Cross country skiers are complaining. "We need more snow, " they say. So are the people who think that low snow years mean more wildfires (around here, it's the spring rains that matter more). Meanwhile, I'm thinking this is the best winter I've had here.
This valley is often besieged with gray, depressing inversions in the winter. Not so much this year. We've actually had some sun. Bone-chilling temperatures and bitter winds have stayed away. My snowshoes are in the truck, but I haven't needed them. I've been able to hike happily with microspikes to several places that usually are covered by snowdrifts. This makes me happy, although my snowboard has been sitting in the garage. I'd rather hike, when the weather is like this.
I venture back into the national park, a madhouse in the summer, even during the pandemic. I see only a few people, but the mountains and trails are just as beautiful, and the bears are mostly asleep. The trails in the national forest are deserted.
Unpredictable February looms. It could be cold and snowy, or this mild weather could continue. If real winter does make an appearance, I'll roll with it, switch to snowshoes and go to the gym more. There's no point in wishing time away. It hurtles along so fast as it is.