SNOW HIKING story

Snow Hiking

“Hey, this is Paul. Want to hike up to the sugar bush?”

“There must be three feet of snow on that trail.”

“I know. Are you chicken?”

Imagine this from a ten year old. Paul’s dad was working out west and hadn’t been home for a month. So it might be a good idea to take the little guy on an outing. He was in my Sunday school class for the past year. And possessed an abundance of energy.

“Your mom there?” I asked. She also thought it would be good for her son to get out.

“Not too much snow for you?” she asked.

“Come on, I was a Scout leader for about twelve years. And I know lots about the woods. In fact there were few men who could keep up to me on a pair of snowshoes.”

“Don’t brag too much,” she laughed. “You might have a hard time keeping up to my son.”

I heard the young fellow whispering by her side.

"But, it's only February," I heard her whisper to him. “If you wait until spring it will be much easier walking.”

“Mom, I want him to see what it's like since dad added the kitchen this summer,” Paul answered. “Besides the scenery on the hills is awesome in the winter, okay?"

“No problem with me,” I said interrupting their two-way conversation. If it’s fine with you.”

“Oh I forgot” Paul said when he got back on the line. “My friend Thomas wants to go too.”

“Sure,” I said. “The more the merrier.” Besides I figured extra hands could help carry the gear. Thomas was around fifteen. He and his parents were regulars at our church.

Then after more conversations with children and parents we made final plans. Thomas and Paul helped me work on a list of needed equipment and food. It was just like my old Scout days. We needed few supplies since most of the stuff was at the sugar bush camp.

Finally everything was settled.

I even scrounged around for three pair of snowshoes. When Saturday arrived, I donned my winter clothes and went to get the boys. We drove north of Bass River, Nova Scotia then turned left towards Economy Lake.

Now that we were a mile off the main highway, the car could no further. An old logging trail climbed up a long hill, to our destination. And the snow we had to traverse was deep. During the other seasons, it was a great walking hike to our goal.

“Good thing I brought our snow shoes,” I said, just as the sky turned white as a sudden gust of wind blew hard on us three brave people. “What am I doing out here? I wondered. A warm couch, sitting beside my wife watching a video movie and drinking a hot chocolate sounded really good right now.

But then, I was still young at heart, even if my own kids were grown up and moved away. Here I could be a ‘daddy’ again. And I could prove this old geezer still had lots of mileage left in his legs. “Okay boys, let’s go.”

Paul insisted he did not need any snowshoes. “They’re too big” he said. “And I want to lead, because it’s my camp.”

“Okay, who am I to argue. Let’s just get out of this wind. It reminded me of winter gusts coming across the Moose River in Moosonee, Ontario years before.

Paul lowered his head. He was determined not to let the freezing cold or deep snow discourage him. We plunged on. It was painful watching Thomas who copied his friend and left the snowshoes behind. But then, he had no experience with them.

“This should be fun,” I thought. After all, our goal was a two-mile trip through that haze of falling snow. As if what was below our feet wasn’t enough. Our car was a distant green left behind. I was thankful to be trudging along on my Algonquin styled snowshoes.

Thomas trudged slowly through the deep snow. His long legs moved easily one step at a time. Paul acted like a tractor plowing through the softness.

We each carried packsacks with treats and hot drinks. Fir trees lined the trail. Their green limbs provided a silent band of color along the trail, and some protection from the wind.

Our first rest was necessary. “My foot is freezing,” Thomas said. Quickly taking off his boot, I cupped the cold foot between my bare hands. Soon, warmth was restored.

As we rested on the edge of the snow-filled ravine we shared hot chocolate for extra energy. By now the wind had picked up, and we waited until some of its power was used. Finally stillness settled in the woods.

The enjoyable scene wasn't just an expanse of white. Upon closer observation we were able to spot animal tracks. Long back feet and short front-footed impressions showed where a rabbit ducked under a fallen tree.

And pointed cleft hooves from a doe landed heavily in the deep snow. Quick bursts of speed and leaping legs easily showed hurrying hoof prints. Imagine they had just crossed the road ahead of us.

Paul kept up everyone's spirits. He bulldozed his way through the deepest spots. Where did he find his energy, I wondered. Wish I had a little more. He jumped into a ditch and disappeared up to his waist in a porridge bowl of snow.

Amazingly, Thomas was 15 and could barely keep up to ten year old Paul. I was third in the parade. The trail took us further into the deep woods.

Paul kept chattering about how much fun and hard work it was to make the sugar bush a success. He knew how tired we were and kept saying the camp was just around the corner.

I wondered how many corners were left. We already came a long way. The howling wind was pesky and it was hard to breathe and talk at the same time. We were like a coyote pack struggling through snow after a deer. But we were determined to get to that sugar shack.

Paul kept reminding us about his warm house in Bass River. “Mom would probably be serving me hot chocolate about now,” he said. When his cheekbones looked white, I told him to put his bare hand on his cheek.

“Thanks, I feel better already,” he said and continued to create a path for us to follow. He reminded me of my youngest son Troy who also was persevering.

Both boys looked like two ghostly figures ahead of me. "Wait Paul! Lets get off the trail, for a break!" I shouted. Without a rest, my body was ready to collapse.

"Don't turn back, OK?" There was panic in Paul's voice. “You have to see our sugar bush camp,” he said. He could see I was really tired, since I was much heavier than the boys in the powdery snow. After a ten-minute respite we began again. Paul's angel patterns were left on the side of the logging road.

"Soon we'll be there," he said. "Real soon. I promise."

Thomas was keeping up to him now. And somehow a second wind allowed me to move faster in the deep snow. Fresh rabbit tracks crisscrossed frequently in front of us. And finally we moved into a secluded area, sheltered on both sides by tall maples. Ahead of us was the shanty. New energy propelled us in a race to be first into the building.

“Me first!” Paul insisted. “After all, it was my idea to come here.”

I watched how proudly he stood as he looked over his two hiking friends. "We made it!" he said. We unpacked our food and prepared a fire in the wood stove. Hot dogs, aluminum foil meal of hamburger patties, vegetables was devoured.

Paul excitedly explained the sugar bush operation. “Mom, dad and my two sisters come here in early spring. Then we drill holes in the maple trees and put taps in. And plastic tubing has to connect 'Spiles' with trees through the whole area.”

He was so serious getting everything right, I felt like clapping.

"We have to do about 2,000 trees, lots of work," Paul said. He walked around stacked slab wood waiting to be used. "It takes 20 cords to provide the proper heat to boil the sap," he said. The 'Evaporator' and 'Bins' looked cold and lonely right now.

“I’ll explain more when you come back to help in March. If you want,” he added. I knew we would return in the spring to help. Paul closed his eyes and I could just imagine him wishing he were tapping maple trees right now. After doing it for the past four years, he must be really good at it.

"Let's go now guys," Paul said reluctantly. "Getting late." He led the way back home. And Thomas and I happily followed through the snow.

* * *

© Richard & Esther Provencher 2004

Richard & Esther Provencher invite you to read their first of three novels ‘FOOTPRINTS” now available from www.synergebooks.com. “Someone’s
Son” and “Into The Fire” will also be available soon by the same company. These books were written during the first several years while Richard was recovering from his stroke, which felled him in 1999. He is still recovering.

The link to “FOOTPRINTS” is as follows: http://www.synergebooks.com/ebook_footprints.html