A few inches of snow fell down even in our plains.

Up in the hills there was more, but grass stuck out of the groomers.

It appears that after more than quarter century of journals, our readership has shrunk — the few individuals who practiced requested snow dances to attract snowfall, had some effect, but only little. I must be insufficiently qualified as an influencer, for otherwise thousands would jiggle at my beck and call, thus causing two or three winter storms. Nevertheless, in the week following Sid's birthday it actually snowed. It was all still in the "first snow" mode — four inches of fresh powder on the ground, with no base. We had to ride our skis very carefully — yes, Tom accompanied me, and I think slow progress suited him, as he was recovering from some nasty flu and wheezed even more than I. It looks great on pictures, frosted little trees and pure clean snow on the paths, but one crushed through it all the way to the ground and rocks, and it stuck to the skis, and one knew these winter conditions would last mere hours.

On account of snow volatility, Sid and I went for a walk on Sunday. Curt Gowdy State Park is at lower elevation than my Nordic tracks, and its trails were altogether bare. We decided to check out the Archery Loop. This awesome park offers — besides kayaking, fishing, camping, horse or bike riding, not to mention walking and hiking — also an archery shooting range with a trail loop. You can stay in a convenient gulch and shoot targets — or embark on a trail where targets are spread out in the nature and marked for distances. You shoot your arrow(s), continue along the trail, which takes you to the target, where you collect your arrow(s) and proceed in your walk. The whole thing is set in a magical, jagged landscape, and even without shooting the hike was quite interesting.

A day later and few feet lower, snow was almost gone, only Granite Springs Reservoir stayed frozen.

Archery Loop is very picturesque.

Alas, snow-less weather meant that we had to continue coming up with pedestrian trips. Not just that — throughout the winter, we keep being pestered by windstorms. Such thing happening once or twice in a season is considered normal here; now we got to number five or six. In one trip, we took shelter in Box Canyon, hoping that we would not find wind there. Well, it was not AS strong as on the plains, but it bounced off the canyon walls, thus blowing at us from several angles at once. You can see a beautiful sunny day on the pictures, with us stumbling through it wearing heavy clothing layers.
For our next attempt to avoid wind, we turned to Red Feather Lakes in Colorado — it's a pretty recreational area, criss-crossed by tourist trails, which would certainly be worth a closer scrutiny. On the other hand we worry that it will be full of people in summer.

Attempting to hide from the wind in Box Canyon.

One can also escape to Colorado.

On fourth of March it snowed enough at least on my Nordic tracks. Again it only amounted to a few inches with no base. Three days later it snowed a bit more, leaving a few (literally two) inches even in our plains. Those two layers coming relatively shortly apart, Yeti had hoped, it could improve the cross-country situation — at least in the woods and shadows, an older snow layer could last and form a base. This came to pass and thus I could run my proven shortcut in the woods without much complications — though in one spot fallen trees blocked the path and I had take off my skis and climb, but it motivated me so much that I let it lure me onto my favorite Headquarters Trail. It runs over a southern slope, at the mercy of sun and wind, and is passable only rarely. I considered it as a first and at the same time last chance to ski these parts. In fact, I made it through, but it was rather due to my persistence — one part of it I had to step gingerly on account of treacherous rocks hiding under the thin snow; another part consisted of sun-drenched, sticky snow that clinged in large chunks to my skis. Huffing mightily, I reached the turning point, where I joined groomed main Nordic routes. I took my skis off there and turned their running surface to the sun to get rid of various sticky remnants (which were, in fact, the things gathering snow chunks). The sight of me must have disquieted Randy, a grooming tech, who drove by, who asked me if I was OK, sitting on a stump without skis. I assured him that everything went according to plan, and then we exchanged opinions on this miserable winter. Randy offered that the snow might last one more day, but then hot weather would arrive and we'd be out of luck.

A few inches fell again and that means hurry to ski.

Sun.

