In November, we wait for the snow to fall, softening the trees' bare branches and offering a chance to ski. But by April, we want to hike again, and so we wait for the last of the ice and snow to melt and for the leaves to sprout.

It can be hard to be patient. Lately it's been too snowy or icy for hiking up north with a young person, but too muddy for hiking close at home. But after the rainy weather we've been having, last weekend's relative warmup lured us back outdoors. Leery of mud, I tried to choose our destination carefully.

Hiking in muddy conditions can be bad for your boots, but is especially bad for trails. That's because when hikers try to go around muddy spots, they trample vegetation at the trail's edge, making the trail wider. The state Department of Environmental Conservation issues a mud season advisory every year, asking hikers to stay off Adirondack trails over 2,500 feet in elevation and especially those in the Dix, Giant and High Peaks Wilderness areas.

Right now, the higher elevations of High Peaks are still covered in snow and ice, and the worst of mud season is still a week or more away. But local trails are well into the spring thaw.

I had all this on my mind last week when I saw a post on trail conditions at Mohawk Hudson Land Conservancy properties.

"These preserves are likely to have better conditions through mud season with fewer visitors or more trails to disperse impact: Upper Holt Preserve, Winn Preserve, Ashford Glen Preserve, Swift Wetland, and Keleher Preserve," the post read. I checked the conservancy's family-friendly Nature Passport guidebook for details, picked a preserve, and off we went.

We didn't find mud at the Winn Preserve, which is located near the top of the Helderberg Escarpment outside the town of Altamont. Instead, we found snow... several inches of it. Just down the road, the woods were clear, but at this preserve, there was a solid layer of the white stuff. I knew the Adirondacks still had snow, but was surprised to find so much of it so close to home.

We were all wearing regular hiking shoes or sneakers. My 77-year-old father, who was along for the hike, was also wearing a spiffy-looking pair of khaki pants. None of us had snowshoes or traction devices to keep us from slipping around or gaiters to keep our feet and pants dry.

We got back in the car and ate our sandwiches and discussed. Some Googling on my phone showed that the conservancy's nearby Bozen Kill Preserve, which opened in 2015, was at a lower elevation. We decided we'd try there instead.

Though less than five miles away, the ground at the Bozen Kill was completely free of snow. Dad got out his trekking pole and Little Wren, our 8-year-old foster daughter, selected one of the walking sticks left at the trail register. As I signed us in, Dad, who has earned three black belts, showed Wren how to wield the walking stick as a staff. They poked and swiped at the air in the upper field before we set off down the trail.

The white trail heads into the heart of the preserve, keeping the Bozen Kill in its sight for most of the way. There were a few muddy spots. I hauled Wren over the bigger ones, and we did our best to hop from rock to rock where possible, and to walk through the mud (versus around it) where there weren't rocks. Wren's shoes became encased in mud, and Dad's spiffy pants got splattered.

We paused at an overlook, where a low stone wall kept walkers from getting too close to the edge. Looking down, I could see where the land had fallen away previously. In the loose dirt, the bright yellow coins of coltsfoot blooms glowed in the sunshine. It was more evidence of spring's fickle nature: Five miles away was a solid layer of snow, and yet here were the first wildflowers of the season.

At the end of the white trail, we reached the stream's edge. We admired the torrent of water flowing past, then turned around and headed back. It was a short hike – just over a mile roundtrip. Those with more time, or more inclination to tromp – can continue another .64 of a mile into the preserve on the red trail.

Gillian Scott is a contributor to the Times Union. Email her at gvscott.gvs@gmail.com.