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Snow Drought

© Karen E. Lynn

“Snowmobile races cancelled due to lack of snow.” I read the message board propped up next to a lone burger stand on route 202 in Granby, Massachusetts. Not only was there any snow on the ground, I had read the sign while coasting on my Independent Fabrication cyclocross bike. It was January and I was out for a bicycle ride. The temperature was 55 degrees. After my ride, I considered setting up beach chairs in my back yard and sunning myself. I decided on a shower instead, but when I read the sign, it struck me as sad. One of the reasons I love New England is for the change of seasons. I like having a foot or so of snow on the ground during the wintertime. I love a brisk walk on a clear cold night with the moonlight reflecting off the snowfields. But this winter, there is no snow, or at least, very little so far.

In western Massachusetts, normal snow levels for the season are low, with less than a foot of snow falling so far this winter. Average snowfall amounts for a typical winter in western Massachusetts is about 4 feet. There’s still time for a good blizzard, but right now, things look bleak from my backyard.

In the meantime, fair weather hikers who shun the cold and snow have fewer excuses to hibernate. Trails aren’t packed down with inches of ice and snow, and you don’t need snowshoes or crampons to get out in the mountains for an hour or two. One of the most enjoyable things about hiking in the winter is that the lack of vegetation affords a different visual perspective of trails you once thought you knew. You get a better understanding of the topography of the land. I often find myself straying from the trail during the winter. Higher visibility entices me deeper into the woods to explore. It’s a great way to make an old familiar trail more interesting.

A side effect of the dry weather is no muddy trails. Some hikers will rejoice in the lack of mud. For me, this is a little disappointing. I sort of like getting dirty. Must have been having a sandbox as big as a swimming pool when I was a kid. I got to make a lot of mud pies. My younger brother and I would fill the sandbox with water and go swimming, much to the horror of our mother. During the spring thaw, I come in from a hike, bare legs streaked with mud like some sort of tribal ritual. My boots seem to breed chunks of goopy, oozing earth, and marking floors. Hey, some people pay a lot of money at swanky spas to get covered in mud. My method is just a little more hands on.

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