I had no other choice than to go Nordic skiing right the next day. I did not even try Headquarters, and reaching the ridge, I was forced in a critical spot to follow my previous day's tracks exactly — as the compressed snow froze and lasted, while dirt ruled everywhere else. To not keep you suspended, this round of snow altogether melted and disappeared. Another shiver came a week later, bringing the obligatory four inches — and I took Tom out to ski as well. By that time Randy did not groom anymore, it was not worth it. The most surprising detail is, I managed to go cross-country ski NINE TIMES in this season. Mostly in conditions that I would not seriously consider during a normal winter, and except for that one excursion to Headquarters Trail, all of those runs amounted to at most an hour (loop in the woods were snow held); I'm glad of them nevertheless. I visited our downhill slopes exactly ONCE. Which made it extremely dear after having bought a season pass, but I was not enticed by an idea to organize a whole day trip, spending three to four hours in my car, just to slide a single melting slosh slope a few times.

Yet even such a mild winter was a heavy load on our poor arthritic Licorice. She had been on Meloxicam for about a year now, which is a painkiller and reduces chance of inflammation, but in cold days and after cold nights, she feels the worse for it. Mostly for her comfort, I close the goat for the night in their shed and separate girls and boys. The boys are nice and friendly, but they are large and "eat all the food". And I need for the hobbling Licorice to have time and room to eat in peace without having to push away a wether twice her size. On her worse days, other goats chase her out. As much I understand the in a herd context the weakened individual becomes undesirable, because she slows everyone else down and attracts predators, I feel sorry for my old goatie in these domestic circumstances. When they are all closed in the shed, they seem to behave nicer — and simply have NOWHERE to push Licky out to.

Goat pecking order is complicated, but everybody rushes for a treat.

Licky keeps laying about more lately, perhaps arthritic joints really hurt her.

Goat pecking order is relatively complicated. It is not linear, as if there were a goat number one, and then number two, all the way to the last goat. There are various hurdles and deviations. Twilight remains my number one, with Licky being theoretically number two — followed by Twy's offspring, then Licky's offspring, with Loreena being last. But Twilight will harass Licky's Enya, while tolerating Loreena. Perhaps because the smallest and shyest goatie does not threaten her at all. Lori is also good buddies with the largest male, Mick. His brother, Freddy, is friends with Licky — I have been observing for a long time that they're quite a couple. They often eat next to each other, but they sniff and lick as well. Meanwhile Licky usually sleeps with her twin daughters, Enya and Loreena. Therefore she's not lonely, but one can see those relationships shift and vary.

I had arranged a vet appointment for Licorice to the end of March, but when I saw her to step from one front foot to the other, in five second intervals, even when eating or peeing, I took her there on the following day, without an appointment. It works so: you bring your animal in right in the morning, leave it there, and the vet would look at it during breaks or whenever he's got time. I also had a shift at work that day, so I unloaded Licorice, went to work and waited for a call from the vet's. The rang me still in the morning, for which I was very glad — right then, a crazy wind was blowing and a metal horse box, where they'd parked Licorice, vibrated and buzzed in the gale, which had to horribly scare a little goatie. I was relieved to drive her home so soon — the vet did not find anything worse on her than an advancing arthritis, which I a rather good news. I did not want to leave things neglected, and asked for stronger and more effective painkillers for Licky. She received them — to my surprise, it Gabapentin, which I, too, was issued for myself and my pains. People indeed resemble their pets.

Wyoming wind is so strong, it bends icicles.

At least so much snow fell that I could get out in the terrain despite obstacles.

I serve Licorice's Meloxicam in a peanut; I used the same method with Gabapentin. I got away with it once. On the second and third turn, I had to wrap the pill in a soft bread. After that, she refused even this treat — she learned to briskly unwrap the bread from the pill and spit it out. Thus came apple sauce, crushing the pill, and squirting the mix with a syringe into the resisting goat's throat. At that point I recalled that the vet's offered Gabapentin in a solution. I ordered it and made Tom pick it up. Looking at the prescription in the evening, I saw that the dose was six milliliters. I thought it was a lot, but I was resolved to try. Then I licked my finger and understood why Licky resisted so much. It is crazy bitter. I reckoned that I would not be able to get six milliliters into her, and went back to crushing pills and attempts to mask it with apple sauce. With this, we fought through approximately a week, when I noticed that Licorice was getting worse, kept lying down all the time and almost stopped moving, and consequently eats that much less. I keep on my mind how our old goat Hazel died, who also had arthritis and then stopped moving, got very stiff overnight and chilled throughout. In the middle of mulling over disaster scenarios I realized that Gabapentin causes drowsiness. Eventually Licky herself solved the mystery by deciding one day to tolerate my stuffing her with Gabapentin no more. I counted that we had actually reached the recommended treatment week or two, and stopped torturing my goatie. It seems that her joints hurt less and she became less drowsy; may it last some time now. I have the rest of the drug ready, should she look bad again.

