Winter Sport?

It's been too cold this winter to really enjoy the great outdoors, here in Chesterville -- for me, anyway. Not that I'm a warm-blooded southerner, used to swaying palm trees and soft ocean breezes (by the way, doesn't that sound great right now?) No, there weren't many palm trees in the Adirondacks where I grew up. Just lots of snow and bitter cold days, like here. But, when the weather cooperated I still liked to go sledding, building snow forts and, later as a teenager, ice skating with my brother on a frozen pond. When I caught the photography bug later in life, hiking in the woods in eastern Massachusetts became a part of my winter activity. With a higher density of people there, trails in winter were often walkable in a good pair of hiking boots, if the trails weren't actually plowed in spots. Nice for the leisure hiker. Maine's a little different in that respect. Taking a hike in winter here takes on a whole new experience. Snowshoes are a must. Now, I like old things, and having a degree in Anthropology, I like to experience first-hand how people lived in the past. So, my snow shoes were bought at an antique store and are of wood and sinew construction. I'd used them on unbroken trails in past years in deep snow and they worked quite well. Not so, this year. There's a wide trail near the house that goes to the top of a hill, with a nice view of the surrounding country. The cold this year had kept me too long in the house, and a couple of weeks ago, when the temperature was finally able to get into the 20s, I decided to strap on the snowshoes, sling my camera bag over my shoulder, and climb to the top of that hill. Getting to the bottom of the trail was pretty easy, as it was plowed road all the way. Starting the ascent, however, I started to notice something odd. The snow this year was like a fine powder, the kind you find covering that doughnut you know you shouldn't eat but always do. The snowshoes were sinking in quite deep, and moving through the snow was difficult. Each step was a challenge, lifting one wooden snowshoe from behind to the front, shaking all the powdery snow through the gaps in the lacings. Climbing the hill became a focus of step-shift-lift-shake-step -- repeat as needed. A quarter of the way up, I stopped and rested. The quiet of the woods was broken only by my panting (ok, it'd been a while since I'd done this kind of exercise