Snowshoe hike was good for us all ~ February 12, 1998

David Heiller

Cindy and Mollie and I strapped on snowshoes and headed into the woods on Sunday afternoon.

The snowshoe gang relaxes.

We had plenty of work to do at home. Ironing for my wife, Cindy, newspaper work for me. Even Mollie, 12, had her piano to practice.

But if you can’t make room for a Sunday saunter, then something is wrong, especially on a gorgeous day with temperatures in the thirties.

We started at a friend’s house. Our goal was to walk three miles southeast through the woods to another friend’s house.

Let’s face it, you can’t get lost in the winter in snow. All you have to do is turn around and follow your footprints back to where you started.

That’s one thing I like about snowshoeing. I have a tendency to get turned around in the woods, and it always worries me a little. But not in the winter, with snow on the ground.

We started out on a logging road, following our friend’s ski tracks. Mollie wanted to walk down the ski trail, but I told her that would not be polite.

We admired his woods. It’s always fun to check out other people’s trees. We stopped at a windfall of oak that had firewood written all over it.

“Red oak,” I told Mollie with authority.

“No that’s a pin oak,” she replied. Tones of authority get on her nerves. I guess she learned that in Tom Leustek’s science class at Willow River High School.

The ski trail ended. Then we went through the woods in a southerly direction. There were trails galore through the woods, deer and squirrels and rabbits and coyotes. Our dog, MacΚenzie, was with us. She had a great time sniffing and exploring.

We saw many places where deer had lain. One area they had pawed leaves out of the snow. There must have been 10 deer beds there.

About halfway to our destination, Mollie started complaining that her feet were cold. She hadn’t worn wind pants, against Cindy’s advice. Now snow was finding its way into her boots. Snow has a way of doing that, especially when you fall down, which Mollie did a time or two.

“How far is it?” she asked. I tried to think of a safe answer. Too far and she’d give up. Too close and she’d lose faith in me. The fact is, I didn’t know.

“Half a mile,” I answered.

We trudged on. Cindy thought we should go a little further east. I said no, and since I had the privilege of breaking trail, I won.

“How far is it?” Mollie asked again.

“Oh, about half a mile,” I said.

“You said that 15 minutes ago,” she said. Oops.

Up ahead I spied a meadow through the trees. “I think I remember that meadow,” I said. “Κaarin’s house is just beyond it.” Well, I wasn’t absolutely sure about that.

We came to the edge of the big field. A deer bounded across it, 50 yards ahead of us, then another, and another. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven deer. What a pretty sight. It rejuvenated us for a bit.

But Mollie’s feet were soaked. Cindy scooped a handful of snow from the tops of her boots. Her socks had slipped down. The skin above her ankles was red and raw. I got cold just looking at them. Is there anything more miserable than cold, wet feet?

She asked again how far it was. “Three eighths of a mile,” I said.

We walked across the huge field, feeling like we were hardly moving. The hike was testing our endurance. Every good hike does that.

Then we spied a house to the west of Kaarin’s. Sure enough, I had veered off course. Cindy had been right. That’s not unusual.

We got to Kaarin’s house 15 minutes later. Our hike was over. It had taken 90 minutes. We were tired. Mollie’s feet really hurt. But Kaarin gave her some dry socks and a pair of sweat pants, and she was soon fine.

Best of all, she enjoyed it. She was proud of herself. We were too. I would have griped a lot more than her. I hate wet feet in the winter.

Next time she’ll dress a little differently, and we’ll have an even better time. (Hey, a little encouragement never hurt anyone.)