We weren’t really sure it would happen, based on the previous few weekend’s worth of unpredictable snow pack and cancellations. When the weekend dawned with dry roads and decent temperatures, we leapt at the chance and ran to the pass to experience what might be one of the last snowshoe trips of the season.
The group was made up of experienced, novice, and every level in between. We had daily runners and those who were on their first hike after a major surgery. As with any large, varied group of hikers (though really, is there any other kind?), I prayed that we would all experience divine patience and heightened appreciation for slowing/speeding their personal pace and viewing vistas that may not be exactly what was expected.
One of the things about snowshoeing that can be either wonderful or frustrating is the truth that you are generally following the path of a complete stranger. Sure, the park ranger could have broken trail that morning in a sweep towards your goal that is nothing but true, right, and arrow-straight. Or (more likely) you could be following in the footsteps of whatever crazy snow-head woke up at 6 in the morning to be the first on the trail, and who entertains themselves by leading others astray in the most convoluted way possible. Maps don’t really help, since all they show is what the bare ground would look like if you could see it under all those feet of snow. Sometimes there are clear indicators, such as markers (usually just peeping above a drift) or breaks in the forest, but much of the time you are trusting in either a GPS system or the kindness of a person who is known only for their early-birdness.
I often trust the early bird.
At Gold Creek, we set off on a clearly-used trail deep into the forest, enjoying the ability to walk side-by-side and talk to new people. The trail eventually narrowed and became slightly more difficult, but we kept up our spirit of adventure and plowed along. Then the trail decided to cross a river, and we had to set up a system where an intrepid helper and I (thanks, Matt!) stationed ourselves at the worst sections and helped everyone across. Then the trail kind of split into 3 or 4 different directions, and we had to go single file. Then I took a turn down a steep slope that the group that was only slightly separated missed, and half of our group took another direction. Thanks to walkie-talkies, we combined ourselves again (classic line from NJ: “Are we supposed to be following the animal tracks?”), but the “official” trail was long gone. We ended up finding a very lovely riverbank in the sunshine for our lunch, and were able to linger in the warmth for far longer than the traditional 5-minute snowshoeing meal break (which is about as long as you can stop normally before someone gets cold). The hike back somehow managed to miss the treacherous river crossing while still returning us to the same trailhead, which I consider to be an act of God.
Overall, it was a lovely wander and I enjoyed the chance to chat with many different people as we explored the creek banks and valley. The sun blessed our journey and everyone made it through, and the photos show just exactly how scenic the views were. My prayers were definitely answered!
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