Cursing in the woods

When a skier curses in the woods, does it make a sound?

I pondered that question as the sled I was hauling flopped over for the umpteenth time heading up a long lousy hill on the Inside North Fork Road recently.

See, I got this bright idea that I'd ski up the road to Howe Lake and spend a couple of days up there.

The weather was supposed to suck, but then again, the weather pretty much always sucks in February.

But the weather wasn't a problem. It wasn't too cold and the sun was even trying to come out.

The problem was the sled was top heavy and I knew it was top heavy but I was trying to drag it along anyway. Flop. Curse. Flop. Curse. Flop.

And so it went for miles until I gave up and put my pack on instead on strapping it to the sled.

The tradeoff was immediate: The sled stopped flopping, but I had to lug the pack. Fortunately, the pack wasn't too heavy. Maybe 25 pounds. Most of the weight was still in the sled.

I was looking for owls, or at least hoping to hear some. But from Fish Creek to almost the Howe Lake trailhead I saw virtually nothing. One set of marten tracks and a long off tock-tock-tock of a woodpecker.

My theory is that the Robert Fire just burned too hot through this stretch. There is little mosaic burn and virtually no cover in winter. No cover, in winter at least, generally means no birds. There's also a lot of snow. The snow is like corn kernels. There is no base and I when I stopped to make some adjustments I stepped off the skis up to my waist in snow.

Snow that deep also did a real good job of covering any new growth.

And then things changed drastically. The burn became a little more mosaic, a good mix of burned and live trees right at the Howe Lake Trailhead and Presto! Birds.

There were a couple of different species of woodpeckers and a host of chickadees and kinglets.

Darkness was encroaching soon and I knew I couldn't make the lake so I made a detour in the trees and set up a quick camp. Supper was three Zingers and some hot decaf tea.

The snow was absurdly deep here. Without skis I floundered around, hung my food bag and went to bed.

I've done this winter camping thing before in a three season tent and it's a big mistake unless you enjoy being cold and wet, so this time I thought I was properly armed with a top of the line four season Bibler tent.

It's a great tent, but my sleeping bag, which was supposed to be a zero degree bag was woefully inadequate. I was up most of the night even though I had on every piece of clothing I brought with me, including a polypropylene long underwear, a fleece sweatshirt, a wool sweater and my winter coat and hat. Plus, I was on a sleeping pad. I did fall asleep a few times, so it wasn't a complete waste.

I even had a pleasant little dream about a vacation at some hot springs.

Comfort seeps in the strangest places.

At any rate, dawn came soon enough and I did a few more tests in the daylight to see if I could work a little more comfort out of my setup, but to no avail.

I heard and saw no owls, but then again, owls aren't something you can expect. They're something you hope for and if one shows up in your life, well, all the better.

I had no choice but to bag the trip or spend another cold night in the woods, so I fired up the stove and made some hot oatmeal and listened to the coyotes yip and yap not too far away. Well, I'm fairly certain they were coyotes, they didn't sound deep or loud enough to be wolves.

Glacier always has its tradeoffs.

And coyotes aren't a bad serenade as you sip your morning tea. They make for a truly unforgettable breakfast.

Chris Peterson is the editor of the Hungry Horse News.