Rummaging through the garage, I came across my old snowshoes. They are battered and scratched from those magical days in December, January and February over many years.
I cleaned them up and stacked them next to my new pair -- these hi-tech Atlas snowshoes with very aggressive campons. They're wonderful for off-trail trekking, which is my favorite thing in winter.
Looking at the snowshoes reminded me of a day a little more than two years ago when I napped on a huge boulder in the waning afternoon sun at frozen Huntington Lake.
I had snowshoed quite a distance. I began making cell phone calls and e-mailing photos of my surroundings. Then, I ate my lunch watching the clouds stream in overhead. I got sleepy from the hike and the big meal, so I dozed.
A half-hour later, a huge clunk woke me up. I thought it was some critter checking out my backpack. Turned out to be a block of ice floating down Big Creek and banging into my rock.
I sat up. To my surprise, I had a thin layer of snow all over me. Those wispy clouds had turned dark and angry. It was still snowing.
I shook off like a big dog, stepped back into my snowshoes and hauled it back up the hill. I stopped and filtered a liter of water from Big Creek and drank deeply when I got back near my vehicle. I was still shivering and laughing at myself when I picked up my son, who was snowboarding at Sierra Summit.
I can't believe how much fun I had that day. I had seen nature go from a glittering, sunny morning to a slanting snowstorm in the afternoon.
OK, maybe it's not so bad to be in the ice and cold of the high country. Maybe it will snow by Thanksgiving.
