Coyote Fall

February 17

Fresh snow in the Sacramento Mountains

The storm arrived in the middle of the night with a heavy clap of thunder and sleet clinking on the roof of the camper. We were in the Lincoln National Forest where we’d camped for Paul’s birthday two weeks before. I’d heard of thundersnow, but this was my first experience. The claps of thunder reminded me of the spring storms that blew over Oklahoma, and it was a mighty, yet gentle lullaby.

In the morning, a fresh blanket of snow covered the forest. It was George and Emma who were most excited. Emma frolicked around the campsite, and suddenly her happy mood turned into a wild streak. She did lap after lap in a mad, slippery dash around the vehicles. In the last circle, she wiped out as she raced across a sheet of ice masked by snow, but it only slowed her momentarily. She did a final gallop to the lowest part of the meadow we camped. With the wilds calmed, she came to me so I could leash her on her tie out.

Tangled

George had been out of his splint for the last few weeks. He showed improvements every day. I didn’t know yet whether he’d be able to hike again (if he could, it wouldn’t be far), but he was happy nonetheless. He walked on three and half legs and had a funny amble if he moved faster than a walk, but we had our loveable, goofy George back. Today, instead of staring sadly from his tie as he had when he wore his splint, he found a stick and threw it up in the air time after time. He might have been an older dog, but he was young in spirit.

As Paul and I set out on our hike after breakfast, the snow crinkled under our boots sounding like popping packing bubbles. The Broken Floorboard Snow wasn’t the kind of snow Mainers enjoyed, but even though we could usually find something wrong with the weather, I couldn’t today. The forest was peaceful and beautiful.

I was hoping to see the little, black gelding again. It had been a very special hike when I’d met him, and today I carried carrots with me just in case. He was not where we saw him, though, and there was no sign of him moving through the snow. I tried not to be disappointed. He probably found his way home or to his herd.

Paul and I continued along the snowy road. The temperature changed with the elevation, and the sun checked in on us from time to time when the clouds allowed. On the backside of a hill where the sun could not warm in the winter, old snow was glare ice. I walked carefully over it, but the fresh snow gave me a little traction.

Coyote tracks came down off the hillside and followed the road, the only disturbance in the new snow besides the occasional small animal crossing. A second pair of tracks came off the hill and met the first, followed by a third. Then the three broke off into the valley. They were very fresh, but our voices carried in the quiet forest. They would have known our presence from long before we got arrived.

One set of tracks returned to the road and followed it on the side I was walking. It was a neat line of prints, but suddenly there was a mess in the snow before they continued directly to and along the edge of the road. I furrowed my brow.

“Do you think he fff—” My feet continued forward. My butt didn’t. “—ffell?”

Paul looked down at me, at the coyote tracks, and as he helped up giggly me, he replied, “Why, yes, I think he did.”

Snow over ice: Shouldn’t have followed the coyote

We hiked until the road intersected another a half mile later. The quiet of the forest was suddenly broken by the whinny of a horse.  I spun around, expecting to see the little gelding. He must have been near and able to smell my carrots. I heard it again. “Come on!” I rushed Paul.

My hopes sunk when the horse never appeared and I realized his voice had echoed through the canyon like ours had, warning the coyotes. He might have been a mile or more away. I hoped the horse was okay, and I appreciated his greeting.

 Douglas fir

As we neared the top of the ridge, fog was covering the treetops and sinking down into the valleys. The storm system had given us an appetizer in the night, but the main course was on its way to the Sacramento Mountains, and the temperatures were starting to cool as we arrived back at the RV.

This time, the storm arrived politely and quietly without the heavy wind. As I write, several new inches have fallen in just a short time. The flakes are landing abundantly, weighting tree limbs and drizzling down the camper windows. It’s my favorite winter setting.

Heavy snowfall