Snowshoeing just requires that you put one foot in front of the other

By David Horst  sandhill7@gmail.com

Blame it on weather or maturity, but we hadn't explored the terrain surrounding our new Sandhill Llama Farm in the way we typically have other places where we've dropped roots in the past.

Abbie, Mat and Suzie embrace the cold

For one thing, we can see all of the 18 acres from the house. We know where to watch the deer pop through the fence line or the turkeys march along the edge of the hay field.

Motivated by recaptured youth, we patrolled the perimeter on show shoes in December's single-digit temperatures. The youth came in the form of two 20-something nephews who spent the Christmas holiday with us.

Abbie, Mat and Mat's girlfriend, Suzie, live in D.C. but embraced the snow and cold with childish enthusiasm -- well, at least the snow.

We equipped everyone with the smaller, modified version of bear paw snowshoes popular today. Vinyl stretched over tubular metal replaces the traditional ash frames strung with rawhide strips. They are lighter and more maneuverable.

Hoar frost painted the shrubs.

Abbie was the exception, using Michigan-style shoes with tails on the wood frames dragging behind to keep the shoes pointed forward. Their bigger surface area makes them better for breaking trail, which he did at every opportunity.

We set out past the barn, in which the brighter animals were taking shelter from the cold. We skirted along the fence line, where the trees were still whitewashed with the morning’s hoar frost.

I have these great, long, handmade skin and wood snowshoes won at a Mosquito Hill Nature Center raffle, but left them hanging in the garage in favor of my plastic shoes with the step-in bindings for special boots that click into place. I can't defend the aesthetic choice, but they are convenient.

We headed down to lower ground, where the neighbor’s trails await an invitation to explore the frozen swamp habitat. We rounded the property line and tromped through the deep snow along the line of young conifers, trying to discern spruce from fir.

Our hike continued to the little creek. There we found a spot where a small deer had bedded down. This circumstantial evidence was as close as we would come to a wildlife sighting.

I'm always surprised when people are hesitant about being able to snowshoe. They equate it to staying upright on cross-country skis. Snowshoeing is, basically, walking.

There are some tricks to it. You need to keep your toes up and it is best to have your right foot on the right side and your left on the left. Getting your snowshoes crossed is detrimental to moving forward.

And you may want to avoid having the dog walking behind you, stepping on the tails of your snowshoes.

Truth be told, we snowshoe far more than we ski these days. The thought of bones hitting hard-packed snow is just the least bit less attractive than it once was. Though a couple of times around on snowshoes makes a nice, solid trail for cross-country skis.

You can use your ski poles snowshoeing. Poles are great for extra balance while lugging a full winter pack through deep snow or steep terrain, but they can be a nuisance for a stroll through a hayfield.

You don’t need to own a hayfield to snowshoe. It’s a great way to wander area nature centers in winter. Mosquito Hill Nature Center in New London, Bubolz Nature Preserve in Grand Chute, the Apple Creek YMCA’s Bruce Purdy Nature Preserve, 1,000 Island Environmental Center in Kaukauna, Ledge View Nature Center in Chilton and High Cliff State Park in Sherwood will even rent you a pair of shoes.

I think they all stock more pairs than we have in our garage, but it may be close.

Our snowshoe outing ended with a sprint up the hill to the house. Having felt the real meaning of “wind chill” and experienced the joy of frost on their facial hair, the boys responded in the best way we could have hoped for …

“Let’s go again.”