I have to blaze through my favorite shortcut.

Grooming makes snow dense and increases chances to last longer.

Regarding Licorice and the need to close the goaties off in a smaller space, in order to prevent the herd to chase Licky somewhere far into the prairie, I needed to sort out fence. I keep a smaller corral in front of the goat shed, exactly for the cases when I don't want the herd to wander all over the pasture (I will likely have to limit their access due to expected dry weather, so that the goats don't overgraze), and to give them room on warm nights to not suffocate in the shed and still stay behind some fence, because us coyotes and similar vermin. I inspect the fences around the pasture regularly and fix holes and dug-under spots, but it is a large area and I'm not sure to always catch everything. I can review the small corral from the shed's door and there are live cameras pointed at it, so I can see even from the house what's going on.

Having added Goatel 6, I had to extend this corral as well. Rick offered to run regular fence mesh. However, it turned out problematic, because it is too springy, and unless it's anchored on permanent posts, it gets loose. I don't want to dig for and cement in posts — I need the fence to be temporary and reconfigurable. The corral occupies a space that might need to allow passing a tractor or similar heavy vehicle through; both large gates to the main pasture lead here. Sometimes, I need to move the corral fencing as the herd tail-count and composition changes — to separate baby goats or a lame goat. The original corral is assembled from solid panels, tied to metal posts hammered into ground — posts that can be pulled out of the ground and hammered somewhere else, just as easy moving the panels there. The whole system has been, despite being quite temporary, successfully resisting goats' attempts to escape, as well as their rubbing, scratching and bucking, for the last five years. A mesh fence endured five months before the goats managed to pry it loose and wiggle the posts to a point where they could crawl under it.

A view to Rockies.

A day later it becomes obvious that sun is winning and snow has no chance.

It's not a problem to buy more panels and posts — but the panels measure sixteen feet (five meters), which won't fit in any normal car, not even our truck. A standard trailer (with a ten feet - three meters - bed) is not long enough either, unless you train the panels behind on the road. A larger trailer requires a larger truck, plus a driver willing to operate such monster on county roads and dirt tracks — which was my main reason to use the mesh fence in the first place. Now I was shopping for a store that would deliver the panels to my home. I also approached various friends and associates — with no result. Until I complained to one goaty associate of mine, who asked, "and would it fit into my horse trailer?" Why, sure, animal trailers measure SIXTEEN feet. Whoa. Drive to store, buy and reserve panels, organize the haul for Sunday, conscript Tom for the same Sunday, notice I ordered the wrong panel height and need lower, cancel my first order and arrange the next, then load them fences, navigate my friend to our homestead and unload everything; all that was actually rather easy. Then it was only a matter of chasing down Rick and convince him to erect the fence and make changes in spots that did not survive original goaty curiosity. Now I have (maybe, finally) a solid fence for a lame goat and an extremely dry season.

It was not to be the end of my worries. Right around that time, a rock hit my car's windshield. Unfortunately it did not cause just a small crater, it outright cracked the glass. Nothing else reasonable could be done except ordering a new glass and replace it. I left Ned parked in our garage and drove with the truck or the minivan for a few days. When I then drove Ned out after four days to the glass shop, my dashboard lit up with tire pressure warning. At least in Ned the warning also includes the pressure level, so I could observe that it was not a big change and that it was not dropping while I drove. I told the glass people about it and that the affected tire would need to be re-pressurized, so that I could subsequently take it to the tire shop, and they assured me the these modern cars require camera recalibration, for which they must pump the tires for equal pressure (32 psi). I let Tom drive me home (who stayed in Cheyenne through Monday because of me) and congratulated myself for having such handy glass people. Sid took be back in the evening — we had to wait for a while, as they said the car was still out at recalibration. Then they handed me my keys and I was OK to go — yet soon the pressure warning lit up again — and tires were at 38, 37, 34 and 28 psi... exactly the numbers with which I handed it in; meaning no leveling was done, and probably no calibration either.

