I’ve finally embraced winter, in some ways. I guess it would be somewhat of a shame to spend the entire season in a place where the mountains covered in their winter coats beckon you to play just as much as the sun-drenched boulders and cliffs on their dry ground. And after months of the same routine: wake up, brew coffee, make breakfast, leave the house by 9am, drive to the gorge, and climb climb climb. Six pitches minimum, feeling your fingers grow stronger, pulling on deep pockets and shallow crimps, making small technical moves and bigger dynamic ones, surprising yourself when you clip the chains, in elation. It’s like a drug, sport climbing is! Easy access, simple glory.
And just as I was hitting my stride, February happened. And the snow and the rain came pouring out of the sky, and the skiers and snowboarders whooped in joy as I looked up at the same white stuff and felt my spirits plummet. What was I going to do? Without this perfectly curated routine that I was so used to, that I kept seeing such progress from. I had so much left to do!
And so the month went by and I relinquished control. And got to experience some beautiful sights as I was forced into the white for want of something to do. And I’m happy, in a way, because if it had been sunny and 60 degrees on my birthday I’d be out climbing like every other day, but instead we skied out to hot springs on what has now become one of my most memorable experiences of the year. I got the hang of cross country skiing, feeling the satisfying swoosh and glide of the simple motion, out in the White Mountains I’ve always looked at driving down the 395.
Sometimes it’s a blessing in disguise — being forced to adjust, and take the opportunity to grow in different ways.
