Snowshoeing Exploits

Today I’m going to touch on a different way of traveling around---snowshoeing. Santa brought Kennon and I snowshoes for Christmas this year. Don't laugh, they're actually a lot of fun. These modern snowshoes are rugged, designed for individual weights, and have awesome traction.

We’ve tried cross country skiing, something I loved in my youth, but I seem to lack the coordination to participate in such adventures these days. So now we’re trying snowshoeing. To be honest, someone else suggested this option as a way to stay healthy and happy during the loooonnnggg winter months here in the heart of Bear Lake. After this idea was shared, I began doing extensive research into the world of snowshoeing. I learned that snowshoes have come a long way since the days of Grizzly Adams and company. =) They come in all shapes and sizes and prices. Incidentally, I found the best deals online compliments of Amazon.com, but I digress.

My husband and one of our sons took these snowshoes out for a test drive the day after Christmas and they had a blast. They had so much fun, our son talked his wife into trying them before they left our realm. I wouldn't be at all surprised if they decided to purchase snowshoes for themselves in the near future. ;)

It wasn’t until everyone had headed home from our abode that I had a chance to try them out. That afternoon, Kennon and I drove up Montpelier Canyon and turned off into Montpelier Home Canyon, parking in a huge area that has been cleared for vehicles. We found that there were a lot of people trying out their Christmas gifts in this location. A father and son combo were sighting in a new rifle. Another father and son team had brought their new snowmobiles. Then there was Kennon and I, strapping on our new snowshoes. Guess who received the most stares. ;)

It didn’t take long to strap on the snowshoes, and we were off, following the snowmobile trail. My husband figured in was in our (my) best interest to keep things simple. We only hiked in about 1\2 mile but it was a good workout since it was uphill. Along the way I took several photos since I had brought along my trusty camera for this adventure.

I loved it. It was fun, and a great way to work in some exercise, not to mention a chance to appreciate nature. You can walk about anywhere with these things, but following a trail does make it much easier. When you step out into fresh snow, you do tend to sink down a bit, but this increases the workout opportunities. (IE: you work twice as hard to go the same distance.)

Since our goal this year is to go snowshoeing about 3 times a week, we ventured off again yesterday, this time heading to nearby Georgetown, Idaho. We settled on exploring the Right-hand Canyon up Georgetown Canyon and enjoyed ourselves thoroughly.

It was snowing slightly, but we stayed nice and warm. We learned early on that it behooves one to dress a little less like an Eskimo while snowshoeing because one tends to glisten while exerting in this way. So on the second day of my snowshoeing adventure, I wore a lighter coat.

We saw all kinds of neat things as we followed yet another snow-machine trail. We saw several shelters Mother Nature had provided for the small woodland creatures like bunnies, skunks, etc.

I also spied a small waterfall. And since many of you know of my great love of waterfalls, you'll appreciate how excited I was, even if it was tiny.

Here's a photo of deer tracks that look suspiciously like the patterns left by teens when they ride snow-machines up around a hillside. I suspect the deer were mocking them, but that's just me.

And here's a great shot of the deer who may have been responsible for the tracks we saw that day:

We also found a small avalanche, a warning about being cautious while hiking around canyon locations.

Here's a nice picture of Kennon posing with our dog, Brandy.

I learned yesterday that I will never walk behind this doggie ever again while wearing snowshoes. She stopped suddenly and stepped back onto the front of my snowshoes, helping me to lose my balance in a huge fashion. Luckily Kennon was there to help me back up to my feet. I'm not sure how I would have managed it on my own. My feet, legs, and snowshoes were a jumbled mess. I'm also now sporting one of the largest bruises I've ever sustained on one leg, but that was the only injury. Thank you Brandy. ;)

All in all, we had a wonderful time and we're already planning our next snowshoeing adventure. I heartily endorse this form of traveling. Not only is it a lot of fun, but it's a great way to see nature at its finest during the winter season.

