Snowshoes and The Sound Of Screams

I loved to snowshoe as a child, using the big round beaver tail shoes made of wood and sinew.  I remember tromping along behind Dad as he broke trail ahead, my little shoes leaving perfect waffle iron miniatures inside his larger prints, our tracks stretching out behind us over bright rolling fields sparkling in the winter sun.  Still, I wasn't very coordinated as a child, and our treks were never without a certain amount of time spent, on Dad's part, hiking back to where I was laying face down in the snow, unable to stand up or even flip over.  Dad likely recalls those trips very differently, probably with more whining and less idealism.


Husband and I went snowshoeing yesterday. It has changed quite a bit since I was a girl.  The snowshoes Husband brought with us were high-tech fabrications of polycarbonate and plastic, shaped more like an otter's tail than that of a beaver.   I had tried them out the year before and my disdain for their new-fangledness had faded the moment I took a step and did not immediately tread on my own feet, forcing a face plant into the ground.  Could it really be true? Was there actually a winter sport out there that involved strapping something to my feet and not dying?


I know what you're thinking and you are right to ask.  Where did Husband take me for the first snowshoe of the season?  

I looked up from the shiny, Tam-friendly snowshoes, to the trail ahead.  To the trail high ahead.  The mountain trail.  Forbidden Plateau, the abandoned ski hill with creepy burned out shacks and the forlorn chairlift frozen forever, mid cycle, it's empty seats swaying lonely and lost in the fog.  


Yes, fog. 


We hiked straight up for two hours past empty buildings, gutted and charred and totally not as thoroughly creepy as you would think due to the jolly snowman someone had constructed out front.  

Not creepy in any way

At the very top of the old ski run we climbed a rickety wooden Ramp To Nowhere to get a good look at the dense wall of fog completely obscuring the panoramic view.  It's okay, though because it was a wonderful day and the hike up on the fancy shoes was loads of fun.  


The hike down was an hour of hell and tumbling resulting in a pulled groin muscle, two lost ski skins, a broken ski pole, a slight concussion, my invention of the worlds first Snowshoe Toboggan and the discovery of nearly every tree pit and hidden gully on the mountain side. I can't wait to get back up there next weekend and do it all again!