Hurricane Ridge, in the northern part of Olympic National Park, is at the end of the thick red line. This is the first time we’ve visited in winter; though access is relatively straightforward, the road is icy (all vehicles have to carry chains to go up). On a clear day, it’s a magical and awe-inspiring place.
Grandma K gave me her set of gently-used x-country skis several years ago. They’re excellent skis, (Järvinen, a Finnish maker) but everything decays eventually and yesterday the ski pole baskets broke off bit by bit as I was getting my ski legs back under me. It’s been way too long! Resolutions to come skiing more often were flying thick.
Just behind B, you can see a blue tint to the depression in the snow–snow accumulation of more than a meter tends to reflect blue light. Magic: making a deep footprint or a hole in a deep embankment was creating a brilliant turquoise well of color.