Steps of Gratitude – A Mindful Winter Hike

A mild Saturday in January with temperatures in the 40s was all the motivation needed to pivot my day to include a hike. Approaching the White Tail trailhead, I noticed the stretch of packed snow ahead, shimmering faintly under a sliver of sunlight on the overcast day. As I drew closer, it became clear—the trail was a slick mix of solid ice and compacted snow, marked by the footprints of animals and fellow hikers. I paused, considering the best route forward.  Stepping onto the well-trodden path, my foot slipped immediately. A rush of dopamine sent my body into a tingling sweat.  Mental note, order snow spikes for my shoes. Nope, that won’t work. I moved aside to where the snow remained untouched, eventually finding the perfect spot to continue.

About 50 yards in, I realized how mindful I had become of each step. This will be a good practice in staying fully present, I thought. There was no room for my mind to wander—every glance away from the ground came with the risk of slipping. I could feel every part of the experience: the way my feet struck the snow, the tension in my quads bracing my body, the rhythm of my gait.

And then, as always, my thoughts crept in. Maybe I shouldn’t be doing this. Maybe I’ll just go a little further and turn back. But with each step, I felt more committed. Back to mindfulness: right step, left step. Balance. Evenness.

Something caught my eye—a faint, bloody footprint. Raccoon? Probably. My focus shifted back to the movement, to the climb that was just beginning. Reaching the first turn on the hill, I stopped. The packed snow left no clear place to step, slick and sloping slightly to one side. Keep going? Turn back? Right step, left step. Balance. Evenness.

Hearing voices above, I paused. Through the trees, I spotted a couple sitting on a bench, taking a break. Well, at least I know someone else made it up. If I reached them, I’d ask if they came from the other direction. But for now, I kept moving: right step, left step. Balance. Evenness.

The trail leveled out slightly, though the climb continued with a gentle rise in elevation. About 100 meters from the top, I encountered another hiker coming from the opposite direction. We exchanged a friendly “Good morning,” and I couldn’t help but notice his trekking poles—a reminder that mine were sitting uselessly in my car. Well, if he made it up from the other side, it must not be too bad, I thought. He looked confident, like someone who knew the trail well.

Finally, I reached the top. Now came the decision: turn back the way I came, familiar but icy, or venture down the unknown slope ahead. The other side held a bit of mystery—but also my favorite spot, a bench overlooking the valley, where I always stopped to reflect. Keep going, I decided.

The next section was treacherously slick. I stepped completely off the trail—the railroad tie steps ahead were nothing but solid ice. I cannot slip and fall. I have the Camino de Santiago trek in June. I cannot hurt myself! And then—SLIP! My heart raced as my whole body again tingled with sweat. Thankfully, the slip didn’t result in a fall, but the tension in my body was unmistakable. I paused, breathing deeply to calm myself, gathering my focus. Right step, left step. Balance. Evenness.

Finally, I reached my favorite spot. Sitting down, I took a few notes about the experience, overwhelmed with gratitude. Grateful for my love of nature. Grateful for a body, strong and capable. Grateful for the passion for the outdoors that began in childhood and continues to thrive. I listened to the birds and the whisper of the wind, the peace of nature amplified today by the snow’s quieting embrace.

As I stood, I turned to read the plaque on the bench: “May you find in every little thing that lives and grows a pleasure for the present hour and a suggestion of things higher and brighter for contemplation in the future. In Memory of Marjory Ruth Chevalier.” The words, as always, spoke deeply to me, stirring emotion and setting the tone for my descent.
​
The descent was as icy as I’d expected, forcing me off the trail once again. Right step, left step. Balance. Evenness. Fully immersed in mindfulness, I eventually reached my car. Before stepping back into the rhythm of the day ahead, I paused, taking a moment to soak it all in. Thank you, God, for the beauty that surrounds me in every moment.