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Elmer Fudd Rides Again

I experienced a bit of an adventure last Friday. I rode 42 miles on a 4-wheeler (4-wheel-drive ATV) with my husband. True, I limped for a couple of days afterward (arthritis is not my friend) but it was a lot of fun and it provided an opportunity to take numerous shots with my camera. Those were the only shots fired that day, incidentally. ;)

My husband and his brother, Jeff, decided it would be fun to take their wives on a 4-wheeler ride. This was a thinly disguised hunting adventure. =) However, the only animals I spied that day were a moose and a squirrel. Moose and squirrel . . . hilarious, but only if you are a die hard Bullwinkle and Rocky fan. ;)

Here's the picture of the mommy moose and baby moose I captured with my trusty digital camera toward the end of our ride that day.


I didn't get a picture of the squirrel. He\she was bouncing from tree to tree much too fast for me to zoom in on. But I did get a great shot of a scene that makes me excited for Christmas. Along one hillside were all of these beautiful red berries.


Combined with the bright green pine trees and the snow in that high elevation, it made for a great Christmas card scene.


And here's a shot that shows just how much snow is up on top of the mountains these days. (Also the reason why we were all bundled up, looking like a character from the ever-popular movie, A Christmas Story.)


We stopped on top of one mountain to take some scenic shots of the valley below. Yep, we were in nosebleed territory, but it was beautiful.


By the way, I love the first picture featured on this post. My husband and his brother, Jeffy, as we call him, had decided to climb up even higher on a ridge. My s-i-l, Dannyel, and I gracefully bowed out of that adventure, deciding if they wanted to roll down the mountain, that was their choice. =D Fortunately, they climbed up safely and returned in one piece.

We did have one mishap about halfway through our adventure. Since good brother Jeff is much more familiar with the trails we were riding on that day, he and his wife, Dannyel, led the way. There were several other hunting parties out and about, and since my husband is a social butterfly, we stopped to visit with every one of them. ;) This meant we were usually a few minutes behind Jeff and Dannyel during a goodly portion of the jaunt. After Kennon had commiserated with a small group of hunters about the sad lack of bucks in the area, we headed down the nice dirt trail after his brother and his wife. As we came around a corner in the road, we saw a strange sight. Dannyel was lying face down on the road, and Jeff was reaching for his rifle. I wondered if this was a new hunting tactic: Dannyel was listening for deer while Jeff was getting ready for the kill.

We soon learned that Jeff had taken that corner a little fast, and had nearly tipped the 4-wheeler over. When it went up on two wheels, Dannyel had jumped to what she hoped was safety and had landed face down in the dirt. Jeff was reaching for his gun to make sure it had survived the topsy-turvy moment. It's nice to know these menfolk have their priorities in order. ;) Luckily, everyone survived with minimal damage and we were soon off again.

We paused on top of yet another ridge for a Kodak moment. This time Kennon and I posed in front of a beautiful mountain. Too bad my husband doesn't like to smile when his picture is taken. ;)


All in all, it was a fun day. Toward evening, when the temperatures really started to drop, we headed back to where we had parked the trucks. Just as they were in sight, Kennon stopped our 4-wheeler and reached for his binoculars. Excitedly he told me that he had finally spotted a deer. I hastened off the ATV and hurried into Jeff's truck to warm up with Dannyel as Jeff took my place on the back of our 4-wheeler. Off the two brothers went, hurrying up the hillside. It was all to no avail. They returned several minutes later with sad faces.

"It was a propeller-head," my husband explained. (This means it was a doe, a female deer. I recently learned that avid hunters call them names like propeller-heads, indicating the lack of horns---doe people just possess large ears. I'm sure this isn't their fault and names like this hurt their feelings, but I digress.)

By then, Dannyel and I had regained feeling in our feet and hands compliments of the nice heater in Jeffy's truck. This was good. ;) We quickly loaded up all of our gear into both trucks, and headed home. And I heard it exclaimed 'ere we drove out of sight:

"Nayner, nayner, nayner!" Indicating the bucks had won this particular round of hunting. ;)

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Huckleberry Season

Huckleberry season is upon us. I've been scouting known patches for quite some time, in the hopes of harvesting these luscious berries. Last year most of the blossoms froze, and the berries that did survive didn't flourish because of drought conditions. It was quite possibly the worst year ever for huckleberries in the history of Bear Lake Valley. Instead of my usual 15-20 pints in the freezer, I only found enough berries to fill one pint. Yes, I was extremely sad. So was my husband and our offspring, who love the huckleberry desserts I usually create for the holidays.

