I remember my first attempt at snowshoeing. I was placed on oversized wood snowshoes, with old rope and bindings tying them to my snow boots. As my group was led along the trail by my teacher, I wasn’t accustomed to the size of the snowshoes, stepping on my classmate’s snowshoe and almost causing a few of us to topple over in the snow like dominoes.
As we reached the midpoint of a lake less than a half hour later, we started to hear the frozen lake crack, the warmth of the sun’s rays on a winter day causing the ice to melt. Thankfully our teacher kept us calm, ordering us to turn around and quickly exit to the lake’s edge and continue on the trail.
Despite the trial by fire to learn snowshoeing, I liked the ability to explore the wildnerness, which overcame the frenzy of pre-teens giddy from the endorphins of exerting ourselves in the fresh winter air.
On a recent trip to Mont Tremblant, a sunny cold morning was allocated for an exploration of Domaine St. Bernard, a provincial park with snowshoe trails to explore the forest. My guide Stephan helped outfit with me with lightweight aluminum and plastic snowshoes and we headed off to the 10km trail.
I was easily distracted by the contrast of snow and bare trees, and the numerous tracks of deer, wolf and rabbit that Stephan pointed out to me alongside the snowshoe trail. The sun’s rays peeked through the forest and reflecting off the snow, making everything sparkle like crystals.
I was glad to reconnect with Mother Nature, seeing her decoration of the forest – the clumps of snow like a necklace on the trees and the ice that showcased the rocky areas alongside the trail. Chickadees came to distract us, hoping for some food as we made our way through an area that during the summer was a swamp.
Even through I knew it was well below zero, I was warm from head to toe, happy to keep up the swift pace as I admired the bright surroundings, with a fresh coat of snow giving us the white carpet treatment as we made our way along the trail, heading back for a well-deserved lunch.
So when I was offered to go snowshoeing at night, I wondered how different it would be, not being able to admire the forest under the cloak of night. After a day spent exploring Park City, my friend Craig and I headed to Deer Valley to snowshoe before dinner.
The sky was clear and under the light of the stars and moon, our guide led us up through the trees into a bowl, which by day would be filled with the sounds of skiers and snowboarders, but at night was a quiet spot, with the snow a sharp contrast to the inky darkness of the surrounding trees.
As we went from deep snow up the mountain into higher levels, the soft sounds of the forest was paired with the filtered light from the moon and stars above. With our Fenix torches guiding our way, we three trudged along, with me often mistepping into deep snow and losing my balance temporarily. But it was easily fixed, as I waited a moment and then slowly extracted my snowshoe-clad foot to keep going forward to explore, I marvelled at the shadows and how the mountain looked at night.
I didn’t hear the sounds of any nocturnal animals or felt scared. It was fun and exciting to traverse through the snow lanes, not having to worry about anything except to keep moving forward.
As we reached a high point, I looked down to through Deer Valley to Park City, seeing the lights of the city twinkling below. I felt very far away from civilization standing up on a snowy outcrop of the mountain, and we heard the sounds of the snow grooming machine, signalling the end of our adventure.
As I was slowly descending, I felt that I had once again been able to be very close to Mother Nature, thanks to the simple addition of a pair of snowshoes.