Whoo-hoo Snowshoe

Recently, friends invited me to join them at a snowshoe event hosted by the Blue Mountain Land Trust at the Horseshoe Prairie Nordic Ski Area near Tollgate, Oregon. I've never snowshoed before. The event organizers said they would provide snowshoes and snacks. They had me at snacks.

My friends are two of the most active and well-traveled people I know. This year marked their record of visiting all seven continents. I'm impressed and a little jealous. They always find adventure on their trips; although local, our snowshoeing was no different.

They picked me up promptly at 8 a.m. and made a quick coffee stop at Ten Ton Coffee. Fully caffeinated, we hit the road, ogled the remarkable scenery, and made great time. We were the first to arrive, proudly checked in, and were handed the first three pairs of snowshoes on the rack. Andrew, always the gentleman, helped secure them onto our boots. Unfortunately, his good deed was punished by a broken strap on his.

While Andrew hustled to the check-in point for a replacement pair, Zee and I hustled to the ice fort for hot drinks and snacks. We were happy to see the available snacks, which included a variety of hot soups, chili, cookies, donuts, coffee, and hot chocolate. Unfortunately, Andrew learned there were no more snowshoes available. He told Zee and me to go ahead and that he would enjoy some hot soup while he waited for us.

Luckily, a handy Blues Crew member repaired Andrew's broken snowshoes. He called and let us know he would meet us on the trail. We gave him what we thought were clear instructions, precisely where to turn from the main road to get to the trail. He missed the turn. We waited, then hiked back towards the road, looking for cell service. We waited there before walking back to the trail, where we waited some more. A chivalrous Blues Crew volunteer found us and stayed, concerned we could be lost forever in the forest waiting for Andrew.

After finally reaching Andrew by cell phone, we tried to determine where he was, where we were, and where we should meet – it became its own event. With our cell service cutting in and out, trying to read the map, we were warned by the Blue Crew volunteer about the dangers of being eaten alive by wild animals or dying of hypothermia. We were exhausted, worried, and hungry for those snacks.

Eventually, we regrouped, safe and sound. It turned out we'd never been more than ten minutes away from each other, and that was accounting for our relatively slow pace of traipsing through snow. Safely back together, we realized the worrying and stress gave us an appetite.

Besides the soup, chili and other treats, the crew set up a fire pit, and we toasted marshmallows. I don't mean to sound unappreciative, but I did offer to bring chocolate bars and graham crackers the next time, so we could enjoy the full smores experience.

TImes Graphic

After my recent return to downhill skiing, I may be inclined to stick with the snowshoe trekking. I didn't fall, I could walk fast, and although the shoes look a little dorky, it's fun. Also, everyone else looks dorky as well. On the slopes, I am easily intimidated by those who beautifully and effortlessly shush downhill, while I mutter to myself, "French fries, Pizza, and don't go down the hill on your butt." There are no snacks that can compensate for that level of embarrassment.