I was introduced to the great huckleberry tradition by my mother years ago. Sometime during the first two weeks of August, we would usually journey to her homeland of Wyoming to pick enough of these purple berries for tasty treats like pie, homemade ice cream, and oft times, pancakes. My maternal grandmother could create huckleberry delights that amazed us all, and her recipes are closely guarded secrets. Sometimes. Usually, I give them out to anyone who wants a copy, but don't tell my family. ;)

You can understand my excitement when I married into a family of huckleberry enthusiasts. That first summer, a few months after Kennon and I were married, marked the beginning of my education on where to find the elusive huckleberry in Bear Lake County. Here are some important rules regarding this fine tradition:

1) Never reveal where your huckleberry patch is located, unless you want to be disowned by the family. Most patches have been passed down from generation to generation. (I kid you not with regard to this information.)

2) Make lots of noise, since huckleberries are favorite treats of the local bear population. Noise tends to scare them away. I've often been tempted to borrow the neighbor's dog for just this purpose. =)

3) Wear clothes you don't mind ruining, since these berries tend to stain. They'll also stain your fingers, but purple is a lovely color, so I don't mind. ;)

4) Never spill your bucket. Not only is this shameful, but it causes tremendous grief to the one who has spent hours filling that bucket. (You earn every berry picked.)

5) Bring plenty of treats to snack on since berry picking adventures usually take a few hours. We also bring plenty of ice water and insect repellent.

6) Bring a bucket with a lid. I usually cut a small hole in the lid. This way you can drop the berries in and they don't spill out. Ice cream buckets work great for this.

7) Wear a hat in case the squirrels throw things at you while you pick berries from "their" patch.

Huckleberries only grow on mountain hillsides. Sometimes it takes quite a bit to reach their isolated location. I only know of one patch that is easily accessible. Most times we resort to using a 4-wheel drive vehicle to climb the steep dirt roads that lead to huckleberry patches. Other times, the berry patches can only be accessed by way of horse or a contraption known as a 4-wheeler. Earlier this week, my husband graciously drove a friend and I up to a huckleberry patch on his 4-wheeler. He dropped us off at the patch, then rode around the hillside exploring since he doesn't much enjoy picking the berries. By the end of the day, we were all happy. My friend and I had picked a lot of berries and my husband bonded with nature (ie: took a nap).



If you are extremely lucky and your berry patch is loaded, it doesn't take forever to fill a bucket. Here is what my friend was able to pick during the time we spent in a secret location I will never reveal:



Actually, I'm one of those who usually tells people how to get to the berry patches. Yes, I know, I'm breaking with tradition. =) If someone wants to go to all of the trouble to pick huckleberries (ie: this is a lot of work) I think they should know where to go to enjoy this pastime. Besides, my husband and I are the only family members still residing in Bear Lake Valley, so it's time to share this information. ;) This year, the bushes are loaded, so people who really want berries will go home with a bucket full.

As an insulin dependent diabetic, I've had a few adventures during huckleberry season. One year, after we had spent a couple of hours picking, I felt rather yucky. Thinking my blood sugar level had dropped drastically, I ran a quick check with my blood sugar meter. To my surprise, it flashed a number in the high 500's. (Normal range is 80-120.) Panicking, I gave a large dose of insulin, via my insulin pump. A few minutes later, I felt worse. So I ran another check. This time the meter flashed a number in the 30's---which is extremely low. That's when it occurred to me that the first check wasn't valid---the first finger I had poked for a blood sample had been covered in huckleberry juice. Evidently, those berries contain a lot of natural sugar. =) As you may have guessed, I did survive that episode. My husband made me eat an entire package of cookies as he drove us down the mountain, fearing he would have to take me into ER. I didn't have to visit the hospital that night---by the time we reached our house, my blood sugar level was fine. But I will never be able to eat that particular cookie ever again. ;)

This month I've enjoyed berry picking adventures four times during the past 2 weeks. If the berries continue, I may go one more time, just for kicks and giggles . . . and delicious desserts. And if any of you would like my grandmother's recipe for huckleberry pie, let me know. Just don't ever tell her that I shared this prize-winning creation. If you do, she may want to have a little chat with me on the other side of the veil for sharing a family secret.



