Tracks in Snow — Trailing into Uncertainty
A reverence for the uncertain nature of existence and a reinvigorated appreciation of the mundane
Deep Thoughts
In the winter, there’s an abundance of nature trails around where I live, accessible to anyone with either cross country skis, snowshoes or, more of a recent trend, snow bike.
We have miles worth of scenic trails, tracing lakes and sprawling over rolling hills, reserved primarily for anyone that has the necessary gear and restricting access to those without it —a different qualm for a different day.
Nevertheless, an interesting phenomenon occurs: dozens by the day or hundreds by the week will swarm these trails, walking along beaten paths in their excessively priced snowshoes, seldom straying but to urinate, to adjust straps, or maybe (and inexplicably) hang a bag of dog poop from a branch.
I know it, because I see it, for snow functions like ink upon a map, telling stories that would otherwise go untold.
Now, the fundamental theory behind snow-shoeing is one of necessity — to diffuse surface weight so that the traveler doesn’t have to trudge, knee deep, through the snow.
But in modern recreational practice, there’s really no such necessity. Trails are beaten down to the point that one can probably make it pretty far wearing high heels if they so wished to try.
And that, to me, isn’t so much of a surprise.
In fact, it’s telling of human nature — most will take the path of least resistance.
A small few will carve their own path but stay close by the main route, always keeping it in sight, never straying too far from the comfort of its nearby presence, whether that comfort be physical or psychological.
And then there are the cliché trailblazers, those who are the unwitting targets of Jeep commercials or have some sort of ‘all who wander are not lost’ decal slapped upon their window or spare tire cover.
As tired as I grow tired of the renegade, off-trail trope, I can’t help but find myself in that crowd. And I don’t chock it up to anything other than curiosity, one that has resulted in some pretty close calls with frost bite and bear bite alike.
So off trail I often go, and what I typically find out in the snowy abyss is something I never quite expect to come upon: not only a reverence for uncertainty but a reinvigorated appreciation of the mundane.
Into the Void
The very first step off trail is a deep one, immediately providing the mind with an influx of data to sift through.
Every subsequent step serves to validate, exponentiate or scale said data — why and how is snow finding its way into the boots, and is it worth going back to the car where the gaiters sit, forgotten in the trunk; how sustainable is this pace at this depth of snow and how many times will that strap undo itself; how much better could the higher priced snowshoes really perform.
As steps accumulate, the mind becomes more familiar with the unfamiliar.
No longer does the chosen path lead to a pre-determined point, tried and tested many times over by the countless footsteps that precede.
Now, there is no path.
The mind works towards achieving some semblance of stabilization and certainty while grasping at patterns from the unknown that it now finds itself navigating.
Before long, the regularity of deep steps, deep breathing and of deep thought gives way to a new normal.
This new baseline provokes an immersivity in surroundings — the cold and formidable snow, previously a threat, is now a canvas of sparkling iridescence to be appreciated under an immense sun, which itself seems a little less distant.
More observations are noted — the pulse of the wind as it picks up every few moments only to calm down again; the pine-lined ridge ahead that must certainly contain something of interest; the swirls of scintillating snow twirling across the frozen landscape.
Occasionally and surprisingly, the faint tracks of another rogue snow-shoer may be stumbled upon, prompting a weird kind of thought: time is transcended, as two explorative idiots both had the same ambition, both in one another’s presence while simultaneously apart.
Together in space but not in time.
Though the soft grooves of this other traveler may barely be apparent, having been filled in partially by the latest snowfalls, the mind attaches itself to the comfortable idea that someone was here recently — a fact that proves itself rather loud amidst everything.
A lot of trust is inexplicably thrown onto this person if for no other reason than because they had the same idea — to go explore a peculiar land formation, to find a more remote kind of solace, or to beeline towards the highest peak of a nearby hill.
And, of course, to get off the boring and beaten, monotonous trail.
Certain Uncertainty
Far enough away from society, the buildup of tedium from days/weeks prior naturally begins to shake off.
The psychological immersion into new surroundings — always trailing the physical — continues its progression.
The initial exhilaration subsides and, before long, the mounting appreciation of everything settles into another baseline reverence; the awe remains, but not as vibrant.
As the sounds of the freeway have long ago disappeared over the snow-saddled horizon, the body (as well as the mind) becomes more vulnerable to the imposing expanse of nature ahead, and a different tone emerges, alongside a new perspective.
