Last week while the snow was still fresh on fields and in woods, I went out animal tracking. I am said to be a descendant of Robert Gray, who discovered the Columbia River on the Lewis and Clark expedition, and that may be, since it was water that he discovered. But it has never been suggested in family genealogy that the Kentucky tracker and guide Kit Carson was a forebear. My “track” record would clearly show that I inherited no tracking genes.

Whenever there is a fresh snow, I like to be out in it and since the efficient West Tisbury highway department crews are out plowing on most snow days before I am up, I must take to the fields and the woods to find untrammeled snow. Happily — even if I am too much of a slugabed to precede the snow plowers, I am out before most human walkers. But not before the denizens of the woods and fields.

On snow days I should always carry my Field Guide to Animal Tracks with me, but I invariably forget, as I am bedazzled by the beauty of white snow glistening in the morning and eager to be crunching through it. My big-footed tracks destroy its beauty; I know that, but I remind myself that other walkers such as Dan Cabot with his yellow Lab Cassie will be coming soon after me, leaving boot and dog tracks.

Last week I crunched through the field on Music street where Mark Mazer is building a house for the Eisendraths, and then walked back though the woods that edge Glimmerglass Pond. I looked for deer tracks, since deer have hooves and their tracks are recognizable and at dusk I sometimes see deer crossing the Panhandle, but I could find none. Perhaps December’s hunters did too good a job. But there were other tracks to be seen.

I can usually recognize rabbit tracks and there were many of these, but it was not until I was at home consulting my field guide that I discovered I should be able to tell by the tracks when a rabbit has been hopping, resting and making short leaps. If I looked closely around tree stumps and rocks, I should also be able to see where a rabbit might have been taking shelter from the snow and wind. If I studied the twigs on the ground, I should be able to tell if a hungry rabbit had gnawed them. But I had missed all this.

Along the edge of Glimmerglass Pond I looked for odd-shaped tracks that might have been made by a muskrat or an otter. Otters have been seen in the Mill Pond, not far away. But there were only dog and rabbit tracks.

Near Ann Burt’s an animal with a tail had left a track in the snow and when I consulted my book, the picture suggested that a muskrat might have been near her pond.

Because mice frequent my house in winter — two cats notwithstanding — I thought I might find mouse tracks in the snow. I suspect they are quite light-footed and none of the mouse tracks in my book resembled anything I had seen outdoors. There were, of course, cat tracks where my two cats had been bold enough to go exploring once the snow had fallen.

Kit Carson would have known how to study the animal scat, too, but that is quite beyond me. Clearly, tracking is not my forte. But I had taken delight in the snow. My walk had been a lovely one — and the mystery of the animal tracks had kept me company.