Text and Photos by Rob Bettaso

It’s a temperate day in early February. The snow that fell earlier this month and in January has mostly melted and turned our local trails to mud. Because mountain weather can be unpredictable, especially winter weather in the higher elevations of Arizona, I am not especially optimistic that we will see significantly more snow in what remains of winter. And even though I’m not a fan of winter’s short days and cold temperatures, I do enjoy the snow – not only the visual beauty of it, but also moving through it, either on skis or wearing good winter boots. So, just in case we don’t get much more snow this season, I am going to write about one of many pleasurable outings I made in earlier this year, when, after a series of moisture laden storms delivered tons of snow across the high country, I spent some of my time hiking in deep drifts and along blanketed trails near my home.

Prior to describing just that one memorable snow day, let me first briefly describe the night before: It is one of the simple joys of winter to end your day knowing that the snowflakes that are steadily falling when you take that last look out the window just before bedtime, might transform the landscape come morning. It can be especially exciting when, off and on during the night, you stir slightly from your slumbers and hear the lonely sounds of an icy breeze blowing snowflakes against the windows. Then, when you awaken well before first light and are not quite ready to start your day, you linger for a moment in bed and notice the utter silence that has entombed your home. It is then that you are sure that when you get up and flip on a porch light and look out the window, that you will witness a new and wonderful world of very still whiteness. So, let me now describe one of my big snow day of 2024.

When dawn finally came, I was so energized by coffee and buttered toasted that my hands shook as I donned my winter gear. The last thing I did prior to leaving the house, was pull on my knee-high winter boots that I had pre-heated by having placed them near a furnace vent during the time I waited for first light. I stepped outside and was not surprised to see that a tiny kinglet was feeding at the suet-cage that hangs a mere 10 feet from my front door. The kinglet has learned that his best chance of getting a good breakfast is if he rousts himself from his night-perch extra early, and beats the other birds to the block of suet. I paused to watch this tiny mite of a bird as he inserted his needle-like beak through the mesh and chipped away at the frozen fat. It was a nearly a religious experience to observe such a speck of life, with legs and feet as delicate as the tiniest of watch-springs, as he faced the cold world with such spunk and determination.

Because I didn’t want to unduly disturb the kinglet, I opted not to start my outing by first shoveling the walkway from the house to the front-gate. There would be plenty of time to throw snow, not only from the walkway but also from the driveway, since it is generally some time before the city plow gets around to clearing the dirt roads in my neighborhood. Really, the only debate in my mind was whether I should greet the fresh and powdery snow on skis or on foot. But because my feet were already nice and warm in my boots, I decided to hike instead of ski. For that matter, skiing from my house and around the local streets would be easier later on, once the new snow was tamped down by a few vehicles; be it the city’s snow-grader, or a few local residents who anxiously want to demonstrate the power of their 4WD trucks.

By the time I reached the end of my neighborhood and was hiking along a two-tracker road, my feet were no longer toasty warm, but, they were not cold either and as long as I kept moving, I knew that I would remain comfortable. It was still a bit before sunrise when I began the slow-going process of breaking trail and ascending a steep hill. I was hiking in a portion of pine and juniper forest that marks the transition from county lands along the Mogollon Rim, on down to the Apache lands and the trackless wilderness that is off-limits to non-tribal members.

When the sun finally did strike my back, I was already warm from having hiked up a portion of the hill. I took care not to over-heat and unzipped my heavy outer jacket and also stopped frequently to rest and to enjoy the stunning scenery. I also managed my core temperature by sucking on the occasional handful of snow, which also kept me hydrated. Had I intended to spend a prolonged period of time out in the cold, I would have brought a backpack so that I could shed layers, as needed, and could drink water from a canteen. But, I knew that this first hike of the day wouldn’t take very long and my plan was to return home to rest and eat, prior to other hikes I would take later – around noon and again around dusk. A day such as this, with its deep and fresh snow, was most fully appreciated if it was taken one or two hours at a time, and in different types of habitats.

I was not alone as I continued to make my way through the snow: although I was the first person to hike the two-tracker that day, the snow was riddled with animal tracks including deer, elk, and coyote. There were also myriad tiny tracks of various small creatures (birds and rodents) who had ventured forth in hopes of finding food in the twilight of the early morning. Above, I heard the rough croak of a raven and looked up to see that the bird which was calling was closely trailing another raven, which had a chicken-bone in his beak. The lead raven was clearly fleeing his pursuer in hopes of finding a private perch on which to consume his prize of somebody’s discarded KFC. Nothing edible goes to waste in the winter woods.

At the highest point along my short trek, I knew that I would only go a bit further along the two-tracker road. The road does continue along in a big loop that, for many years, I used to hike in its five mile entirety; but, over time, some of the county land has been sold and one particularly ornery owner decided that he could block the road with a fancy new gate. Additionally, based on what I had heard from other folks who also used to hike the loop, the ornery owner gives hikers a hard time if they enter the gate and walk along the road – this, despite the fact that the two-tracker road is a public thoroughfare. So, a while back I decided that there are other places to hike where I won’t have to argue with an unpredictable land-owner, and so, whenever I reach his gate I simply turn around and return the way I came. On that particular day, I must admit that when I reached the gate, I didn’t mind turning around and going back the way I came, since it allowed me to not only walk down-hill, but also in my own tracks through the deep snow.

Once I had returned home, I rested for a spell before venturing forth again to hike through pristine snow in another piece of wild land near my neighborhood. And after that particular hike, I again returned home to rest. Towards evening, I made my final snow-trek of the day at yet another tract of open-space near the hood. All three of the hikes I made that day were through untrammeled snow. Sometimes I struggled in deep snow along well-known “White Diamond” trails that were now unused due to the amount of effort required to make one’s way from marker to marker. Other times, I walked in places that were windswept such that they had sections of shallower and easier to traverse snow. Some areas, because they were shaded by thick forest, took on an arctic blue color; other locales, such as open fields, glittered in the bright sunlight, which hurt my eyes despite my dark sunglasses.

At every place I visited, I was greeted by fascinating textures, hues, shapes, and shadows as I pondered the splendor of snowdrifts, frozen water, ice crystals, cold steel fences, and the warm fur and feathers of my only companions out in that wintry realm. When I finally returned home for the final time that day, it was getting dark. Again, the kinglet had waited until he finally had the feeder to himself, and, he was certainly making the most of his unfettered access. Even as I stood very near to him and watched him gorge, he remained solely focused on stuffing hunks of fat into his miniature maw.



For whatever reason and throughout my adult life, I have to admit that I don’t generally get choked-up by the many sad things we see all around us; but, I do find that when I witness something truly beautiful, well, that can nearly bring a tear to my eye. And what, I ask, is more beautiful than the smallest of creatures fighting to survive in the face of an unforgivingly frigid winter world.