An Adventure in the Snow

Door County visitor Lindsay Farrell embarks on the Hotz Trail in Newport State Park.

My friend Lindsay asked for a pair of snowshoes for Christmas, which surprised me since we are not exactly “nature girls.” As college roommates we enjoyed drinking coffee (indoors), snacking on peanut butter M&M’s, watching Sex and the City, grabbing a glass of wine here and there, maybe taking a walk if the temperature was right. In fact, Lindsay has a keychain with the face of a red-lipped dolled-up woman clearly enjoying herself that reads “I like not camping.”

But she pulled into my driveway, with heavy snowflakes falling from the sky, and there were her neon green, shiny new snowshoes. I thought snowshoes were made of leather and wood, but they aren’t – not anymore at least. They are made of metal and plastic, with fancy straps and buckles. One shoe has a large L, the other has a large R.

After layering up, savoring some Swedish pancakes and hot coffee at Al Johnson’s, and sneaking a map from Newport State Park – we, after a twenty minute search that led us to the very tippy top of the Door County Peninsula, found the Hotz Trail, as recommended by a friend.

There we were, in the fresh crisp air, already pleased with ourselves for attempting a winter-themed outdoor activity. We marched, we shuffled, then fell into a steady walk, exhaling and inhaling and forgetting the chill.

“Oh Sal, this is beautiful!” Linday said.

[Snowshoeing Sidenote:  Now, I’m not sure if there is a snowshoeing technique that I, a novice snowshoer, was not privy too, but the back of my jeggings (that’s jeans/leggings) gathered a layer of kicked up snow, which clung like static cling while Lindsay’s leggings stayed snow-free. I tried various techniques – smaller strides, quicker strides, slower strides – nothing worked. The snow bounced from my snowshoe and attached to my leg like a magnet. Is it me or the snowshoe?]

(Left to right) Lindsay Farrell and Sally Slattery enjoy the wintry scene of Lake Michigan while snowshoeing for their first time.

Down the track and up a slight hill, we trampled our way through heavy drifts to the sandy dunes of the state park. Before us, wide and blue and blowing fiercely chilled air in our faces was Lake Michigan. Waves pounded and splayed against a layer of cloudy ice. The sunshine glittered and danced on the snow. The scene had the feel of something magical, like Narnia – if a deer came to talk to us and share some wisdom, we might not have been surprised. This is why people strap these things to their feet and brave the elements, I decided.

Another pair of snowshoers followed our tracks. “Nice day, huh?” said the gentleman. “Sue, Sue, take their picture for them. She’s better at it than I would be.” He pointed out a distant lighthouse and told us the screensaver of his computer was an image of Europe Bay.

“Everyone here is so nice,” said Lindsay as we trotted our way back towards the trail, exchanging more pleasantries, and “Oh, it’s such a beautiful day” with passing cross-country skiers and a trail groomer.

Invigorated, our frosty noses running, we unbuckled our showshoes and complemented ourselves and one another on such a fantastic, successful (aside from the soaking wet jeggings) hour-long snowshoe excursion.

To celebrate, Lindsay and I tasted some tart white and smooth red wines at Stone’s Throw Winery, bought a bottle, then ate a bag of peanut butter M&M’s.