Don’t hibernate! Embrace the joys of winter hiking with these 5 tips

On a hike Sunday on the Mountains-to-Sea Trail along Falls Lake, one of our hikers stopped and took a long, sweeping look at the surrounding terrain. The trees — sycamores and oaks, a few beeches in this cove — were nearly spent of leaves, their work for the year carpeting the forest floor with golden leaves. The slanting early December sunlight and the cloudless blue sky made everything pop a bit more.

“It’s so beautiful out here,” she said. I was tickled to hear those words, words I’ve come to hear more often over the years as I expose more people to the joys of winter hiking.

Traditionally, most folks, even avid hikers, put their hiking gear in storage until the first spring wildflowers begin to poke through in March. “It’s too cold,” they protest. Or,  too … brown.

Too cold? Well, that’s easy to deal with, with the right clothes. Especially with a good pair of gloves and a wool hat, which handle the lion’s share of warmth management on a winter hike. Learning to layer your clothing helps mitigate the cold, and knowing the right fabrics to wear does likewise.

But too brown? Brown is not necessarily a color appreciated for its nuance. But the next time you step out into the winter woods, take note of the leaf-covered forest floor, which ranges from a coppery brown, to a sand dune beige to an almost creamsicle orange. Together, these hues create a subtle melange, a colorway that is distinctly winter.

Those leaves on the ground mean the woods have dropped their summer mask. The sometimes claustrophobic feel of a summer forest gives way to terrain exposed, to a land with few secrets. That rustling you hear 50 yards off in summer is revealed in winter to be a darting squirrel. On a trail you’ve hiked a dozen times in warm weather you may be surprised to learn, come winter, passes the crumbling foundation of an old homestead.

There’s the amplified quiet. So quiet you hear a breeze rustle the distant tree tops minutes before it brushes your cheek. So quiet you can hear yourself think.

There’s the sky. Winter in these parts is known for its milky skies, a blue sky made faint by a prevailing thin layer of vapor. A murky sky, a sky that refuses to yield its intentions: Rain? Maybe. But probably not. A timeless sky that says, No rush; just enjoy.

And, of course, there’s the absence of other hikers. Folks, unlike you, who’ve yet to be winter enlightened. Having the trail to yourself: could winter offer a better gift?

When we head down the trail in spring and fall, it’s with great expectations. We want every wildflower to be in bloom, we want the the most brilliant fall foliage display ever. In winter, we have no such expectations.

Possibly the reason a winter’s day on the trail rarely disappoints.