I have to keep to my own previous day's tracks.

On March 16 an optimistic snowman beckons, but it's apparently the end of the season.

It made me mad. I still had to deal with my leaking tire. For years, we had been using local "tire people", where we used to find nice chaps, with whom you could talk and where we got the impression of quality work. Alas, the place changed its owner and attitude — squirming about free flat fixes (they advertise: if you buy your tires there, they provide free flat fixes and other small service like balancing and rotating). Now they dream up extra (paid) work. Two young guys interacted with me in the fall as if I were a total idiot, while they were unable to reset pressure sensors in the wheels, nor were they capable to read the Subaru specification requiring different pressures in front and rear tires. In my opinion they completely skipped balancing, making me mad then.

And so I decided to try to get my tire fixed at Les Schwab — which is a large national chain — even if I had to pay for it, on account of not having bought my tires there. They fixed, asked no money, and even had coffee available in their waiting room, plus a functional bathroom and wifi — altogether very civilised and pleasant. The last chore to do it getting a new State Parks sticker on my windshield. I bought it for Neddie at the start of the year and lost it along with my glass (for it can't be transferred as designed).

...Randy has given up grooming.

Five days later, I set out on my kayak!

Perhaps it's no surprise that after a poor winter, spring came early. After all, it had been warm all winter, but eighty five degrees in March is rather unusual. For me, spring comes with my birthday. I keep repeating that I don't celebrate, but this one I did, in the end. My sword-fighting buddy approached me with his birthday being on 19th of March, and whether we could put together a gathering with a training at our house and the barn. First we thought of grilling, but the weather was not sure to cooperate, so I offered to cook a potato goulash (done in a crock pot). There are about ten of us in the new club, with four or five people showing up for practices, and I considered cooking for such number of participants nothing special. I seem to have principally underestimated the situation, because all ten people came and ATE a full crock pot of goulash, ate bacon-wrapped dates (an appetizer brought by another knight) and most of brought sweetbreads. We almost did not fit in our barn for the practice, although some came only for a short time and could not stay long. Still, as far as celebrations go, I consider it very appropriate. Friends got together and practiced their favorite hobby.

Right on my birthday, I had another opportunity. Our poor winter projected into hot early spring, and suddenly even our hills were heated to seventy degrees (eighty five down at home), so I packed and stored my skis and pulled out my KAYAK. There is not chance to repeat my Nordic June record this year, but I hope the competition committee will accept kayaking on first spring day — five days after last skiing. Especially since this was our regular outing, taking it easy in shorts and t-shirts, no compromises due to the special occasion.

Sid hiked along the shore and thus I'm documented on my first kayaking.

Death Crotch has a scary name, but is a very pretty spot to hike.

Naturally the only people who did not notice that spring had arrived (very) early, are park and forest rangers. During the socialist era in our far-away birth country, there was this thing called "heating season". It started and ended on dates set in the Five Year Plan, with total disregard of weather. Our rangers here don't control community heating furnaces, but their job is to (close and) open gates to dirt roads in the National Forest, and those stay closed. It seriously limits our range of trips — we either have to go to Curt Gowdy State Park, which is beautiful but relatively tiny, or make do with the few trails that can be reached from public highways. One of such places is Death Crotch. Despite its scary name it is a beautiful gulch, through which one can hike up to a view point from a nameless mountain. Tom joined us on this trip. We always welcome company, especially one tolerant to our uphill huffing. For myself, I kept pretending to stop often to take pictures of Pasque flowers and other spring blossoms. Tom and Sid pretended in turn that they believed me, and the trip concluded to overall satisfaction.

Yeti is rather nervous about the extreme weather; by the end of March we are supposed to shoved through snow banks and ride skis. Instead we pull irrigation hoses and kayak, but we can control neither wind, nor rain or Hunga Tonga volcano. We're getting ready for a hot and dry summer — and hope to endure it somehow.