Introduced to the Zen of Nordic skiing

Glide, pole plant, glide, pole plant. Swish, crunch, swish, crunch. Keenly I attend to the tempo of my classic skis along the trail. Today, my husband John and I are at Lapham Peak in southeastern Wisconsin. There are a number of charming Wisconsin destinations with groomed trails in the Kettle Moraine State Forest Southern Unit for this highly enjoyable winter activity. Often the decision where to ski - McMiller, Nordic, Scuppernong or Lapham Peak - is difficult because all are superb.

More than 10,000 years ago, the state's last ice age formed this area with distinct glacial features. With eskers (long, sinewy ridges), moraines (high piles of soil and rock) and kettles (land depressions filled with water) permeating these forested sites, each trail system has taken on its own character. We keep returning to Lapham because of its scenery and the pleasant feel to the mostly undulating terrain. An extra bonus is that it lies only an hour west of Milwaukee on County C, just south of Delafield.

On this snowy February day, John and I ski separately. I opt for a more leisurely pace. I stick to my usual routine, starting with the seven-mile black trail. Moraine Ridge is my favorite of the four offered routes. It is the longest and the most attractive due to its varied topography.

Early on, I encounter a huffing, puffing ascent up long South Hill. This requires deliberate, firm planting of my skies, first to the right and then to the left, one ski after another in herringbone fashion, onward to the top. Periodically, I stop to rest while appreciating the splendid wooded surroundings freshly covered in a blanket of white.

Although unseen, I hear the familiar song of hardy chickadees and the knock, knock, knocking of a woodpecker on a hollow tree trunk off in the distance. At the summit, I pause, peering ahead at the fairly steep, tree lined, winding slope on the other side. Despite my anticipatory excitement at the realization that its payoff time for my substantial physical effort, the view is rather daunting. While pondering my approach, a flashback to a similar situation years earlier at nearby Scuppernong pops into my consciousness.

The exact date may escape me but the details of that extraordinary occasion remain etched in my memory. I remember icy trail conditions influenced my choice of a flatter ski on the easiest of trails. Mesmerized by the stillness of the forest and the accompanying rhythm of my skis, I was surprised when I suddenly came upon a precipitous downhill. I wondered if I'd taken a wrong turn.

While imagining my body flailing uncontrollably down the scary drop, another skier quietly arrived next to me. I shared with her my concern about crashing. Quickly, the stranger provided a ready answer: "Change your picture. Is the glass half empty or half full?" she posited before taking off effortlessly around a bend in the path.

Seriously pondering her suggestion, I decided to break up the harrowing descent into smaller, more manageable steps instead of focusing on the possibility of a disastrous fall. With each planned stop, I satisfactorily noted my continued upright posture and deep and controlled breathing. At the bottom of the run, I was delighted. I arrived unscathed and learned a lesson on mindfulness and keeping a calm mind and body. I quietly thanked the unknown woman before confidently venturing onward.

Once again at the top of South Hill at Lapham Peak, I call into play that life changing experience.

After collecting my thoughts, it's time to make my way down into the valley. I intentionally begin by restraining my momentum with slightly bent knees and pointing the tips of my skies toward eachother in a snow plow fashion. Before long, my skis are parallel and I'm using my poles sparingly as I glide freely from one side of the washed out trail to the other until I level out. From here, I kick and glide down the groomed tracks until reaching the next uphill bump.

I eagerly anticipate other familiar but tricky challenges that follow: The ominous Slide, Two Tier and the imposing Wall. I plan to attempt all of them except for the Wall which I decide is too difficult to warrant the effort. And so it goes. The route is an impressive composite of rises, depressions and flat land in between.

Periodically, I pull over along the side of the trail to allow swifter moving skiers to pass me by. With eyes fixed and body movement fluid, they seem to have set goals for themselves. My purpose for being here is to get some exercise while enjoying the outdoors. I pause regularly to soak up the scenery and read a variety of interesting historical markers lining the path. I learn that more than a century ago, Prairie Potowotomi Indians and early settlers resided here. I notice partially snow covered stone remnants from an old cabin lying haphazardly near a post. Signs in Wisconsin state forest also describe the resident flora that currently lie dormant. I plan to chat later with my husband about my discoveries of intermittently scattered oak leaf remnants in the snow. I think they are resting spots for the white tail deer I occasionally encounter.

When I meet up with John for lunch at the Evergreen warming shelter, we enthusiastically discuss the morning's events. I share with him my successful Zen approach to Moraine Ridge. He agrees with my speculation about the deer taking refuge in the soft white fluffy stuff. We ski together in the afternoon, the perfect way to end a very complete outing at Lapham Peak.

Jane Stoltz lives with her husband, John Idzikowski, in St. Francis, Wisconsin.