Snowshoeing

We have no choice but to ascend the steep slope for the first three hundred feet. I step forward with the snowshoe, letting the metal crampon beneath the shoe grip the crusty snow. Then I grab the branch of a spruce tree and pull myself upward. The scent of resin flies through the air.

But there isn't always a branch or a sapling to grab onto. And sometimes the slope appears too steep to crawl up and I worry that if I slip I will slide far down and crash into a tree. So then I step sideways and move the other direction, until I find another tree to clutch onto.

Sometimes the snowshoes will hold my weight above the surface of the snow, but sometimes, especially near the trunk of a tree where dead logs and unseen saplings grow beneath the surface of the snow, the white powder will give and my leg will puncture the snow and I will be up to my thigh in slushy, icy powder. My hand will pierce the snow also, and it is during these times that I wish that I had my gloves. But they are in my backpack, which I carry on my shoulders.

We finally arrive at the top of the hill where the slope becomes more gentle and snowshoeing isn't so bad. We rest for several minutes and let the flow of blood in our heads wind down to a slower pulse. I take a couple swigs of Powerade from my pack.

This is the first time in my life that I have put on a snowshoe. Believe it or not, I have never skied either. I just haven't done much with winter sports, period.  

My friend, Jordan, has been trying for years to have me go snowshoeing with him. He is much taller than I am, and was a heck of an athlete in his youth. He still is amazing, but like all of us, age has taken its toll.

We drove up the mountain and parked the truck just off the highway about an hour ago. At 10,000 feet in elevation, we began our hike, not knowing exactly where we would end up.

Now, we trek along the top of the hill, mostly among Engelmann Spruce. I am learning to walk with the snowshoes. Mine are more modern and made of aluminum. It isn't difficult. The flatter you can place the shoe, the more likely it will hold you up on the snow. If I accidentally step with the toe pointed downward, perhaps when the surface of the ground isn't so even, then sometimes my leg falls through the snow.

Jordan's shoes are more traditional in appearance. They have the lattice-work on bottom and look like tennis rackets. He has to stop several times to adjust the binding on the shoes.

I see a Golden Eagle soaring above the the treetops. I recognize the white spots on the eagle's belly. I am curious to find out what other animals live so high during the winter months and hope to see elk, but suspect that they have moved down lower.

This year has been very mild. Here on the top of the mountain there is probably only two feet of snow. We are now in mid-March. There should be at least five feet of snow.

We skirt the rim of the mountain. To our right, the slope moves rapidly downhill and into Deep Creek. Our expansive view allows us to see an extensive drainage system of canyons that eventually merge into the deep red gorges of Zion National Park.

Our view from the rim over the rolling forest surrounding Deep Creek is perfect to spot elk. If I would have brought binoculars, I could spend twenty minutes glassing below and searching for a herd of bulls bedded down, basking in the sun on the southern slopes. Of course, their antlers wouldn't be too long now, as they probably just lost them last month. But they grow back quickly. We scan the area below with our naked eyes and see nothing.

We walk parallel with the rim of the slope. When we are not talking, the only sound we can hear is the crushing of snow beneath the shoes. Occasionally we hear the engine of a snowmobile far away. Below us in Deep Creek, a woodpecker hammers on a tree and unseen birds squawk back and forth from the treetops.

Tracks from several animals cut our path. We find footprints of both rabbit and coyote. At one spot we find the two tracks converge at a muddy wallow in the snow. I'm sure the coyote won that battle. We also find a small burrow beneath the bough of a pine tree where the coyote must have bedded down.

We see another set of prints that are slightly bigger and look like they might have a heel. I wish now that I were better at identifying tracks. I don't think that these are big enough to be a bear or a mountain lion, but they are certainly bigger than the coyote tracks. I remember now that I didn't bring my little pistol and certainly hope that there isn't a mountain lion in the area. Even though I have never seen a cougar in the wild, Jordan reminds me, “I'll bet that they've seen you.”

We find another set of tracks. These are definitely cat tracks, and they are light enough that they stay on top of the crust of snow, without breaking through. These are probably bobcat.

We encounter a patch on the west slope that faces Deep Creek where the snow has melted away. We remove our packs and unbind the snowshoes from our feet. It feels good to have the burden released from our shoulders and to be able to walk normal again, without the clumsy companion of the snowshoes. The breeze picks up a little stronger here on the bare slope.

From the dead branches that litter the ground, we gather twigs and break them off into sections about the length of a hand. After building a little mound about the size of an ant pile, Jordan places a trioxane bar beneath it. Then he takes a match and strikes it on the box and ignites the trioxane bar, which in turn, sets fire to the kindle of twigs. Soon, the entire mound is in flames and we find bigger branches to keep the fire going.

Jordan finds a flat-faced rock and places it next to the fire and cuts open a package of five frozen brats and lays them on the rock to thaw. When the mound of twigs has burned down to coals, we place three green limbs over the coals and lay the brats atop the limbs. There they slowly roast over the heat and begin to brown and sizzle.

For nearly two hours we warm our hands over the fire and eat bratwurst. We talk of religion, raising kids, cowboy caves, and survival in the Peruvian jungle.

Once again, we strap on the snowshoes and continue in the same direction as before. The snow is softer now and the shoes are sinking a little further into the powder. But we are still able to stay atop the snow and walking is easy.

As we walk we are alone. Occasionally we cross with snowmobile tracks, and once with those of a cross-country skier, but never do we see another person. The thought comes to me that someday I would like to snowshoe about ten miles into the middle of nowhere and there I could build a snow-fort and camp out for a few days. That would be nice.

But then I wonder if the snowshoes could support the heavier weight that would come from a backpack. Then I worry of the danger that I would be in if a storm unexpectedly moved in and dropped four feet of new snow on me while I was camped out. That would still be fun to do someday.

Instead of returning the way we came, we decide to make a loop and walk further away from the rim. The shadows from the trees are now casting longer impressions onto the snow. At one time I wished to come unexpectedly upon an animal, but now, most of our time is spent conversing back and forth, so the chances of sneaking upon a coyote or eagle is pretty slim.

Coming across and open flat, we see the pink cliffs of Bryce Canyon in the far distance. I soon realize that I am quickly becoming very tired. Not much longer and we will be returning to the truck.

At last we arrive at the final downhill of the trek. It is near the same 300 foot slope that we had to ascend earlier. This time we descend in baby steps. Jordan chooses to angle diagonally, directly toward the truck. I decide to move straight down, then cut across once I reach the bottom. This slope is steep enough that there is a small fear of avalanche.

I reach the bottom and begin cutting toward the truck, which is at least another half-mile. By now, my legs are exhausted and every step forward is laborious. I stop momentarily to notice a weather station that has been hidden among the trees.

Finally, we arrive at the truck and are happy to know that we will be home before dark. I find my Powerade that I have hidden in the snow and begin guzzling it down. It feels nice to finally sit in a soft seat without those clunky shoes strapped to my feet. But on the other hand, I kind of wish I were still out there shoeing.