Queen of Stupid

I have a confession: I can be the Queen of Stupid.

A few days ago, I decided it would be a good idea to go and check the rabbit traps. There happened to be a blizzard raging at the time, but I was very insistent.

But since I’m still recovering from the tweaked knee and jammed shoulder I got from the last time I went skiing, I decided to just walk along while Keri and Taco skied.

There are several lessons I learned from this little jaunt into the great outdoors:

1. It is much easier to stay up on top of the snow when on skis. Boots tend to sink down—sometimes to the hips.
2. Skis move much faster than boots—especially if the boots are three feet or more below the surface of the snow.
3. My boots are not waterproof.
4. Snow can somehow work its way inside ski pants.
5. I get very grumpy when trying to wade through deep snow.
6. Sometimes I have really dumb ideas.

We have eight traps spread out in an area about a quarter square mile—and we have to go about half mile to get there. That may not sound like much walking, but when you consider that it involves trudging through deep snow in hurricane winds, and having to make your way bent over under low growing trees, it can feel like quite a trek. And this particular trip was especially grueling.

In frustration, I finally started crawling on all fours trying to stay on top of the snow. By the time we were half done, I was completely undone. I refused to move another step. I’m not sure what I thought I was going to do out there in the freezing weather—maybe wait for spring? But I was pooped. So Keri said he would ski home and come back with the snow-go. (That is what the locals call a snow machine.)

Taco and I huddled in the trees, next to the frozen rabbit we’d caught, and tried staying out of the worst part of the storm. It seemed to take forever, but Keri finally flew up on the snow-go. We climbed on, holding Taco’s skis on one side and his poles on the other, stuck the frozen rabbit between us, and took off. We looked like knights of the north, carrying our lances as we head off for the joust.

One thing about our rabbit-hunting grounds is that in order to get home, we have to cross the airstrip. That wouldn’t be a problem, except for the mountains of snow surrounding it. To keep the airstrip functional, the thing is grated after every storm, and the mounds of snow are over six feet tall in places. Add to that fresh powder, and you’ve got a rather intimidating snow machine ride. Taco and I were a little nervous. Keri used his “Aw—we should be fine” routine, but we didn’t buy into it. And a good thing too. The first major hill, and the snow-go started slipping and sliding. Then it went into a roll. But the first bit of a tip onto its side, and Taco and I shot off of the seat like wound up springs. We did NOT want to get trapped underneath a snow machine. We took the skis, poles, and dead frozen rabbit with us—and landed in a crumpled heap. It looking like a garage sale gone wrong. Once we were off, Keri was able to get the machine upright again—but it took a lot of coaxing to get me back on.

We finally made it home with no more problems—but the next day I found a big honking bruise on my leg. It’s my Queen of Stupid badge.

Taco in the storm we were in.

Keri coming back from checking the trap. We have to bend over to get through the trees. The piece of plastic bag tied to the tree is what we put up to mark the path so we can find the trap again.

That is me--trying to trudge through the snow. It may look like I'm laughing, but trust me--I'm not. Not long after this was taken, I announced I was done, and sat down--which wasn't hard, since I didn't have far to sit.