April 11, 1968
In spite of the sunny, warmish days, and the appearance of early spring flowers in the valleys, winter is not quite over. On the high trails and in the mountain meadows patches of snow still linger, and the cold nights and chilly ground still caution the timid wildflowers against emerging too soon from their cozy retreats just beneath the protecting surface of the ground.
Always before one joyful season ends we find ourselves looking eagerly forward to the next. The snow season with all its fun still has several good weeks to go; yet, despite exciting weekends of skiing already planned, I catch myself yearning for the sunny, flowery days just ahead when the trails that lead off into the “singing hills,” where those rare, shy wildflowers lie hidden, are dry and warm again.
Feeble old winter is becoming erratic and flighty as vigorous young spring comes elbowing its irresistible way on to the seasonal stage. Soon the old gentleman will be grumpily retreating in full flight, back into the far north for a long period of rejuvenation. Then when the sunny summery season is beginning to feel the wear and tear of ministering faithfully to an appreciative audience, back will come blustery old winter huffing, puffing, and bluffing his way onto the scene again with renewed vigor after his prolonged retirement.
To take advantage of the vanishing snow to the bitter end, winter sports fans have to pick and choose in these waning winter days. Even then rapidly changing conditions, due to the conflict of the strengthening sun and the no longer reliable snow, or a desperate resurgence of winter when least expected, can change what should have been a happy choice of playground into a dismal disappointment – as we were reminded only last weekend.
Our last ski club meeting of the season was held last Saturday night in an old pear orchard mansion in Medford. At these meetings, besides the usual business and entertainment, various plans are made for skiing activities in the days ahead, usually on weekends. Sometimes a ski tour for the whole club will be arranged, or smaller groups may decide to take off on their own.
This time, as no mass arrangement was made, my friend Dean decided to take his family on a ski tour in to 4-mile Lake on Sunday, and invited me to go along. This is one of our favorite tours, with modest ups and downs along the 6-mile trail and such marvelous scenery that the trip can be made over and over without ever becoming less of a thrill.
I stayed at Dean’s place that night following the club meeting, and next morning after breakfast we prepared to take off for a day of fun on our x-c skis. The weather was perfect, temperature just right, sunshine and innocent-looking clouds playing tag in a friendly-appearing sky. Marcia put up a big tasty lunch; we loaded up our gear and took off.
Remember what I said about the tug-of-war between spring and winter and the unreliability of the snow and weather at this time of year? As we approached Lake of the Woods and our take-off point for 4-mile Lake, 75 miles or so from Grants Pass, the clouds appeared to be winning the game of tag with the sunny spots in the sky and a light snowfall had begun.
Arriving at take-off point, we found a cold wind blowing and the snowflakes increasing in size and number. Bravely we unracked our skis and proceeded to wax up – with the wrong wax, thanks to the rapidly changing snow condition. We needed to put on a harder wax for the colder snow, but with no shelter and the storm increasing in intensity we couldn’t make the wax stick on the snow-splattered skis. This was one of those rare occasions when everything that happens is the unexpected – and not always good.
Finally we decided it was time to eat, so we drove back to Grants Pass and ate our picnic lunch – in the big, snug Doty trailer home.
It isn’t very often that capricious fate can parry every thrust you make and force you finally to retreat. But, as Dean philosophically and cheerfully announced as we turned-tail for home, “You can’t win ‘em all!”
