Wuanita Pass at the end of the day

 The base of Wuanita Pass is about a forty-five-minute drive from my house, making it a challenging after work adventure, especially in the winter. On a Wednesday, to get even a few miles in without a headlamp, the world of spreadsheets and fillable pdfs must be exited abruptly. 

At 4:00, I snap the laptop shut with more than a little satisfaction.

Typically, the approach to the base of the pass is only plowed just a little past the hot springs ranch, a large snow berm acting as a line of demarcation between mellow and free, two-wheel drive and breaking trail, open valley and timber. On the wrong day of a good year, the gravel road can become nearly impassable, large snowdrifts forming in the curves and troughs of the hills by which the road passes through. In the winter of 2026, there isn’t even a pile of snow and I can drive all the way to the beginning of the pass without putting the car into four-wheel drive. 

I could probably go even further, but my fear of getting stuck is greater than my faith in my snow tires. 

Both sides of Wuanita Pass feature an incoherent tangle of roads that dead end and intertwine with one another. Many of these numbered spurs abut private property and a good map is a key piece of gear if you’re going to explore. The pass itself gains its elevation gently, making for excellent cross-country skiing. The views of open fields and rolling tree covered foothills are aplenty. 

Hurried and unsure of what I would find, I have only a pair of trail runners and a hastily packed day pack for the excursion.

The snow on the road crunches with each step. While my ankles tilt back and forth, it’s reasonably easy walking and we hit the gate and our intersection quickly. Frozen snowmobile tracks arc across the field to the left. The compacted, aging snow holds my weight. It is 5:43 pm and while weak, there is light in the sky. 

Dark comes early in December and January. The expansive, color-soaked evenings of summer are long gone– the winter sun slips behind the hills with little fanfare. The wind is often mean and icy, thin air bites at any exposed skin. Dog walks become short and purposeful. 

By the beginning of February, small morsels of light are gifted back to us, five, ten minutes at a time. On this second week of the second month, there is ambient light until six, a small reprieve that does much for my mental health. 

Night still falls fast and the houses of our high mountain valley will puff their silver streams of smoke into the starry sky months to come. But with an ever so slight widening of the day, there is an undeniable loosening of the grip of winter. 

The road I have taken comes to a T. According to the map, both branches end at fences of ranches, both too far for tonight. After all this, I will have only have a quarter inch on my map to mark. Turning back, I smile at the sustaining nature of small victories.