Snowshoeing

by Katrina Martin

What could be more fun than strapping on a pair of shoes made of aluminum and plastic, bundling up until only the small swath of skin surrounding the eyes shows and heading out into the snowy unknown?

Nothing!

My obsession with snowshoeing began in 1997 when I went on a weekend ski trip to Aspen with friends. I am a Colorado native but I've never skied and I've only been snowboarding once (an experience I hope not to repeat anytime soon). I needed to find a snow activity to pass the hours while my friends rushed down the slopes. I wasn't going to go to Aspen to sit in the hotel room.

I decided to give snowshoeing a try. I rented an awful pair from the student recreation center on campus and I'm convinced they weren't even close to the right size for me. We headed up into the mountains in a vicious snow storm at four in the morning in order to get to the slopes by 10 a.m. I slept most of the way and set out on my first snowshoeing adventure a bit groggy and a teensy bit scared.

Although my friends said it would be easy to find a snowshoe trail once we hit the lifts, I wandered around the ski village for a half-hour trying to find someone who could direct me toward a trail. Finally, I went into a cheesy tourist shop and asked the crusty man behind the counter.

He pointed vaguely and said I'd find a trail marker "out there." I wandered blindly for another 10 minutes trying to locate the sign. Eventually I discovered it had been right in front of my face, but the snow reached nearly to the top and obscured its message.

I took a deep breath, strapped on the unwieldy shoes and headed down the trail. Right away, I noticed something was wrong. I stood on the steep slope of a hill and at the bottom was a highway. As I looked in horror, a semi barreled down the road. If I tripped, I'd roll myself down that hill toward the grill of a Mack truck.

My heart pounded as I stepped gingerly across the hill. I lost my balance once and ended up with my arms up to my shoulders in snow - but thankfully did not careen down the hill. I made it across the slope and caught up with a second, flatter trail. I discovered if I'd only walked another 10 feet, I could have started on this second trail without risking my life. I laughed.

I set off into the trees. Squirrels chattered and birds chirped overhead. The sun broke through the clouds and another woman on the trail ahead of me whistled a happy tune. This was perfection.

Then I stumbled and sent myself tumbling into a tree hole (the indentation of snow around a tree's trunk where the snow isn't as deep). It is difficult to get yourself out of a tree hole; especially if it's your first time snowshoeing and you aren't using poles.

Eventually I got out and set off on the trail again. I promised myself to use poles the next time I went snowshoeing. I also promised myself not to wear so many layers and to buy waterproof shoes. By now my shoes and two pairs of socks were sopping wet and the t-shirt I wore under my flannel shirt, cable- knit sweater and winter coat was in the same state.

But I smiled. I was snowshoeing! I tromped through the snow enjoying the birds, the squirrels, the sugary snow, the fresh air and the solitude. I had embarked on a new adventure and I loved every minute of it.

About an hour later my legs turned to rubber. I headed back to the ski village, found a comfy couch in a coffee shop and read a book until my friends finished snowboarding. I have rarely felt such a sense of accomplishment.

The funny thing about that story is until this winter I didn't snowshoe again. I look back on that day with great enthusiasm and talk about it often when the temperatures drop. Last winter, I finally bought a pair of my very own snowshoes (and poles) and have used them twice since. School took up every single second of my weekends, and there was no time for solitude, chirping birds and falling in tree holes.

But this winter is different. I work from home now. I can leave on snow adventures during the week when the trails aren't packed and the traffic is non-existent. My fiancé also has a pair of snowshoes now so I have someone to go with. I am finally experiencing the bliss of snowshoeing again. I love it.