The horizon glows a brilliant blood red.

The moon is high in the sky, surrounded by hazy stars and wispy clouds. It sits in the middle of a huge ring of white light, a halo glowing with lunar brilliance.

The sky is clear and the air is still. The tops of trees are covered with crystals of frost, and the smoke from the stove pipe crawls along the ground.

A storm is brewing.

We have been learning to recognize weather signs! A couple of them are described above – the moon halo, which we call a moon dog, is created because of light refracting off moisture hanging in the air (the same is true for red morning skies – moisture in the west, where our weather comes from, usually means precipitation). Tree frost is the same – when there is moisture in the air and a low pressure system moving in while temperatures are below freezing, frost forms on trees. Low hanging smoke is another low pressure system indicator- clear skies with no wind indicate a pattern change, usually from cold and windy to precipitation.

We have also been learning old stories that help us read the winds and their associated clouds. When the northwest wind blows, he blows cold, chasing out the warmer southern winds and the weather they bring!

ECOLOGY
The woods are incredibly comfortable when you can walk through them and name all the trees. Greeting Birch, Ash, Beech, Maple, Spruce and Hemlock alike, they become familiar faces in the wall of bark and needles. We make twig drawings and do field observations of our individually studied tree in an effort to really understand its characteristics. We sketch the patterns in the bark, tracing the texture of our own skin, making connections between sylvan and self. We try to live with the forest, not simply in it: observing the many intricacies and weaving ourselves within its complicated tapestry. We are beginning to translate the language of the forest, and hold conversation with it by asking questions and listening patiently for answers.

DAY 1 – TUESDAY, FEBRUARY 17th, 2026
11 kilometers

We left our layover on the road, walking six kilometers to the snowmobile trail we would be skiing along for the rest of the day while snow gently fell. Stopping along the way to learn about some settlement and colonial history and study our trees, we took a break to destress right before climbing our huge hill of the day, rocketing down it, bushwhacking a kilometer, and crossing a frozen pond. We camped there, on the west side of the pond, and waited for sunrise.

DAY 2 – WEDNESDAY, FEBRUARY 18th, 2026
10 kilometers

We met Chris on trail today! He waltzed into the tent during breakfast, singing as he opened the flap. He brought us a turkey crop his wife had saved from a roadkill she was processing, and we looked at what it had been eating, perfectly preserved. Some really hands on biology. We walked another two kilometers, crossed the Baker river, and snagged some reading material from a free library at a defunct gas station. We put our skis on there, and passing an airfield and lumbering warehouse, skied till we found Patch Brook! Climbing a really steep hill, we followed Patch Brook to Batchelder Brook, and set up camp by it in a beautiful clearing.

DAY 3 – THURSDAY, FEBRUARY 19th, 2026
0 kilometers

We had a layover at Batchelder Brook, a day of rest to destress and prep for the next days of travel. Meditating by the brook in the morning, we split wood for the afternoon then bathed (Hallelujah!), got an ecology lesson from Chris, and studied twig anatomy!

DAY 4 – FRIDAY, FEBRUARY 20th, 2026
11.5 kilometers

We started the day climbing a ridiculously steep hill, climbing 700 feet up to an incredible view of the the mountains around us from the peak. The slope on the other side was steep and fast, and we sped down it to cross route 118 and climb again- only 600 feet this time! After another downhill stretch, we followed some moose tracks to camp!

DAY 5 – SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 21st, 2026
15 kilometers

We climbed beautiful hills, following the Pemigewasset on a decommissioned railway, crossed the river, resupplied food, and skied up Tripoli road and into the White Mountains! We broke camp by an abandoned cellar hole, dubbing the camp “Old Settler’s Camp”

DAY 6 – SUNDAY, FEBRUARY 22nd, 2026
0 kilometers

We spent the day skiing without packs! It was awesome to be able to rush down slopes and enjoy some of the hard won and little enjoyed ability we’ve been practicing every day for weeks. Chris told us the story of New England, the history of the colonists arrival to America. The rest of the day was spent doing our familiar routines- bathing, chopping wood, and just taking a moment to breathe.

