That’s a phrase I never expected to be using as a kid growing up in the Baltimore burbs. Sure we had snow there, sometimes a big amount. But snow activities were limited to shoveling it, making snowmen from it, and sledding down it on the “huge” hill across the street near Sudbrook school.
And it was more for the rich or cool kids who would travel all the way to the Poconos in Pennsylvania to ski, and return to wear for weeks their lift tickets dandling from coat zippers, like some kind of badge of honor. Compared to alpine peaks I’d later hike as an adult in Colorado, New Mexico, California, northern Arizone, the Poconos I bet were a pimple of a hill.
Snowshoes? That was something for movie characters like Jeremiah Johnson. Or cartoons, where te characters wore things strapped to their feet that looked more like extended tennis rackets.
But indeed, it was December 8, 2014 (exact date I know with the help of flickr) when I literally did strap them a pair of brand new red showshoes, during the 5 month stint I had as on a fellowship at Thompson Rivers University in Kamloops, BC.
Noe here is where I lack notes or photo captions to fill in the memory gap. I thought maybe it was my friend Brian Lamb (who engineered the fellowship) who suggested getting a pair. Off I went to the local Canadian Tire store, what was for me a whole new cultural experience (and still has an aura) to buy an inexpensive pair of snowshoes, complete with matching telescoping poles.
I still own them.
I can guess from geolocation data on the first photo of the red snowshoes on snow a first outing was on the hill right next to the high rise residence hall I lived in. I do recall that over the next two months I dod remember getting in my truck and driving out to nearby places to tromp around in the snow. It fit my style to be out in the snow at a walking pace, not some race pace on downhill skis.
Then again, I will check my story again, because photos shpw a week later maybe I was snow shoeing with Jason Toal on Cypress Mountain in Vancouver, along with his friends dog, Bert.
Jason was then based at SFU but came out a few times to TRU, we hung out often, and I would bet he would have urged me to try snow shoeing. I had gone to Vancouver to spend holiday break with my cousin Jane and Jason invited me to try a walk up on Cypress Mountain.
The red shoes went home with me to Strawberry Arizona. I would drive the 20 minutes up Highway 260 to the top of the Mogollon Rim for treks into the Coconino National Forest. I remember once I got myself turned around on direction, not able to find the edge, and the only way I got back was tracing my own steps.
So yes, the red snow shoes were in the truck when I moved to Saskatchewan in 2018. The thing was, with all my outings (like a whopping 20 or so) they involved getting in the truck and driving to a place to start “shoeing”
This all changed when Cori and I bought our 16 acre rural property. We can literally, in winter, snowshoe out our back door. No cars needed. And indeed the “prairies are just all flat”, but the edging of our shelterbelt of caragana amd chokecherry shrubs, especially on the north side, captures a huge amount of snow.
In 2022 we had drifts maybe 18 feet high.
We ended up buying a matching pair of shoes (again from Canadian Tire), but the red ones are there for guests.
And just today, of all things in the last week of April, when thoughts are turning to gardening and tree planting and summer swimming, today, April 26, Cori and I went out our back door, strapped on our snoeshoes, for a walk around our own place.
I have no idea what that kid in the Baltimore burbs would have to say about this guy out there snowshoeing in Canada. He’d probably have something sarcastic to say.
These stories are the paths we go from and on.
Featured Image: New Shoes flickr photo by cogdogblog shared under a Creative Commons (BY 2.0) license dated December 8, 2014 with a caption “I picked up some (inexpensive) snowshoes this weekend. Ready to give them a tromp”
