A soft orange emitted from my windowsill, prompting me to open my eyes. This wasn’t the sun, though—this was an artificial light.
Its glow crescendoed to a bright yellow, and birds began to chirp from it. This alarm clock promises to “make sleep easier than ever” by mimicking a sunrise in the otherwise black abyss of shortening days, in an effort to help regulate the circadian rhythm. I rolled my eyes at the cheerful machine; a few watts of light is far from the reprieve of waking to natural sunlight. But sunlight is a waning luxury as winter brings workdays bookended with darkness.
When I contemplated what to write this month, all I could think about was the experience of too-short days, the stress of needing to walk the dog before and after work but being terrified of wandering in the dark and turned off by the thought of stinging cold. So, what now? Couch-potato season starts? Life outside is relegated to weekends if the lines at the ski resorts aren’t too long, and the hangovers aren’t too bad?
So I decided to lean on the expertise of those who live with far less light than we have during winter. I reached out to Alaskans and other northern-dwellers in an outdoor-focused professional group called Basecamp Outdoor for advice. Strangely, the consensus was that while winter can be hard, it is the time of year some anticipate most eagerly.
The general recommendations are to stock up on vitamin D supplements, invest in high-powered headlamps, and get outside every day “even if it’s -40 degrees!”
“You have to make time to go outside every day, even if it’s just a walk on your lunch break,” Michelle Beadle wrote. “Having a winter sport that you enjoy such as skiing, skating, dog mushing, etc. is also a must.”
Jaz Jones recommends shifting work schedules around sunlight, if possible, to get some time outside—like an Alaskan siesta of sorts, but instead of sleep and wine, it’s skis and snowshoes.
“Vitamin D tablets are a must,” Tony Waters wrote. “Caffeine for when you feel sleepy at 3 p.m., and cardio after work.”
Most who responded to my query see the severe lack of light as a challenge to make the most of the sunshine. “Honestly, I think I spend more time outdoors in the winter because of how limited the light is in Alaska,” Carlee Christensen wrote.
That said, many also recommend shifting expectations and exploring at night. “The darkness is not a problem if you’re active,” Adam Rubin wrote. “You have to see it as an opportunity for exploration.”
Something hidden in these comments kept ticking at me: Am I too hesitant here to expose myself to the adverse elements that these Alaskans seem so ready to embrace?
I’m guilty of being a fair-weather adventurer. I snowboard on bluebird days after storms. I shorten walks from a few miles to a few blocks when it’s too nippy outside. I tell my dog that rain will melt us both to avoid walking under a drizzle. When the sun isn’t up, the only appealing adventure is sleep.
I was staying with family on the other side of the Sierra Nevada as I sorted through the Alaskans’ comments. It rained that day from morning to night—a total of 1.4 inches. Instead of our morning walk that day, I pulled a cheesy romance book close to me while my dog grumbled and sighed at my feet. I told her (and myself) it was too miserable out there, anyway, and that we would go later, when it dried up. However, as the afternoon ticked away, guilt replaced the relaxation of reading. The rain was not letting up. I finally decided to leave the house, only at the behest of my dog.
“Ten minutes only,” I said to her as we started onto our path.
Ten minutes into the walk, things were as predicted: Water splatters on my glasses jumbled my vision; my clothing (none of it waterproof, of course) was soaking through; and my dog was cruising through muck that would leave a smell in my car for days to come.
But also, my mood lifted. The day felt lighter, and a mental flow state pushed through the current bout of writer’s block. “Keep going?” I asked my dog. She jetted ahead.
Now, I’m inspired. What if we embrace the weather instead of running from it? If we take a note from the Alaska playbook and just get out there, even if it feels uncomfortable?
One way to ease into this is with a supportive community. “Community, a very tight knit community, was especially important,” Charlie Fischer wrote. “The routines of regular activities and get-togethers, plus the little spontaneous moments of helping a neighbor shovel out or something similar, really helped me weather winters.”
If you don’t speak to your neighbors, and none of your friends are crazy enough for moonlit snowshoeing, there are local groups you can tap into during winter. Silver State Striders, a trail running group, meets every Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday. Facebook groups like Women Who Explore: Lake Tahoe/Reno Area are full of members looking to link up for outdoor activities. Adult sports leagues, like coed volleyball through the city of Reno, run through winter. Biggest Little Trail Stewardship hosts trail-work volunteer days and clean ups. The Lahontan Audubon Society hosts birding field trips.
I’m not saying that we should go climb Peavine at 7 p.m. every night, but I am encouraging you to consider the benefits of getting outside when it’s uncomfortable for the sake of your mental health—if not for your immediate gratification, for its ability to make life a little bit brighter during some of the darkest days.
Nightfall comes earlier in winter, but if you take a page from the Alaska playbook, there are actually a couple of bright sides to winter outdooring. Photo/Helena Guglielmino