- I snowshoed up the lane last night, between 9 and 11:30 pm. The temperature was -20F when I left, with a bit of rising wind, and I had to get an internet radio's power supply restarted, or else we'd lose connectivity. So I strapped on snowshoes, strapped on a flashlight to my head, added one earbud connected to an mp3 player full of podcasts, and trudged away.
The stars were brilliant, lushly spread across the sky. The night's sounds were lively: tree branches brushing against each other, sometimes crackling; wind working its way over the ground; dry crunches of snow underfoot; scrabbling of broom bristles across a broad solar array.
- Owain and I are reading At the Mountains of Madness, H. P. Lovecraft's classic tale of Antarctic terror. It's fun for all sorts of reasons, especially for expanding Owain's reading. But here's one cute bit for this post:
For the most part, the thermometer varied between zero and 20° or 25° above, and our experience with New England winters had accustomed us to rigors of this sort.
Yes, living in New England prepares you well for the freaking South Pole. (source: D-bytes)
- It's cold enough now to see our breath in the house, as of 9 am.