MARCH 8, 2025 – With the tilt of the North Pole moving toward the spring equinox and daytime temps rising into the 40s and 50s Fahrenheit, last Tuesday’s snow is not long for this world. Given the online ski report I read last night, I decided to race up to the Red Cabin this morning and ski for a couple of hours on the American Birkebeiner Trail—the best point-to-point x-c ski trail (skate and classic) in North America.
I didn’t slap my skis onto the snow until just past 1:00—about two hours past the optimal hour, given the rising temperature and abundant sunshine. On the other hand, no other skiers were on the trail running north from the Fish Hatchery Park trailhead toward the south end of the Birkie Trail, a mere 10-minute drive from the Red Cabin. During my nearly two-hour outing, I didn’t see a single other human being—on skis or otherwise. Fortunately, the course had been groomed after last week’s blizzard. Given the moisture content of the snow, it would’ve been impossible to ski through had it not been groomed. Nevertheless, the snow had the consistency of compressed mashed potatoes, and since I hadn’t waxed, my caloric burn rate was extraordinarily high for the modest distance I logged.
Not so many years ago, I would’ve found this state of affairs—limited glide per stride—frustrating if not downright unacceptable. Today, however, I felt no need or desire to break any speed records. Instead, I took full advantage of the situation and reveled in nature’s gift of solitude. In contemplation of spring and summer ahead, I imagined my ski poles as oars. With each stroke I moved my one-man rowing shell along the shore, ever mindful of nature’s beauty along the way.
The weather was gorgeous, and in league with the sun, the trees along my route turned the undulating snow-covered canvas into a gallery of sundials. The white pine stands north of “Bitch Hill” were in all their glory. They beckoned me to stop and gaze at them, stirring in the occasional light breeze. I did so. Why not? I was in no rush. Of course, I took several group portraits by which I could later admire these kings of the forest. Breathing deep the fresh, pine-scented air, I then turned around and skied up the big hill, which in reality isn’t as high “St. Moritz” back home.
The annual Birkebeiner Race was held two weeks ago. Thousands of skiers from around the world took part. Eight times I’d skied the 50-km ski marathon, but in my old-er age, I have no desire to compete against 10,000 skiers—which means against 20,000 ski poles and 20,000 skis, as well. I much prefer the solitude on a day such as today, far from the madding crowd and any sign of it. This is not to suggest that I don’t enjoy good company, but given the constant bombardment of noise, dictates, demands, voices, messaging, and imperatives to which we subject ourselves, I find that “alone time” surrounded by nature has a restorative effect on body, mind, and soul.
Upon my return to the frozen lake, I took a hike along the path to the far end of Björnholm, then back through the tree garden. More solitude—as this side of the earth turned away from the smiling sun. By the time I returned to the cabin, I realized how much the earlier ski outing had demanded of my endurance. I was ready for rare nap—in anticipation of losing an hour overnight thanks to the beginning of daylight savings time . . .
Zzzzzzzz.
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© 2025 by Eric Nilsson
