Thank Goodness for having Poles while Snowshoeing
At last November's CONC potluck I had inquired about the rationale for poles when snowshoeing. I don't prefer to use them when backpacking and wondered about their utility during snowshoeing. Sage guidance was to always have them with me, even if I didn't intend to make a habit of using them. The very next day I duly bought a pair and fastened them to my winter pack--where they remained for four months until recently, when they became indispensable during a snowshoeing excursion at Potato Hill. I want to convey the details of my full misadventure--as well as my full gratitude--for the abiding advice.
The weather has been warmer lately and the snow at Potato Hill was still deep, but precariously soft. There had been no snowshoers there lately, with no tracks to easily suggest the trail. Making every effort to follow the blue trail markers, my CONC snowshoeing partner and I nonetheless unintentionally found ourselves off trail. Trying to track our way back to the trail, we were constantly post-holing and experienced many near-misses skirting the tree wells. Because many of the tree wells are concealed--completely covered by snow--they ultimately proved impossible to avoid, and I fell into no fewer than three of them on this day. If I hadn't had the poles with me (and an able fellow CONC member who also had his poles), I might be stuck there still.
The first concealed well I landed in was positioned in between two other, visible, tree wells (I was trying to pass between them) such that my snowshoeing partner was not able to approach and assist, without also putting himself in danger. Fortunately, I landed in a partially sitting up position, and he called out helpful advice to me in my disoriented state, such as to remove my heavy backpack that was weighing me down, and in so doing to unfasten a pole (thank you, Bob) to dig myself out. Although one leg cramped up from the effort (ouch!), we achieved success.
Despite taking great care, I soon fell into a second concealed tree well. This time nearly hip deep in a standing position, but with one leg twisted to such an extent that I could not move it--or, indeed, either leg--for traction to attempt to free myself. I discovered`, quite incontrovertibly, that falling into a tree well entails the almost immediate impaction of one's snowshoes such that I was literally frozen in place and lacked any leverage whatsoever to attempt to lift myself out. This time my snowshoeing partner was able to approach and--using his own poles--commenced working to free me. Because one snowshoe was in very deep, was twisted, and therefore difficult to reach I was very fearful during the extraction that I was going to lose that snowshoe completely in the process, adding to our travails. Fortunately, due to the painstaking efforts of my day's partner, and despite the painful cramp that occurred in my other leg, I emerged from the second tree well with both my snowshoes and myself intact, but now partially wet (think: Ten Essentials).
Proceeding now with exceeding caution and using my pole to test-probe the snow ahead of me as we continued to track our (ultimately successful) way back to the trail, I nonetheless fell into a third concealed tree well. This one was the worst and I found myself in up almost past my waist. You will be pleased, I hope, to know that in spite of my dilemma there was a learning curve progressing (in addition to the one about the poles) and this time I knew to act very quickly before everything iced in place and so (1) if at all possible to power one leg completely out of the well before it cramped up (done!), (2) to move the remaining trapped snowshoe around to the extent possible to prevent it from becoming frozen, immobile, and very difficult to free (done!--gaining a few critical centimeters of free space), (3) to place my backpack directly in front of me to lean on for stability and to have there for lifting leverage when the time came (done!), and (4) to call out to my day’s partner, who was slightly ahead using his navigating device to track us back to the trail, that I needed help RIGHT NOW (done)! He quickly went to work using his by now quite practiced extrication technique with his poles, and I was soon able to lean forward on my pack and, with help, quickly lift myself free. No leg cramps this time.
Once again, Bob, I want to convey my heartfelt thanks to you for your guidance, and, indeed, to all the CONC trail leaders, for the concerted safety briefs held at the beginning of each excursion. When we got back to the trailhead and reflected upon the day's events, on what we did right and what we would have done differently we concluded that a critical factor--in addition to having our poles with us--was that we were never individually alone. In other words, although we started the day not intending to depart from the established track, when the time came that we found ourselves off-trail, neither of us was ever alone. That--and the poles--saved the day.
Patricia Kauffman
