The Snowball Effect
am standing at the base of what might be the most understated little mountain in New York. Owls Head Mountain is well-known by the locals, but a bit of a secret to the rest of the world. Signs to announce the presence of a hiking trail are notably absent. Years ago, we learned of its existence from a friend who once owned a cottage in the area. We are forever grateful to him as this is one of the most charming places to snowshoe in the winter.
A string of snowmobilers zooms by waving to us in acknowledgment. Gingerly, we step onto their hardened tracks listening for latecomers behind us, ready to sidestep if another should materialize. We must share their path for a few meters before finding the opening into the forest. At the trailhead on a large tree, someone has strategically screwed a crafty depiction of an owl’s head. No words are needed to let us know we have arrived.
Instantly, I walk into what looks like an immense ballroom decked out for a winter carnival. Everywhere, ornamental clumps of sticky snow of varying sizes sit on boughs of evergreens, cling to stumps, and overhang precariously above us in the canopy. Thin immature trees pierce massive frozen balls, miraculously supporting them. This snowball effect is a magical display of nature at its finest. Try as they might, the world’s top decorators could not achieve the same impact on this colossal scale. I am overwhelmed with wonder.
Soon we are slowed by a fallen tree, and we must clamber over it to resume our way. tackle the obstacle by swinging one leg over and then the other, reminiscent of the scissor high jump technique I learned in Junior High gym class but without the jump or the agility of youth. Ahead the hemlocks beckon, a tight-knit group of evergreens laden with snow, parted ever so slightly to allow us passage. I appreciate the contrast of the green needles poking through the pristine whiteness of the snow. It is an aesthetic scene waiting to be painted onto a canvas, or in my case to be photographed.
We emerge from the evergreens into a continuation of the snowball theme. The creek that snakes across the trail is barely visible under the snow but we must watch out for the buried rocks that run alongside it. I can feel my heartbeat accelerating as we begin a gradual climb. It’s been seven months since I’ve climbed a mountain, and I am a little out of practice. Fortunately, this is a great beginner-size mountain to warm up underused muscles.
A slight extension takes us to an abandoned ore mine, a place I enjoy visiting, especially in the winter when its entrance, below a cliff, is partially veiled behind a magnificent curtain of ice. The others humor me as I photograph it from different angles attempting to capture its true essence. I would love to spend more time here and try creative shots, but the community Fire Department’s noon siren is blaring. This startling sound, quite possibly the daily testing of an emergency alerting system, no longer fazes me, but it reminds me that I am hungry and that the steepest part of the hike is yet to come.
Now I must work twice as hard to reach my picturesque lunch spot. My calf muscles strain from the effort of the vertical ascent, and while my mountaineering snowshoes are equipped with heel lifts, I don’t bother to use them for such a short incline. I use my poles for leverage and stamp my snowshoes’ metal teeth into the snow to prevent sliding back. Every few minutes I look up to check my progress and catch my breath. At last, the summit is in sight.
Seated on a picnic blanket in the snow, munching sandwiches and sipping hot apple cider, we gaze at the panorama of mountains before us. We have stood on some of those summits too. I appreciated every step I took to get here: the walk through the snowball art, the forest of evergreens, the detour to the mine with its frozen waterfall, and finally the exquisite view here at the top. There is a clear progression, each scene more beautiful than the previous one, and finally culminating here at the peak. It’s almost as if I were describing a snowball effect using its proper definition.
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