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The snow was supposed to start sometime mid-morning. It was supposed to be heaviest mid-afternoon. It was supposed to accumulate to 4-5" up there in the wilds of New Hampshire. We awoke on the first morning of our escape to 3" on the ground (well, on top of the two or more feet that were already on the ground). By the time we ate breakfast and got all our outdoor gear on two hours later (hey, you try to prepare two children and three adults for 10F and deep snow) the fresh snow was nearly 6" deep.

We set off with the vague goal of finding the sandpit Poppa remembered being someplace a ways off the road and down a bit. Maybe it would be exciting to slide down it. We wandered back into the woods following a trail laid out by fellow enthusiasts. Dee Dee and Little Dudely (and I) had fun pulling on the branches of heavily coated hemlocks setting off avalanches of powder onto ourselves and those following behind us. Progress was slow towards the gate that closes the road in winter and that marks, generally, the spot from which you dive into the woods to find the sandpit. But it was a magical day in the White Mountain National Forest with heavy snow, and heavier silence (when we bothered to stop giggling long enough to hear what wasn't there).

When we looped back to the road at the gate and finished climbing on the giant snow piles at the end of the plowed section on the road there was a disagreement over which way to head to find the sandpit. So Poppa went one way, Dad went the other. Dee Dee, Little Dudely and I plopped ourselves down in powdery thrones and caught snowflakes on our tongues.

Poppa called out from a distance, muffled by the snow. Then he appeared and indicated for us to follow his tracks back to the mythical sandpit. But first we howled our best coyote cries (as promised) to let dad know we were heading off into the woods.

We made our way back along the fresh trail, tromped nearly knee deep in the new and previous powder, grateful for our snowshoes. We ducked under a fallen tree, crossed a frozen brook hidden under the snow, and came around a final turn to the sandpit. Sort of a half-bowl shape, maybe 35 feet high, with nearly vertical sides at the top. Very impressive.

Dee Dee started up first. I followed. Little Dudely joined the climb just before Dad and Poppa arrived. Kick, kick, kick. I had to try to bury the toes of my snowshoes in the deep powder on the slope to get traction. Dee Dee needed me to brace one foot for her so she could make progress. Dad did the same for Little Dudely.

We stood at the top intimidated by the steep drop. One by one we courageously slid down on our bottoms, carving out a sliding run, piling up mounds of powder around us. The kids were the lucky ones wearing overall snowpants or snowsuits. For the adults snow pushed up under jackets and into our layers of sweaters...

By the time we made our way back to our camp we were exhausted by the snowshoeing and climbing and sliding, and by the cold. Another 4" of snow had fallen in the two hours we had been out. By late in the afternoon, when the snow finally let up, nearly 18" of powder had fallen. We definitely needed to shovel the flat roof of the addition, and probably the main roof as well.

The next morning we went out to breakfast and found some sleds. We headed back to the sandpit with our sleds... and a camera. Each ride blew huge waves of powder into our faces, making us wish we had goggles and neck warmers as the cold, cold snow hurt as it melted on our faces. Our crazy rides got faster, but always ended with a floomp! into the deep pile at the bottom. There simply was no graceful way out. So we laughed instead.

As we trudged out Little Dudely rode in one sled as it filled with snow, burying him. It was a beautiful day with the sun shining through the tree, snow unpredictably cascading off the trees. But it was also our day to head home. I managed to it "Play" on my life's remote while I was there. I hope it gets stuck.