Posted on December 18 2015, by Nick Taggart
We love winter at the lodge. I mean, we really love it. Yes, of course, summer has its charms. And the joys of an autumn hunt can't be dismissed. But winter, that's a time apart.
As soon as the lake freezes, we get out our skates, and race each other around McCracken Island and back. When the snow comes down, we fill our packs with warm blankets and bottles of whiskey, strap on the snow shoes, and trek up to the Wolfpine highlands where we build a fire on the edge of the Pineroot gorge, warm our hands and enjoy the view.
But it's almost Christmas, and the lake ice is still too thin to walk on, and there's no snow to be found. It's making Rees grouchy, every time he catches Whitney humming a jaunty carol, he spits out a Pashtun curse and walks off. And Gladys? She can't even bring her self to deck the hall with bows and holly.
Here's a map of the likelihood of a white Christmas. How is it looking for you?