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Climb Every Mountain . . . or not

So yesterday was the beginning of our annual stake girls' camp adventure. We've been planning for this event for quite some time. As the YW president of our ward, I've had my hands full getting the girls excited, and helping our two new camp directors prepare for this great event.

We all met at the church house yesterday morning at 7:45 a.m. After loading 3 pickup trucks full of camp gear, and cars with 12 girls, we headed for the mountains.

We arrived at Camp Ho-nok about 9:00 a.m. right on schedule. Then the true adventure began, the setting up of the tent(s) scenario. We only had to set up four---one for the priesthood leader, one for the camp directors, one for the food, and one for our girls. The tent we set up for our girls is a huge white canvas cabin tent. This tent was purchased a few years ago by our ward and it solves a lot of problems: since it holds about 20 girls, there is no arguing over who is sleeping in which tent. It provides one big slumber party. There is only one downside---the framework for this tent consists of fairly heavy metal pipes. They come in 3 sizes, and since it had been a while since I last helped put this tent together, we weren't sure which pipes went where.

Diving in, we did the best we could, and formed what we thought was the correct framework for the tent. But as we attached the final pipes, then slid the canvas tent over the top, we could see that we had made a huge mistake: it wasn't wide enough and we had a vaulted ceiling. ;) Yep, we had put it together incorrectly. Sighing, we knew we had to tear the thing down and start over.

We had each been assigned to hold onto a pipe as we slid the canvas over the the framework---those on the right side of the tent were instructed to remove their pipes while those of us on the left side held our pipes firmly in place. What we hadn't counted on was the immediate collapse of the middle. My husband was trying desperately to hold it in place, but it was to no avail.



Without warning, one of the center pipes nailed me on top of the head. There I was, valiantly holding onto my pipe, minding my own business, when the pipe threw off my groove. Literally. One of my counselors later said that she saw the back end of the tent collapse, then me hitting the ground and rolling over a couple of times. That's the part I don't recall. I remember something connecting with my head, then lying in the dirt in fuzzy mode as everyone around me panicked.

When I opened my eyes, I was asked silly things like: "Are you okay?" They sat me up and that's when the real fun began; I was bleeding profusely. The girls screamed and scattered. First Aid kits were dumped out on the ground as everyone searched for gauze pads. One girl bravely sacrificed her nice, white wash rag. =) It will likely never look the same.

I was rushed down the mountain to Montpelier (about a 45 minute drive) for medical assistance. As I sat waiting to be looked at, an older woman walked over to ask me what time it was. Then she registered how "lovely" I looked and backed away muttering, "I am so sorry. I didn't realize you were hurt." I tried not to let the horrified look on her face affect my self-esteem. ;)

As it turned out, I didn't have to endure stitches. The gash is located right on top of my head, in the middle. The doctor told us that to stitch it shut, a portion of hair had to be shaved away. I declined this gracious offer. He figured it would seal on its own and it did, eventually. And since I did know my name and where I was, he decided I would be just fine. I was cautioned to wear a hat over my head if I returned to girls' camp to keep the dust, bugs, etc. out of my cute little wound, and we hurried home to change into clean clothes, since we were both covered in blood. (Head wounds look a lot worse than they are.)

We did return to camp---I knew I needed to reassure the girls that all was well. They were pretty freaked out about the whole thing. I was just so very grateful that I was the only one hurt. I would have felt terrible if any of them had sustained a similar injury.

This morning, I have a bit of a headache. I probably will for a few days. But it could've been a lot worse. We're calling my wound this year's memory dent, and we're all laughing about it now. The thing I hope "my girls" will remember is this: Life rarely turns out the way we envision. The best laid plans often go awry. And sometimes we slide down the mountain we're trying to climb. The important thing is to keep climbing, to pick ourselves up, dust ourselves off, and continue on our way. We may have to take a different path, but if we arrive at our intended destination, that's what matters most.


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