December 10, 1969 by Donna Hruska Hunt

In this evocative travel piece, Donna captures the magic of a nighttime snowmobiling adventure through the Wisconsin wilderness, where frozen landscapes transformed into a jeweled wonderland created one of those rare moments that “can distill the essence of an entire vacation.”

By Donna Hruska

It was mid-winter in northern Wisconsin. Decked out in all the appropriate cold weather gear—one-piece, wind-proof coveralls, felt-lined boots, thick elbow-length mittens, face masks and furry hats, we were eager to try every aspect of snowmobiling. We found that running on the frozen lake was great for speed and learning how to handle the machine. It was also the best place to let our older boys try their hand at driving.

We soon discovered, however, that the real joy of snowmobiling is in forest trailing. The great north woods of northern Wisconsin is laced with snowmobile trails, many maintained by state and local authorities, many more kept in condition by country tavern owners who have found a whole new winter business by remaining open to serve snowmobilers on their woodland safaris.

Led by other couples who live in the area year around, we began to explore remote regions of the forest, many of them inaccessible by any other means except by foot in the summertime. The trails sometimes followed logging roads or fire lanes. At other times they narrowed down to mere paths, obviously cut just wide enough for our machines to get through. The forest was a fantasy of tall pines burdened with heavy clumps of snow, birch trees whose snow-covered branches appeared cut from the sheerest lace. The snow under the trees was criss-crossed with fresh animal tracks. We saw deer alone and in herds. Once a fox scampered across our trail and off between the trees. Another time we flushed a grouse almost at our feet.

One night we started out about eight o’clock. Because we were so well bundled, we did not notice how the temperature had dropped. Later, we discovered that it was eight degrees above zero. It was a clear night, with no moon. The stars were tiny pinpricks in the black sky. Our five machines roared off down the roadway and thumped over the plowed mounds of snow into a woodland path. Headlights pierced the blackness, making a tunnel of the trail. Suddenly, we were in another world—a world that must have been touched by a frosted wand—for every tree and bush, every weed thrust up through the snow glistened and sparkled, as if jewels hung from every branch. We slowed almost to a stop, as if to go too fast might break the spell, aware that nature can, with little fanfare, create incredible beauty, knowing that this was one of those rare moments that can distill the essence of an entire vacation.