A cold, hard rain was falling over three inches of fresh snow Friday. The roads were a mess. I had the day off. Naturally, I had to get out and play. What else am I going to do, stay inside and clean?

A cold, hard rain was falling over three inches of fresh snow Friday. The roads were a mess. I had the day off.

Naturally, I had to get out and play. What else am I going to do, stay inside and clean?

I'd hoped to get an early start and head out to Monadnock. I also had hoped the forecasters would be proven wrong, and the snow wouldn’t change over to rain. As it happened, they were right, and I had an appointment to keep and didn't head out until late in the morning.

My ambitions shrank as I drove west at funereal pace through slush and sleet, in procession behind squadrons of plow trucks. Thanks to their efforts, the drive wasn’t at all frightening. Also thanks to them, a berm of hard-packed, wet snow blocked the entrance to Miller State Park. It might as well have been Jersey barrier, so far as my Subaru and I were concerned.

I took the first right, and made my way around to the North Pack trailhead, hoping I would find some reasonably safe place to stuff my car. I'd meant to bring a snow shovel, to carve out my own parking space, but I forgot it. So three cheers for whomever plows Mountain Road in Greenfield, and thank you for clearing the shoulder by the trail!

The outing was my third ever on snowshoes, and the first two were very short, local jaunts, but snowshoeing isn’t hard. It’s just walking, really. On snow, with little planks strapped to your boots.

I made first tracks up the trail, and quickly learned to follow the path trod by other trekkers in snowstorms past. I couldn’t always see it clearly under the new snow but when I veered astray, I soon found myself knee deep.

Did I mention it was raining?

It was fairly warm, down low on the hill, and the earlier snow still clung to the trees. I’d worn a raincoat, but I knew I’d be soaked sooner or later. After a few minutes of hiking, I started sweating and stuffed my hat in my pocket.

The wind blew harder, higher up the hill and the air was colder, too. I could tell because the rain was freezing upon everything it touched, your humble narrator excepted. Low-hanging pine boughs bounced back like clubs when I ducked through them.

I’d only ever been up N. Pack once before, and the top came as a surprise. There’s a great big cairn there, though, so there was no mistaking it, even if I couldn’t see much beyond.

I followed the Cliff Walk trail down to the cliff in the gap between Pack and North Pack. The way the clouds hung, I could see down to the bottom but couldn’t see Pack Monadnock or anything else but a gray foggy void.

I started down the cliffs, meaning to summit Pack as well, and then wimped out. I was drenched, and just a bit chilled. I had a dry fleece and survival blanket in my pack, but decided I’d rather just move a little faster, in the shortest route back to the car. A Cliff shot helped perk me up, and so did my hat. Once I put it back on, a small part of me was warm and dry. That felt nice.

Gravity and my own tracks made the trip back a little faster. To my surprise, the Mountain Road plow had made another pass, but I was able to scoot out and get on my way. Six wild turkeys crossed the road ahead of me as I headed toward Peterborough (I wanted to hunt for bargains in the EMS mother store; they had a few, but nothing I needed).

The flock took their time, until I stopped and got out for a closer look. They scurried off to cover as though I were an axe-wielding lunatic. I admit, dinner had crossed my mind.