Such a cold January, the windchill at -9 F (-22 C) when I wake. Midmorning, temps stay below freezing, but I need fresh air and exercise. The skis complain about the cold, creaking and groaning, as I glide into the forest. The snow makes a crisp crunching sound as it packs beneath me. Drawing deep icy breaths, I exhale clouds of fog. Exertion from the climb finally warms my core. Extremities are always the problem in the bitter cold. Many times, I've skied too far and have been nearly frozen on the return trip. Today, I judge correctly. My toes are just beginning to tingle when I sight home. I am alone in the peace of a snowy wilderness with only squirrels and Gray Jays for company. I wonder if their toes ever get cold?
