Running Chick

Our cold spell finally passed on Sunday and it was a beautiful, sunny, blue-skied, 23 degree day.  The perfect day for another tromp through the woods on my snowshoes.

My tracks from last week are barely noticeable after all the snow we received in the past few days.  There were lots of other tracks around from furry critters and critters on skis.  No snowmobile tracks though, so I ended up breaking trail all the way.

I bought some gaiters, but they were too small to even fit around my calves.  I guess I must have man-calves.  Gotta get me some gaiters.  I also got a new camera, so I was messing around with the macro function, thanks to the tiny pine cones I found.

 I tried to find the cemetery and ended up taking two wrong trails before finally giving up and heading back.  The good news is that I think I did end up finding the trail to the cemetery, so next weekend I'll take another stab at getting there.  In all, I tromped around for 3.25 miles and got to spend two hours outside on a really nice day.

I went for my first snowshoe of the season on Sunday afternoon. I tromped for two miles through the woods, and about .75 miles of that was spent breaking my own trail in search of the main trail. I used to know those trails so well when I was a goober - rode my bike on them, walked, rode the horse, ran. Now, I only vaguely remember which one goes where.

I set off from the homestead and headed for an old logging road that the neighbors still keep open.

Saw a few interesting things along the way.

But mostly just broke trail through the trees and brush.

I skillfully avoided this long-dead plant with nasty looking thorns.

Only to step in a hole and sink up to my thigh.

Well, shoot. That's unpleasant.

I don't have any gaiters and snow is in my boot.  Boo.  Must buy gaiters.

I was able to get out of the hole without having to roll around in the snow or take my snowshoes off (yay!).  I dig the snow out of my boot and continue on my way.  I found the trail I was searching for a short hike later.  Freshly groomed, thanks to a local snowmobibler.

I head down the trail toward the cemetery. I know I'm heading the right way because I find the little cabin in the woods.

I bumped into a local skier (dangit, there goes my solitude) who informs me that the trail to the cemetery isn't open.  I don't feel like breaking any more trail or hiking the mile back home on the road, so I decide to backtrack and see how far the snowmobile has groomed my trail. 

This means I have to hike back up the giant hill I just came down.

It doesn't look that steep in the picture, but let me assure you that it was steep.

 Thanks to my Cambelbak, I stayed hydrated.  With slush.  The tube kept on freezing.

Maybe I'll put alcohol in it next time around.

I followed the trail for quite a while, until I ran into the dreaded fork.

I contemplate whether to take the groomed portion or follow Bambi's tracks. [note: insert snarky comment comparing IQ levels of snomobiblers and Bambis]

I head down Bambi's track, confident that I'm taking the smartest route.

Until Bambi headed into the trees.

Oh well, no matter.  I knew where I was going by this point, anyway. A bit more hiking and I'm back in civilization.

And home.

The end. One hour and twenty minutes, 2 miles.