DAY 7 – MONDAY, FEBRUARY 23rd, 2026
10 kilometers

We started the day breaking trail up a deeply snowed in path. Fat flakes fell – it took us hours to go a single kilometer. We rotated the leader, because treading through the deep powder was like walking through mud. Oliver put the skis on, and pushing ahead, cleared a path up the mountain. It was 3 kilometers of steep uphill in these conditions- slow, slow going. We finally broke onto a plateau, and out onto East Pond (see East Pond).

Alex and Rohan broke off from the group without packs to break the next stretch, trudging up the next 3 kilometers, then back down to rejoin the end of the group. At the top, we took a quick break for water, but losing light, we headed down the opposite side, a breakneck steep section. The frontrunners found camp in an ancient spruce forest, filled with trees easily 200 years old. Kurt, a friends of Alex’s, showed up with some fresh fruit (far better than the carbon soup we ate that night), and we had a wonderful evening.

DAY 8 – TUESDAY, FEBRUARY 24th, 2026
0 kilometers

Jae joined us at this layover!
We all taught lessons on our practices, and learned how to carve spoons.

DAY 9 – WEDNESDAY, FEBRUARY 25th, 2026
8 kilometers

After a fiasco at the creek, we descend further to the Kanc (Kancamangus Highway), and ski along its shoulder till we reach the parking lot of Hancock Notch. We pick up more food there, making sure our packs are nice and heavy for our ascent. The snow isn’t deep at the beginning – it’s been packed fairly recently, and we make good progress. Then we reach the intersection- and we climb. For more info, see “Hancock Notch”. At the top, we make camp in deep snow under a beautiful peak.

DAY 10 – THURSDAY, FEBRUARY 26th, 2026
8 kilometers

We descended Hancock Notch, breaking once again through deep snow and on what can’t really be described as a “trail”. After hours, we popped out of wilderness and onto groomed snowmobile tracks, and got onto a nice bog – the moon that night was ringed in a giant halo. We set camp there, and slept.

DAY 11 – FRIDAY, FEBRUARY 27th, 2026
0 kilometers

We had a layover today, and our solo missions; we were cut loose to travel with our own agenda.

DAY 12- SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 28th, 2026
26 kilometers

We broke camp by ourselves- our first independent travel portion! We skied the four kilometers to meet out instructors, had a brief history exploration in the abandoned lumbering town of Livermore, then skied another three to the railroad. Getting on the tracks, we made a good five kilometers of progress before we switched to booting the roadside. We sang and danced and waved to passing cars, got photographed for a local newspaper, then finally made it to Jackson!

DAY 13 – SUNDAY, MARCH 1st, 2026
0 kilometers

We have reached our destination, and finally, we rest. Bathrooms and beds, heated indoor rooms- what luxury! We spent the day writing and preparing for our evening reception from Unity Works. A huge huge thanks to them, for all they’ve done- and especially to Ted and Nancy, for opening their house to us and putting up with our shenanigans. We are forever grateful.

–

L.O.D/N.O.D
As the second leg of the journey begins, we start to accrue more individual and communal responsibility. One way this change is put into practice is through the introduction of two new titles: Leader of the Day [Lawd! (L.O.D.)] and Navigator of the Day (N.O.D!) In preparation for each day of travel, a LOD and NOD is selected from the group. The leader of the day takes on the road of the organizer, coordinator and manager. They direct the course of the day, along with the instructors, smoothing out the flow, providing constant feedback and encouragement, and making decisions on behalf of the collective. The navigator of the day leads the travel, carries the relevant maps, translates directions to the group, and gives timely updates on the progress made.

