Snowstorm after snowstorm this past February opened my eyes to the harshness of winter and how animals struggle to survive. A few days spent on the trail rekindled memories of adaptation, determination and inquisition, and recent observations of collaboration and desperation.


It has been a while since this much snowpack has piled up in the Poconos. The deep snow made simple woodland hiking nearly impossible. Fortunately, with the aid of snowshoes, navigating nearly 3 feet of fresh snow would make the impassible somewhat possible — at least that's what I had assumed.

Just last week, I spent several hours breaking snow-covered trails at Skytop Lodge, and even with the aid of snowshoes, it still was an arduous effort.

Even though the snowpack measured more than 30 inches, every step penetrated down at least 14 inches into the soft, powdery snow. After a few hundred yards, I became fatigued and had to rest.

I wondered how in the world wintertime animals move, travel, forage and survive these harsh conditions.

The first animal that came to mind was the snowshoe hare, a classic example of adaptation to wintery conditions. Not only does the snowshoe hare turn its brown summer pelage into a perfect camouflage of white, but its oversized hind feet become covered with stiff, long hairs that convert into "snowshoes," easing travel on top of the deepest snow.

I stared down at my snowshoes, which were sunk in snow up to my shins, and asked, "What's wrong with this picture? Why can't I walk on top of snow?"

I then realized that the snowshoe hare weighs roughly 3 pounds, and its hind feet are more than 5 inches long — a perfect ratio of weight and foot length to walk on snow. My nearly 200-pound frame would require snowshoes to be 142 inches long, which explains why the 30-inch snowshoes on my feet were not efficient on light, powdery snow.

I had to grin and bear it as I continued along the trail. It was a lonely feeling, as the snow-covered forest was void of animal life. Typically, I would see footprints of squirrels, deer, fox and coyote, but it makes sense that animals without large feet like the snowshoe hare would have a difficult time navigating several feet of soft snow.

Many animals remain dormant until an ice crust forms on top of snow, making traveling easier.

A few years ago, I saw two wild turkeys perched high in a tree along the Lackawaxen River. There was 20 inches of powdery snow on the ground — too soft and deep for turkeys to travel through. The hungry turkeys were determined to feed on a few remnant crabapples on a shrub beneath the tree. They carefully worked their way down to the lowest branches on the crabapple and balanced themselves so as to not fall into the deep snow as they consumed the fruit.

That same year, while driving along a country road in White Haven, I saw a tiny flash of brown scurry on top of the snow, then disappear and resurface and scurry some more. The animal was a pine vole, which thrives in deep snow.

I quickly gathered my camera and busted my way through the deep snow toward the vole. I timed and guessed where the vole would pop up again, and luckily captured a neat photo.

Voles and woodland mice have no problem living in deep snow, as most of their time is spent where the ground surface and snow cover meet, called the subnivian zone. Snow is an excellent insulator, so where deep snowpack meets the ground, the surface is a constant 33 degrees, and life becomes comfortable for these small mammals, even if it's 10 below zero. They tunnel freely beneath the snow and feed upon grasses, seeds, roots and bark without worry of predators from above.

As I struggled along the trail at Skytop, I headed toward a thick stand of white pine. Along the edge of the pines were two whitetail deer feeding on pine boughs. I remained still and tried not to disturb the pair, but the younger doe noticed me and attempted to retreat off the deeply channeled deer path. The snow was up to its shoulders as it tried to plow its way through but quickly gave up.

All the while, its mother remained calm and walked very slowly on the trail. Her calm actions eased the tension of the young doe, which then walked backward onto the established deer path. It learned from its mom that I was not a threat, and both walked single-file in the deep snow trench, demonstrating a perfect example of collaboration to conserve energy and maximize effort.

Later that day, I decided to fill several birdfeeders at Skytop's bird observatory. As soon as I arrived at the feeding station, black-capped chickadees and white-breasted nuthatches were calling from the trees, seemingly chattering, "What took you so long?"

I spread a bucket of cracked corn on top of the snow and filled the feeders with sunflower seeds. Watching songbirds at the feeder during these unforgiving conditions brings a warm feeling inside me, but a smile widened my face when a white-footed mouse crawled out from a nearby brush pile and dined on cracked corn. I guess hunger invited desperation as the tiny mouse exposed itself on top of the snow long enough for me to take a few photos.

It was a memorable winter, with plenty of snow. February has passed, and the warmth of spring should be on the way. Take time to reflect and think about how these remarkable animals survived such harsh conditions. We go about our lives without second thought, taking for granted the simplest principles. Animals adapt, resolve, investigate, unite and often worry. Sound familiar?
