Snowshoeing

Like a Native American or an old-school European. Our guide was Sigi--pronounced Cig-EE--a slight woman whose accent betrayed her German ex-pat status. Her dog--Silver--is the fittest black lab I have ever seen. Not the tubby, Texas versions whom I am accustomed to; but Silver is a sleek creature who bounded through the snow with more exuberance that my family's Jack Russel Gracie. 

We took the steep way up, due to Mamma's bum knee--she is getting it fixed this coming Friday. I rarely noticed the scenery. I was busy panting, deep-breathing as the altitude deprived my lungs of their typical air density. Sigi was going slow, but I struggled to keep up. This makes me believe that everyone should stop working and move to a mountain town. At said mountain town, they should then walk over six miles a day and eat no meat. But I believe that is called being a hippie.

On the way down, we took the slow route. The view was amazing. The snow was falling. I felt exhausted but happy. I felt better when I noticed the dog was tired too.

Overall, I would recommend snowshoeing to anyone. The combo of difficult-I-will-never-make-it-up-this-God-forsaken-Mountain with easy-this-is-so-nice was perfect.