Do you remember the first time you went snowshoeing?

I sure do. And the memory is not necessarily a positive one.

Outside of tromping around the yard as a child on snowshoes my parents purchased at the town drugstore, I had never really given the sport much credence until my second or third Aroostook winter as a college student from downstate.

My buddies liked to rabbit hunt, so I borrowed my father’s old traditional-style trapper’s snowshoes, complete with rawhide webbing and leather bindings, so that I could join them on a mid-March trek for hares.

The jaunt started out great; the sun was shining, the snow was deep, and the rabbit tracks were abundant.

To be honest, I no longer recall if we bagged any bunnies. But, I do remember taking a break at the edge of a cedar thicket to eat the lunches we had packed, and I remember how much better a bologna sandwich tasted after an honest couple of hours breaking trail in deep snow.

I also remember having a bit of a struggle removing a boot from a stubborn snowshoe binding. The all-leather binding on traditional ‘shoes wraps around the toe of your boot. There’s a strap that wraps around your heel and laces to secure the whole apparatus.

Did I mention that this whole thing was made of leather? And that though the sun was shining, the air temp was a bit crisp?

Well, put all of these story elements together and what you get is a device, worn by age and use – and non-use – that is susceptible to stress when the freeze/thaw continuum of a late winter day takes its toll on aged buckskin.

The darned binding broke.

First it was the laces. I managed to re-lace the shoe with what was left, but then, the heel strap let go. My buddies and I jerry-rigged the thing several times, but nothing worked for more than a few steps.

We could have been one mile or ten miles from our house, I really don’t remember. The remainder of the trek felt like a winter marathon.

Carrying a backpack and a small rifle on one snowshoe in deep snow, while lugging the now loathed left snowshoe, seemed like a slog of Olympic proportions.

I must admit, frustration got the better of me and I ended up flinging the shoe ahead discus style many, many, (many!) times. Along with post-holing (this occurs, usually mid-stride, when your leg sinks into deep snow, much like stepping into an existing hole made for a fence post) every third step, my adventure had become much more arduous than I had bargained for.

But, boy, did I get a heck of a work out!

Thankfully, snowshoes of today rely on more durable materials. Other advancements in size, shape, and style have helped make snowshoeing an easy sport to start and master, which is why it is one of the fastest growing sports in the country.

I have been out snowshoeing many times since that unforgettable first foray. It’s a great way to get outside in the winter.

I still have my dad’s snowshoes, though I haven’t used them much after I fixed that confounding binding for good.

Why am I hanging on to something that was such a source of exasperation?

I had so much fun that day, I don’t ever want to forget it!