Wuanita Pass, Feb. 10th

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, if I am to avoid the bitter cold of night and 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.

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

Typically, the road is plowed just a little past the last 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 typical winter, the County Road becomes nearly impassable– large snowdrifts form in the curves and troughs of the hills by which the road passes through. In this year of our drought, 2026, I can drive all the way to the beginning of the pass without putting the car into four wheel drive. 

Depressingly, I could probably go even further, but soon the snow crunches beneath the car and my fear of getting stuck is greater than my faith in my 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. 

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 creaks like styrofoam with each step. My ankles tilt back and forth and we hit the cattle gate 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. 

In about a half of a mile, the road I have taken comes to a T. According to the map, both branches of the main road end at fences of ranches, both too far for tonight. After all this effort and hurrying, I have only accomplished a scant couple of miles. 

Turning back in the blue grey twilight, I smile at the sustaining nature of small victories.