HANCOCK NOTCH – A story from the Wednesday, the 25th
The climb starts as six inches of powder on gently rising hills, but quickly turns to unpacked and unmaintained trails- snow three and a half feet deep, small spruces bowed heavy under the crushing weight of winter. We sweat through all our layers, but are still boiling beneath out rain jackets. We drag ourselves up this stretch – breathing ragged and hair full of snow. Hours and hours go by, the group wearily making meter after meter of progress. We axe through trees fallen on a trail that threatens to slip off the mountain side, and dig our way under snowbanks. As we brush past hanging boughs, loads of snow drop down our necks. We climb and climb, tired and slow, but will not let the mountain break us. The trees loom high above us, and the beauty of our effort is the only thing that pushes us towards the inevitable peak.

EAST POND – A story from the Tuesday, the 24th
The awful beauty of green needled peaks jutting into a gale torn and snow strewn sky rips through us almost as thoroughly as the wind that howls across the pond surface, spinning flakes into tsunamis and tornadoes that dance into the dense tree line. Our faces to the storm, we smile with blinding joy at the angry skies. This is truly heaven on earth.

SWIMMING CAMP — A story from Thursday, the 26th
Halting in their trail, the group gathers in brief respite from the ever climbing trail, and collectively weigh their options: to continue down the unbroken trail into dusk, risking injury, or make camp in a small clearing to their west, the opulent boughs surrounding it beckoning them into a motherly embrace. The travelers choose to accept the gifts offered to them, and gleefully fall into chorus to stomp out the ground of their new home. Once satisfied that the compacted snow has re-solidified into a satisfactory foundation, a few warily remove their skis and take their first tentative steps- coming to regret it nearly immediately as they sink to their waists, floor disappearing beneath them, their stomachs flip flopping at the temporary absence of gravity – whoomph – four feet of snow swallowing them from below. Soon, half a dozen sets of heads and shoulders can be seen floating above the snow, hands grasping for handholds, legs pedaling desperately out of sight. The snow swimmers head for the tent, stove lit and warming the dwelling in preparation for the cold and weary. But as they paddle nearer, noxious smoke pours from the tent and out into the crisp night air. Gagging, coughing bouts quickly infect the inhabitants of the campsite, who take in gulping breaths of the oxygen outside the canvas walls. The culprit: a worn glove accidentally left in the glowing titanium pipe once lit, slowly burning to withered charcoal fingers. The twisted black hand is banished to the cold, left forlorn and alone in the empty abyss of winter, while the travelers rest at last, breathing the clean air of the tent.

SOLO — A story from Friday, the 27th
For the first time in weeks, the opportunity of solitude is offered to the students. A designated period for just being alone with their own thoughts, distinct from the voices of others. They break off in different directions for a 2 hour solo, during which they track through new snow, their ski tracks making fresh furrows beneath the evergreen branches, light fires, cook bannock on sharpened sticks, reflect, meditate and journal. Some savor the silence, careful not to contaminate it with the sound of their own voice. Others take the opportunity to listen to themselves, speaking aloud words they’ve held too tightly to, attempting to answer questions burning deep within. But these young wandering souls cannot answer these questions on their own, and so conversations are held with the forest: the trees, moss, wind and sky. Our own hearts are much too small to hold within them all we are asked to, but Mother Earth lends an eagerly listening ear, willing and ready to make room for our roving thoughts and existential fears. And perhaps, if you listen for a reply, the knowledge of many lifetimes will be granted you- ancient wisdom of the woods.

I asked “why am I here” and the trees answered “to live.” I sneezed, and the forest said “bless you.”

CHARLIE’S REFLECTION:
We had more than two hours of solo time on the land today. Two hours fully for ourselves, no agenda, just me and the earth. Our instructions were to open our minds to the earth, God, or whatever (if any) bigger spiritual voices you might feel, and to listen. For me, that has always been the forest. I immediately started talking like I do in the woods behind my house when I need to process emotions. It felt amazing to have that space to fully form those hard to come by thoughts without being in the middle of eating dinner, skiing, or just being surrounded by people. I spent most of my time wandering slowly around, in no real rush at all. Just being in the woods, with the trees, and the wind, and the quiet sounds. Coming back, I felt like a new person, refreshed and light and free. I found myself back in the world.

