A SNOWSHOER’S DAY

A few Sundays ago, in late March, we went snowshoeing on Smokey Mountain. This Mountain is only a few miles from Ingonish and is located on the Cabot Trail. Gorgeous, gorgeous view from the road as you drive up the mountain.

Before the hike, I went through my usual get-ready-for-a-hike ritual, including the one that always gives me trouble. Deciding what to wear.  I decided I’d dress warmly because there was a brisk wind and the top of a mountain can turn a brisk wind into a really icy brisk wind.   So I wore long underwear, blue jeans, snow pants, tee shirt, shirt with hood, winter coat, toque and took two pairs of mitts. I was ready.

However, I don’t worry about a dress code. Except for one. I never, ever wear powder blue anything. It’s my one haberdashery no-no.

Three Screams on Smokey Mountain

I threw two pairs of snowshoes into the back of the truck, in case a fellow snowshoer’s snowshoes broke or they forgot theirs, or some other unplanned incident came up.

A friend and I met another fellow snowshoer at the local coffee shop. The fellow snowshoer, who had a car, suggested we go in his vehicle. We agreed. 

So, I off-loaded my equipment and discovered that one of my snowshoes was missing. I now only had a pair and a half snowshoes. Some ass_)(* had scoffed one from the back of my truck.

Also, as we drove towards Smokey Mountain, I began to worry that I’d forgotten to off-load my tuque and mitts from my truck. I thought I had, but where were they? I’d have to wait, I guessed, until we stopped before I could look for them.

And during the drive to the trail, I was beginning to regret the three layers of lower extremity clothing. My arse was sweating like a proverbial pig. That problem was solved when I discovered, after saying, “I think my butt has a fever,” that my fellow snowshoer and driver had turned on the seat warmer.

He turned it down and problem solved.

Wreck Cove Store

Not too far from our destination is the Wreck Cove Store which is in Wreck Cove. I suggested that maybe we should stop at the store so I could search for my tuque and mitts. And, if I didn’t find them, then I could buy some new ones in the store.

The store is a great place to get a snack, buy gas or other provisions, plus they sell my book, “White Eyes.” So, in my book, pardon the pun, the owners are even greater.

Hallelujah! The mitts were in the back seat and I found I had been sitting on my very warm tuque. I didn’t have to buy anything. Except a hot-dog.

However, as I walked towards the store with the good news, I encountered the owner coming out of the store. He was carrying a pair of snowshoes. They were for me. How nice could he be?

I whispered to myself, “I love Cape Breton.”

***

The parking area for the trail is partway up Smokey Mountain and not far from the Knotty Pines cabins. We have stayed there a few times and we love the view from their balconies.  

The Knotty Pines

Want to know something? Getting old isn’t all it’s touted out to be. Because it’s harder for me to put on snowshoes then it used to be. All that bending and stooping and pulling and tightening.

However, another problem came up.  You see, I often hang my sunglasses from the top of my sweat shirt or stuff them down over the top of my tuque. During how many hikes have I found my sunglasses lying on my truck’s roof, or had them presented to me in person, when a hiker discovered them lying on the ground, after hearing me whining about losing them?

Snowshoers in Formation

This time I’d hooked them on my sweater and realized they had gone AWOL when we were almost at the trail-head. So, I walked back to the vehicle to search for them. However, I didn’t find my sunglasses and by the time I got back to the trail-head, the snowshoers were already partway up the trail.

Happy Snowshoers

So, I automatically became what they call around these here parts, a sweeper. Sweepers stay at the ass-end of a group of hikers and keep an eye open for stragglers who might be in trouble or lost.

Being a sweeper can be another sign of age and sometimes I’m so good at being a sweeper that I end up sweeping for a second hiking group when they snowshoe by me in a flurry of snow-shuffling and discussing.

Icy Tree

Although the wind was cold, the sun was bright and the trees were covered in a layer of ice. Gorgeous, gorgeous! Why, we could stand on the mountain, look out over the ocean and watch huge swathes of snow roaring towards us. If we waited long enough, it would wash over us and we’d experience the feeling of what it was like to really be alive on this earth. It was exhilarating.

Approaching Summit

At one point, on the way back, my fellow sweeper had to use the little girl’s room. However, there is no little girl’s room on the mountain, plus there weren’t that many trees to hide in. They’d been swept or cut away.

However, my fellow sweeper discovered a tiny valley in the snow. It was low enough that she could go down into it and have some privacy.  So, she entered this icy loo while I trekked down the trail. However, I hadn’t trekked very far before I heard the sweeper-lady hollering for help.

I turned around and snowshoed quickly back. There was my fellow sweeper, trying to climb out of the wee valley.   I used my ski pole to help her out.  You see, what had looked like a little valley was actually a wee water-filled sink-hole. It had looked so innocent in its shiny snow coat.

Later, when we got back to the parking lot and I opened the trunk of the car to deposit my snowshoes and gear, I found my sunglasses. Lying on my one lonely snowshoe.

Rub it in, will you?

In summary, the day had been invigorating and fun and on the way back I was happy to have my bum warmed to a crisp.

The Summit