Over tea and trail mix, wine and cheese, beer and charcuterie, the snowshoe group is quick to tell us skiers about heroic rescues (“we pulled Sherry out of a tree well close to a bear’s den”), daring descents (“did you hear the heli come check on us after we set off that slide?”) and wildlife encounters (“we saw a lynx and two cubs”). Snowshoeing, they point out, is a risky, adrenalin-soaked sport. “Maybe one day you’ll become strong enough skiers to advance to snowshoeing,” says Alejandro, a claim that Kevin, their guide, stands behind. (Kevin later confesses to sneaking out for a ski run now and then.)
“Seriously, though,” says David, a snowshoe neophyte from Louisiana, “before coming here, I was afraid I’d be cold and that snowshoeing would be too technical.” A resort skier, he thought he’d have difficulties walking through powder. “But after 20 steps, I was jumping off steep slopes.” He’s grateful his college buddy Mark, an Oregonian who now lives in Medicine Hat, Alta., convinced him to come. As for Mark, the biggest surprise was the landscape. “Nothing prepares you for the grandeur,” he says. For Alejandro, it was the snow, not only for how it amplifies the vastness and solitude: “I couldn’t believe the depth of the powder! At home, there’s no point using snowshoes; here, they’re a necessity,” he says, comparing the trampled trails around Montreal with the glory of the Purcells.