Something I love to do in the summer and fall here in Breckenridge is hike. It’s like walking in a painting; I can’t get enough of the colors. Yesterday, my dog and I trekked up Peak 8. As winter has been creeping in each day now, I knew that my hiking days were short lived. It’s as if my dog knew this might be his last hike of the season too; he took his time, smelled every bush, and back tracked twice over.
We barely made it past One Ski Hill Place when the wind and snow became too much. I had been caught. I had walked out my door at Pine Ridge in shorts, a patagonia long sleeve top and a light vest, hiked two miles, and walked straight into a wintery storm. We had to turn back. Winter had announced itself.
What’s so amazing about the high country is that the end of one season is the turning point to another. There’s always a reason to celebrate. So, as I put my hiking boots in their respective “winter location” in my closet, I actually celebrated. Out came the winter coat, my snow boots, skiis, boots and poles. I made some wassail, sat on my couch in front of the fire, and thanked Ullr that I was in Breckenridge, Colorado when winter arrived.