The silence can be felt, occasionally broken by a gust of wind moving through a leafless canopy or the hyper-cognizance of ones own breathing.
The space around — the rolling hills, the endless meadows, the half frozen stream that snakes along the floor of the valley — they all swell in size, making an observer feel miniscule and irrelevant.
And it’s through the cascading waves of mounting discomfort that a true sense of liberation begins to emerge — a break not only from society and not only from the trail reserved for those who want a break from society, but from certainty of outcome.
It’s this feeling that grows overlooked in our comfortable culture as we build everything around probabilities and expectations.
To pause this tendency, even if for a moment, is to experience life in a more raw form — or at least as raw as things can get with improvised thermal layering and cheap snowshoes on.
It’s a feeling that can’t even be partially grasped unless fully pursued, as infinite possibilities collapse into actualities in real time, with little time to anticipate and over-think — to just observe.
And every lost safety net (with respect to daylight, distance, provisions, etc.) is a gained multiplier of this sense.
It’s not until the cell signal drops that the mind finally begins to deflate and relax; not until the car begins to feel far enough away that the legs begin to sense their purpose; not until provisions have to start being rationed that flavor begins to intensify.
In surrendering all control of circumstance, as true uncertainty begins to settle in, something of a new interface with reality is gained.
Even if expected and even if sought, the onset of this new but familiar outlook makes one thing clear: we are but organisms, floating about, able to be without having to also do, able to exist without having to control every minute detail of that existence.
Culture and society have hoodwinked us into believing that we can have control over all, if not most, of the external noise that we navigate through — an idea completely contrary to the natural order of things.
We thus butt up against a phantasmagoria of certain forces (ideologies, perspectives, movements), riding the sparks of friction from doing so into insanity, under an assumption that we can and should control the bigger things that themselves prove uncontrollable, time and time again.
And so we find ourselves pushing back against this artificial expectation that’s been generated overtop our bubbles, either subliminally or maybe more overtly.
Some do it with an explosive force, others more quietly or routinely (say wandering off a designated hiking trail every few weeks). It could be why some thrills become an addiction — the adrenaline fix doesn’t come all too naturally in todays cultural climate of security and stability.
Don’t get me wrong, the fact that we’ve evolved from being prey and have insulated ourselves so effectively against all kinds of strife, for the most part, is something that one can’t ever be grateful enough for.
Though it seems we still like to fantasize a little too much about dystopian possibilities and revel quite a bit in fictional tellings of chaos and calamity.
For it seems to be an inherent quality that we always pursue that which we don’t have — a flawed but beautiful characteristic of the flawed but beautiful species we are.
Out of the void
Lost in the thralls of uncertainty and discomfort, the mind and body will inevitably start clamoring to restore any sense of control.
The surrendering stage of leaping into the unknown may have been exhilarating, but that feeling doesn’t age well, especially as the physical body becomes more cognizant of its impending perils — frigid extremities, a setting sun, intensifying wind; and the mind begins to spin itself into doubt — maybe a wrong turn or wrong decision was made, maybe a misassumption of personal capability.
The monotonous, then, becomes vivified into relevance amidst a new cycle of appreciation. That which had previously been a bore or a triviality is now a welcome thought — something to desire.
Riding the turbulent tides of discomfort into calm waters will always reveal a lot about self-discipline and perseverance, gratitude and equanimity.
It’ll also make the swim back to shore a lot easier.
Now it’s a different kind of escape process, one of returning to the status quo, and one that flips the priority chart upside down and inside out.
Curiosity gives the wheel to necessity; spontaneity takes a back seat to cautiousness; exploration yields to continuity.
As the little dots along the horizon grow themselves into other snow-shoers and parked cars, the pace slows alongside a rapidly dissipating sense of urgency, and suddenly the mind relaxes in a different way, more somber and muted.
The first step back onto the beaten path is completely different from the last step that had been all to eager to escape it.
The assuredness underfoot, the ease of movement, and the certainty of knowing that it leads back to the confined, climate-controlled cabin of a car with a cold coffee in a cup holder.
Dry socks, a hot shower, horizontal immobility — all now swelling with renewed meaning.
Despite it all, however, there’s a feeling of something being left behind in the abstract void of unknowable outcomes, something that can only be felt in real time and hardly reminisced or imagined: uncertainty.
And wet socks.
