I’ve never used snowshoes before. This is an account of my first attempt, which, despite ending with me feeling silly, got me wanting to try again.
Even though my truck was the only vehicle at the trailhead, parking was a challenge. A succession of snow ploughs clearing the highway had created a brown wall only a few feet from the pristine white line. I eventually found a spot, got my backpack out of the trunk and carefully shuffled down the icy embankment.
It wasn’t hard to find the trail, since someone else had already walked that way. Their feet had compacted the snow so that I didn’t need the snowshoes I had strapped to my backpack. I thought that the frozen creek that the trail followed sounded different than creeks do in summer. After an hour, as I approached the lake, the trees became sparser, and the trail in the snow stopped. Without a ready-made trail and without tree cover, the snow became harder to walk on, so I put the snowshoes on. A friend had lent them to me, and they were top-of-the range, made by MSR. After another half hour, I arrived at the lake shore. Because the lake was partly frozen and because of the snowcover, it was impossible to tell where exactly the land ended and the lake began. I sat down under a lone pine tree and ate the croissant I had bought in town earlier in the morning. After a while, I thought I heard barking, and it took me a few seconds to realize it was actually a flock of geese honking closer to the water. The honking became more agitated, and looking closer, I saw a pair of coyotes approaching the geese. I assumed they were a couple. They looked fluffier than coyote do in summer, but their half-hearted attitude stalking the birds was the same as always. It seemed like they didn’t believe they had a chance but wanted to try anyway.
I continued on the snow-covered marshland surrounding the lake, adding my snowshoe tracks to those of the coyotes, hares, and a snowmobile that had come from the other side of the lake. In one place, the snow looked like someone had hit it with a baseball bat repeatedly, but no prints were leading up to this. I puzzled over what may have caused this for some time and only later realized that it must’ve been caused by a large bird landing there, breaking the surface, and flying off again.
Eventually I turned back towards the highway, but this time I followed an old, overgrown forest road on the other side of the creek. The snow became softer, and even with my snowshoes distributing my weight, I sank in half a foot with each step. As I approached the trailhead, I picked up a set of old footprints coming the other way. Reasoning that they must come from the highway, I started following them. They approached the creek and then crossed it on section that was frozen over. Even though I had snowshoes and someone else had done it before me, this seemed risky. I kept walking besides the creek until I found a tree that had fallen across. Slowly, I moved onto the snow on top of the tree, which promptly gave way and fell, with me on top of it, into the water. “You’re an idiot,” I was thinking as was lying in the water. I quickly got out. My legs up to my knees and my entire right side were wet. Fortunately, the air temperature was above freezing, and I knew it was just a few minutes to my car. I made it there without problems and changed to the spare socks and shoes I had wisely brought along. Within a few minutes, I was on my way down the mountain at 60 miles an hour.
Nehaveigur 