White Out

We had the best time in the snow, skiing and snowshoeing in a big meadow in Hope Valley. There was no trail, just us and the bare shrubs and trees, ringed by massive snowy mountains and a constantly changing display of fat sculpted storm clouds. And then came the storm itself, a delight of snow whirling around us, until we realized how quickly our tracks were filling in. We turned around before we were really ready to quit for the day, scaring ourselves with thoughts of being lost in the wilderness even though we knew perfectly well we were near the intersection of two major roads. By the time we drove back over the hill to our condo, the sun was out again but we were too tired to press repeat.