When the snow starts to fly in the mountains, the woods become a magical place. The trees glisten like Christmas decorations from God Himself. With all this beauty though, comes a risk; cold. At first, the cold is refreshing and it actually feels good. The nip on your skin is like an invitation to enjoy the forest without the heat, bugs, and the crowds of summer. But when the temps continue to fall, the welcome feeling becomes a lack of feeling. The sharp needles of pain on exposed skin come and go with the wind. Only one thing can solve this problem; fire.
The hike starts at dawn, the snow has stopped and so has everything else. The snow quiets all sound to a dead silence. Every sound that is close enough to make an impression on your ears is sharp and vivid. You begin to notice that the snow itself has a sound. As it falls and hits the snow that fell before it, you could just imagine the sound of light breathing. Just an exhale in the farthest points of your hearing. Your feet can go between making a sound that seemingly echoes off of every surface to being as quiet as the feet of a stalking bobcat.
The clouds break and you can catch the final colors of the sunrise. The yellows, the orange, and red so red that it makes a cardinal jealous. The colors reflect off the snow and instantly blind you. The light bounces off the snow directly into your eyes. Simple enough for the well prepared hiker, just slip on the summer sunglasses. But the clearing is just what you wanted. Now the overlook is in view. As you reach the rocks, the mountains seem to unroll like a carpet. The mountains are covered in trees that would rival the thickest jungles and they run on for a hundred miles. These mountains make the great works of architecture and painting look like LEGO bricks and stick figures.
While heading back down the trail, gazing at the trees stretching into the sky, the mood strikes to wander onto another trail. After all, the sky is clear, and only a light breeze blows the snow off the limbs. The red sky in the morning has not even crossed your mind.
The new trail heads downhill along a stream. The cold, dry air sucks the water out of your body as quick as any hot day in July. Problem being, you dont even realize it. When you finally realize that you are thirsty you stop at a spring that has managed to stay thawed to refill. One sip tells you to spit it out! The overwhelming taste of gunpowder and rotten meat is the sign for a sulfur spring. Thankfully a sweet-water spring is just around the corner. You stop and refill the water yet again and you are on your way. Now the winds have picked up, but you cant tell it. The hollow has kept you sheltered, but youre going uphill now.
After cresting the hill you realize how much the wind has picked up. But a little further wont hurt. After all, you cant be more than five miles from the trailhead. After another hour of walking the wind has whipped up into a storm. Snow begins to be mixed in with the driving winds. Every snowflake that at first were welcomed sights become small projectiles stinging your face until you cant feel them anymore. Now you finally turn around and walk back across the mountain.
By the time you reach the bottom of the hollow, the snow is coming in hard. This would be tolerable if it was not for the fact that you are now soaked to the bone and shivering. Looking around everything is now covered in snow and ice. The frantic search for fuel is on. You begin looking under the sheltering braches of the massive hemlocks, behind the mighty walls of the oaks, pulling the paper thin bark off a birch, and under any downed log. Taking out a worn but very sharp knife, you begin to carve off thin strips of the wood. You take the time to appreciate the greyed blades and smooth scales. The companion that has followed you into the woods so many times may well save your life today. After exposing the inner wood, you touch it to your cheek to check for moisture. The wood feels smooth and warm. Not what you would expect for a day when the temperatures havent climbed out of the single digits. It can only mean one thing, dry wood!
With the fuel and kindling procured, you need to find somewhere to take shelter. For now two large boulders will work. Clearing the snow, you construct the fire lay. Again taking the knife and carving small slivers of wood so thin, you can almost read through them. When the material is prepared, the only step left is ignition. The same numbing cold that affects the nerves in fingers, affects the fuel in lighters. Several futile strikes later, the lighter is abandoned for a weatherproof striker. Throwing showers of sparks like a firework on Independence Day, this readily ignites the tinder you gathered. The fire climbs up the wood, struggling to ignite the wet fuel. But for the first time for hours, the cold is kept at bay, and the water in your clothes begins to dry.
The snow has slowed enough that your wet and cold feet can make the three mile slog back to the trailhead. Over miles of forests and rough terrain, the feet that carried you with confidence the morning prior now slip on the ice and ache from the days labor. Descending for the final time the only thing you can hope to see comes into view; a vehicle. Climbing in, the day is over and the fire is out, but you are again safe and warm.
Benjamin Harris
2-25-15
Psalm 147:15-18
I live in the suburb of Mt Keira and so after a few questions to ascertain where this fire might be I transferred the call through to the comms centre.
