running
on ice
on ice
exposed skin feels electrified
in a cool breeze.
on sunny days the warmth hits
in contrast with the wind.
cold hot.
hot cold.
atoms pack together loosely in warm air, but closely in cold air.
on warm summer days the effect is accentuated at elevation where air is already thin.
but in winter, there’s a generous boost. each breath holds more oxygen despite the altitude. lungs fill faster.
density altitude, the interplay of elevation and ambient temperature.
when cold,
it’s in your advantage.
in the cool air body heat
quickly dissipates.
core body temperature
stays lower longer.
the engine hums along
with enhanced efficiency.
muscles twitch, heat generates,
cool air kindly absorbs.
feet strike unstable ground.
terrain textured by strata of snow.
layered and condensed.
each step unique.
spring thaws into season.
steps sink into mud.
the warmth returns.
terrain comes in.
until next winter.
Pins dot the map. Good trees, good vistas, good terrain. We throw ideas around. There’s infinite space to play. Have fun with it. Smudged filters, a mirror, gel filters. Let’s see what happens?
Ely’s new 4x4 opens up new terrain not accessible by the van. Gear piles in, then ourselves. A stop for coffee and a left turn onto the 395 North.
“This spot has a good view of the craters.” Steps punch through crusted winboard as we look around. “Wish we had a ladder.” It’s good, but doesn’t move us. We head to another possible spot.
“I wonder how Panum is? Maybe we can make it?” An unplowed dirt road between us and it. Throw it in to four-low and see what happens. Slow going, but still going.
Reaching the lot we hop out, glad we made it. “Breadcrust bombs formed as chunks of molten lava were thrown into the air” the sign reads. Bags packed with the gear. I pocket my point and shoot.
South facing aspects of the volcanic cone perfectly splotched with snow pockets. Each foot step sprays clouds of pumice and ice.
Continuing to orbit the cinder cone, Mono Lake comes into view. Sun reflects off the volcanic glass as it passes through broken stratus screaming above the Sierra crest. A storm working its way eastward after crossing the Pacific.
Plunge steps. A few leaps. Back and forth, up and down. On the heels, then the toes.
A ramp leads up from the rim to the obsidian lava dome. Giant blocks of black glass extruded like toothpaste hundreds of years ago. Recent in geological time. The wind picks up. A crack in the obsidian comes into view asking to be climbed. Each hold razor sharp.
Several hours have passed. Back to base. Stomachs full and a brief but needed recovery. Snow is falling down canyon evident by burry distant ridgelines. The sun sets and we wind our way down.
A narrow path of compressed snow parallels the lake. Feet plunge a when overshooting the edge.
Lingering uncertainty of what’s captured after a day of shooting, but feeling good about the effort.
Eyes open to alpenglow striking peaks surrounding the moraine. Fresh coffee gets blood moving. Blue sky, a contrast to yesterday’s overcast.
Pull up, hop out. It’s hot, the snow reflecting upwards, face receiving a light frying as the hour passes. “Should we get a run in?” Absolutely. Gear stowed, truck locked. We cruise across wind sculpted snow and saturated gravel.
Lungs full, feet tired.
