Pauline Nevins

In the basement storage cupboard, tucked behind the folding chairs with cup holders, and the unused golf clubs and tennis racquets, were two sets of snowshoes. It was December, my daughter Tina’s birthday month. A snowshoe trip for two.

I found a snowshoe clinic online that advertised customers could “set their own pace,” and offered lunch. Besides sharing a day with my daughter, I hoped the class would inspire me to get more use out of the snowshoes I purchased years ago and used twice. Tina was excited to join me.


When I made the reservations, John, the instructor, offered me either an 8:30 a.m. or 11:30 a.m. session. Tina and I snorted at the 8:30 a.m. time. John called me as our train pulled into the Reno station. His schedule had changed. The 11:30 was out. He’d pick us up at 8:30.

John looked every bit the outdoor adventure type – Nordic features, fading tan, muscular – although he was carrying more weight than I expected – All the better to piggyback me down the mountain.

He nodded a polite hello to me. His face lit up when he spied Tina. My daughter, in her early 40s, is the only person I know who can look attractive first thing in the morning wearing a woolen snow cap with false pigtails. John informed us he was picking up a group of snowmobilers and Tina and I would ride with his partner, Darren.

A soft snow was falling when we arrived just above North Star in Lake Tahoe. Darren pulled up beside John’s minibus packed to the headliner with middle-aged couples wearing super-sized down jackets. There’d be a brief wait, John explained. He needed to organize the snowmobilers. Their rented vehicles were on a schedule. Tina and I exchanged sideways glances.

Once the last of the snowmobilers zoomed away at full throttle, John turned his attention to Tina and me. First on the agenda – the advertised “snowshoe clinic.” This presentation comprised John telling us we should always carry a whistle in the outdoors. If people can’t see you, at least they can hear you. Next – carry a shovel in case you need to build a snow cave. That was it? Personally, I would have liked a tad more information if I were actually going to undertake this task. Carry matches or a lighter, too, he cautioned, and pay attention to where the sun is so you can judge your direction of travel. Then we were off. Straight uphill.

John had the thighs of a speed skater and took off like a shot, with Tina on his heels. I trudged behind Tina, and Darren followed me. The pace left me breathless. “Sorry,” I said, turning to Darren, “but I have to stop once in a while.” I was wondering what happened to the brochure’s “set your own pace” that lured me to this clinic.

Tina and John would occasionally stop and wait for me and Darren. As we reached them, John would immediately race off. At one stop, Tina, noticing her mother’s tongue was hanging out, suggested they wait so I could rest. John frequently checked his watch.

When the four of us stopped for lunch, John retrieved a small plastic disc from his backpack and gallantly placed it on a granite rock for me to sit on. I smiled. Maybe he wasn’t such a schmuck.

Tina and I looked on expectedly as John unzipped a section of his large backpack. The clinic fee included food and beverages. I was starving and imagined John retrieving a thermos of hot soup, unwrapping sourdough bread sandwiches, maybe potato chips, too – a treat I rarely allowed myself.

John fished around in his backpack. Tina and I smiled. He pulled out four bags. What? Trail mix? We sat on our granite perches, nibbling quietly. My kind daughter mentioned there was some tasty stuff mixed in with the nuts and raisins. The guide beamed. He said he had indeed added some extra items. I was glad he wasn’t looking at me.

Following “lunch,” John warned us he was upping the pace so he could get down the hill in time to meet his snowmobiling group. Halfway down, he broke into a gallop. Darren, Tina and I almost lost our balance laughing at the sight of this large muscular guy flailing down the hill. Tina mimicked John’s ungainly running technique. Darren got caught up in the fun and gave us his imitation. I was not about to push my luck by following suit. I’d succeeded in my one goal – to remain upright.

While the clinic didn’t inspire me to snowshoe more often, I did buy a whistle and shovel.