“In moments of helplessness, I always seem to travel north. I have a kind of boreal wanderlust, an urge towards the top of the world where the ice intrudes. In the cold, I find I can think straight; the air feels clean and uncluttered. I have faith in the practicality of the North, its ability to prepare and endure, the peaks and troughs of its seasons.”

-Katherine May, Wintering

Travel north her heart tells her.

So she goes. Chasing snow; an alpine adventure where her spirits are lifted by the altitude and solitude that lies tucked in between frosty white evergreens. With silent thoughts and a slow breathe she begins to hibernate. She seeks refuge here.

It’s in the depths of winter where her naturelust draws her away from the forest and up to the mountains.

And she could stay up here until the snow melts beneath the warmth of the spring thaw.

I’ve always sought comfort in the healing and calming ritual of forest bathing. Living in southern Ontario the woods and the Great Lakes are pretty much my naturescape. But something about winter draws me north. Blessed with a forever friendship that takes me to British Columbia’s Monashee Mountain range every February for the sweetest of reunions – a precious time of the year where the Northern Lights (me) connects with the Southern Cross (my best bud, Erica) atop Silver Star – my love for this hibernal period of year has deepened over the past ten years. Up here in the cozy nooks of the Monashees is where I’ve discovered the social, interpersonal, physical, emotional and mental benefits of mountain bathing.

Different from wandering through the forest, I find basking in the beauty of the mountains (in particular snow covered ones) is more immersive and experiential. Its the combination of fresh air, scenic views and tranquility of the terrain that does it for me. Feeling it all while moving through the curves of the mountain on downhill skis. Taking different turns, traversing through powder. Soaking up delicious vitamin D beneath layers of merino wool. Existing somewhere in the space between a river of clouds and the tundra summit.

In other words, mountain bathing is my altitudinal aphrodisiac.

The further north I go the more in tune with nature I become. Up here in the pinnacles I find solitude in skiing tucked between snow covered evergreens; listening to the trees and wondering what lies beyond the cascading peaks in the distance. The view from atop the mountain is magnificent too: vertical ridges layered against a horizontal sky of varying indigo, dusty pink and grey hues. The sun setting as the tips of the evergreens darken. The daylight settling into the early night. The shadows of a meandering moon tucking the mountain in beneath a snowy blanket having just experienced the joy of a thousand or more skiers appreciating her beautiful bounty of corduroy powder, black runs, imperfect bumps, and interconnected trails. For those that explored the mountain we gather in a communal space for conversation, some banter and apres ski. It’s the warmth of morning tea that I enjoy the most and the meeting of strangers that have become friends; bonded through a mutual passion for skiing, winter and the mountains.

And so, the sun sets. The slopes silence. The mountain rests. My northern star resets.

Tomorrow I’ll rise, go outside and bathe in the lustrous Monashee air. Time up here and out there is limited but exquisite. Many of moments and fleeting feelings but there is one constant – the comforting light of the southern cross and a family of silver stars. Gathering once a year. Making mountain memories. Being curious on skis. Reconnecting. Rejuvenating. Wondering how many snowflakes it takes to cover a mountain all the while knowing that no snowflake – or a moment for that matter – is ever the same.

And neither am I as I descend the mountain. Coming down from the altitude air is something I can’t quite explain but a feeling I will embrace no matter the change of season.