HIKE OF THE MONTH

hike of the month For Winter Hiking in Snowy Terrain, Snowshoes Carry the Load

There's a certain slant of light, On winter afternoons. That oppresses, like the weight Of cathedral tunes. Emily Dickinson Late afternoon in winter, snowshoes strapped over my boots, I stand in a snow-blanketed meadow near Flagstaff. I turn to look back at my shuffling giant-step track through a grove of aspens. Leafless and elegant, aspen spires cast lengthening shadows onto the vast snowfield. Wan light breaks through the upper branches. The air is still. And that stanza of verse by Emily Dickinson springs from memory.

Beyond the aspens, on all sides of the grove, loom the dark forms of ponderosa; pine-cones, black in the fading light, litter the crushed-diamond surface. The snow is very deep. Sharp corners of lava rock break the snow layer here and there in the woods, and in the meadow a few desiccated spears of last summer's mullein poke through. Only the top strand of barbed wire reveals a fence line running along one side of the grove. The scene is composed entirely in black and white, light and shadow.

We're in Kendrick Park on U.S. Route 180 about 20 miles northwest of Flagstaff between Mileposts 235 and 236 across from the Wayside Chapel of the Holy Dove. My companions, fellow woods walkers and all-around nature lovers, are Marty and Annette Cordano. Together we have roamed the woods in spring, summer, and fall, and now, thanks to the webbed snowshoes laced over our boots, we're celebrating the end of a perfect winter day in a northern Arizona forest.

We can credit Native Americans for laced snowshoes, specifically Eskimos and boreal forest-dwelling Crees. By the time European explorers arrived, hunters, herders, and warriors throughout North America had used snowshoes for almost 6,000 years. And Indians had brought snowshoe technology to a state of high perfection, making them in lefts and rights and of various designs, including a streamlined version resembling skis

WHEN YOU GO

Winter recreation can be treacherous if you are not prepared or in shape for the frigid conditions and altitude of the San Francisco Peaks area. For current conditions and regulations of the national forest and Kachina Peaks Wilderness, contact the Coconino National Forest's Peaks Ranger District, 5075 N. Highway 89, Flagstaff, AZ 86004; (520) 526-0866.

that were used with long staves, the first ski poles.

It was introduced to snowshoeing years ago while living on Michigan's Upper Peninsula. Snow machines were uncommon then, so the only way to travel from the main plowed road to a friend's deep-woods cabin was to hike 10 miles on snowshoes, hauling our gear and provisions lashed onto a toboggan, another Native American invention. It was a lot of work and great fun.

If your endurance is pretty good, and you can walk, you can snowshoe. There's no trick to learning. The gait itself is a kind of shuffling motion, how high you actually lift the snowshoe being determined by snow conditions. The best teacher is trial and error.

I use traditional Vermont Tubbs, a wooden snowshoe with no crampons, so I carry ski poles for thrust while climb-ing and balance while "surfing" downslope. Marty and Annette use lightweight aluminumframe Sherpas with crampons. They get along fine without poles. Most snowshoe bindings will accommodate any footwear. I wear heavy felt-lined boots; Marty and Annette, hiking boots. In deep powder, gaiters will keep your lower legs dry.

For hiking rugged, woodsy, snow-buried terrain, snowshoes are tops. Sure, cross-country skis work, but with snowshoes you can plod along at a pace that lets you notice things - snowtracks of deer, turkey, rabbit, fox, or a tiny tuft of fur near a spot brushed by owl wings things you might not see while striding along on skis.

At midday we find a log in a grassy hollow shielded from wind and snow beneath the spreading lower boughs of a ponderosa pine. We nestle in for lunch and a brief snooze.