Continued unseasonably warm weather is in the forecast. The glaciers are melting, and I just drove down to the store to buy the milk I forgot to get yesterday. So when I think about the upcoming ski season, I'm feeling guilty.

Like downhill skiing is contributing too much to global warming and melting the very snow I want to ski on.

So there are two good reasons this winter to stay close to home, which is, lucky for us, already in the mountains:

1. My dog, who is not fond of me hogging Saturday afternoon without him, schussing down a groomed run.

2. I would leave a huge carbon footprint - as if I didn't already - just to drive to a ski area minus dog and ride a chairlift.

Hypocrite.

I spent all summer driving around just to run or hike different mountains.

My efforts to reduce my energy consumption feel like I'm trying to fill a sieve with water. I ride my bike to work and drive to the Elkhorns to hike. I buy organic but it was shipped from California. I conserve water but vacation in Europe. I know I need to be more responsible to the earth, but right now I'd like to ski with my dog.

Which brings me to the bittersweet fact that when we do get a good dump of snow right in town, I can literally ski from my doorstep. That's sweet.

My cross-country ski skills, which might propel me gracefully up and down the South Hills trails, through the paradise that is Helena's backyard without any extra fossil fuel burned in the process, unfortunately, are severely lacking. That's bitter.

Up is easy. Down is chaos. The trees that seemed so charming as I passed them on the way up seem to line up closer to the narrow trail when I head down, leaning in like a row of shark's teeth, ready to snag me on my descent.

My dog doesn't seem to notice. He never barks at the trees, however menacing they become. He seems unaware of my tribulations, running along, having a great time. Well, usually. I nearly speared him once with my ski pole as I rocketed myself into a bank just as he came up from behind. Happily, he is fast, and I am slow. After that I traded the skis for snowshoes.

Cross-country skiing I find to be as daunting as swimming. All these strange motions have to be executed simultaneously.

So I've asked around for advice. What's a beginner who wants to ski with a dog, without driving anywhere, to do?

"Take a lesson," Les Mignery of the Last Chance Nordic Ski Club said.

I'd like to ignore that. Can't take my dog and I'd have to drive to Mac Pass. So I press on, "Which trails in the South Hills would be good for beginners?"

Mignery suggests that a beginner would be well served to start at the golf course when there's enough snow in town. And take a lesson.

"But where can I go with my dog?" I ask.

Perhaps on good faith that I would first take lessons, Mignery suggests buying a map of the Helena National Forest and checking out the miles and miles of roads that might be skiable in winter.

Lots of roads don't get any traffic in the winter, save snowmobilers, and they are wide. "Snow machine people pack it in, so it's a great place to ski," Mignery said.

Miles of open road where my dog can join me. Rimini, Little Blackfoot, Telegraph Creek, Dog Creek, the Elkhorns. The possibilities start to bubble up and spill over until I'm foaming at the mouth.

I've already forgotten that I'll have to drive the car to get there.

Maybe I'll worry about plugging that leaky sieve later, when I get back from skiing.

My dog, watching me as I pull my skis out, cocks his head to the side and stares at me. I can hear what he says.

Take a lesson.

Copy editor Tara Thompson: 447-4097 or tara.thompson@helenair.com