Go snowshoeing

“It was one of those wells under a small bush that had captured me. Nineteen people had passed this narrow place and not fallen, but the side gave way as I came by. My right leg had sunk close to three feet, all in slow motion, and the snow-filled in behind me. My snowshoe was strapped tight to my foot and held what seemed like an impossible load on top of it. My foot tried to twist and turn but could move only an inch or two. [...] I jabbed at the snow with my pole, twisted and heaved on my leg, seeming to make slow progress, finally rolling out onto the packed path. “Now, use your poles in an X and get first up on one leg,” said Steve. I felt like the performer in a mud wrestling exhibition, only I was tussling with myself and now all covered in white.”

“That was pretty much my experience with snow shoes. They are large and gangly appendages that you willfully attach to your feet. To add to the joy, they come to a point with a slight angle in the front…just like a shovel! That way if you decided to step wrong the shovel can either scoop or dive into the snow depending on which angle you misstep. Fun! [...] While 99% of my time snowshoeing seemed to be me trying to figure out how to stand up with 30 inch clown shoes on I did enjoy a fraction of the remaining 1%.”

“I dropped my husband and kids off to skate around and play some hockey while I strapped on some snowshoes for the very first time. While it was an adjustment to get used to having something so large on my feet (they almost felt like scuba flippers at first!), I quickly fell into a rhythm where I wasn't tripping over my own feet.”