JULE ON SIT SPOT:
Here I sit, next to my fire on my sleeping pad under a beautiful pine tree who looks different than the ones I have been seeing. It is branching out from the bottom and the bark is smooth and light. I just made bannok on a stick, like I have so many times before. It was quick and tasty and I even put some raisins in it from my day food that Ella gave to me. I feel really good – Mt. Cardigan to my west is leaving me in awe, and I’m grateful for this time by myself. My fire is roaring right now and I’m just sitting here in my fleece because I’m so warm. It’s crazy to me that I can just do this now, gather firewood, make a fire, dry my clothes on it, and live. It makes me feel really secure in myself and the world to become more confident in those simple and essential survival skills.

TAIO’S MOOSE STORY:
As I’m going, skiing along then stopping, then skiing a little further before stopping once more, moving as if I was a deer, I noticed the movement of legs through trees. Silently, I began looking closely, thinking at first that it was another student. Normally I’d holler to them, but since it’s a solo wander I didn’t want to disturb their peace. Then I noticed how long these legs are, darker up top, but whiter around the knee down, and hey it looks like another set of legs too, and is that a darkness in the brush? The realization sets in – I think that’s a moose. Uncertainty still lingers as it stops moving, blending into the world around it. My heart started pounding as I crept closer, careful to not make too much noise and scare it. The closer I got, the more unbelievable it seemed – a moose! A good sized cow, no antlers, and at this point, no more than 50 feet away. As I followed its tracks, closing the distance, I could see its large ears moving around every which way as it ripped the buds off saplings.

KATE ON CHENEY BROOK:
I think that Cheney Brook is one of my favorite live over camps, and am glad we get to stay here. The views from the pond were absolutely stunning at midday with the bright snow and the sun, and there was a quieter beauty later in the day as the sun drifted away and the mountains cast long shadows.

NOAH ON CAR PEOPLE:
Walking through the snow, falling and getting back up, my spirit was drained. My feet were heavy from the weight on my back. All I could hear was the sound of my steps. In my thoughts, my mind was surrounded by defeat from our trek. I see something ahead, so I yell “Car!” The first red car passes and I see an elderly woman at the wheel. I smile, just slightly. I was tired of greeting every person who passed. Then as the red car slowly drove by, I saw a truck. In the truck was a younger man in his late 20’s. For a few steps, all I could hear was my feet sinking deeper into the snow and into the piled drifts, the sound of engines and my own breath. As I sluggishly peered into this truck, I saw a man lift his right hand, forming a fist, cheering through the tinted glass. For that moment, that cheer was the loudest thing we could hear. It made me want to dance, twirl and run. I wanted to sing my way to camp. In these few seconds that made me the happiest person alive, and he will never know that.

CONCLUSION

Come, fill the Cup, and in the fire
of Spring
Your Winter-garment of Repent
-ance fling;
The Bird of Time has but a
little way
To flutter — and the Bird is on the
Wing

VERSE VII of “The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam”

It’s March- that’s a spring month. Maybe not officially, but it doesn’t have the wintry ring that “December”, “January” or the atrociously spelled “February” have. It’s a month of thawing – and that is terrifying. What are we supposed to ski on when the weather gets above forty? All we ask is that you all join us in prayers that the snow will stick around, if only for a couple more weeks. That’s all we need – just three.

Don’t get us wrong- we are so, so ready for spring. Warmth all day, and sun, and actual dirt? Golly, what a treat. A little delayed gratification would be nice though. We’ve been watching the bird of time rapidly approach, as shoots pop up at the bases of trees. Let’s just hope it halts in its flight on a branch to sing for a minute, and gives us a chance to slide, rather than boot to victory. Can’t wait to shed our winter garments, though – as soon as it hits a consistent forty-five, the guns are coming out – and they’ll be bulging.

To you and yours, from us and ours, your scribes, 

Anna and Rohan