Snowshoeing Near the City 
By GRIZZLY KING 
A S a rule the possession of a pair of snow- 
shoes is hardly worth while in the 
vicinity of New York city, and to see a 
pair lying idle is a strong temptation to journey 
to regions where the snow lies deep throughout 
the winter and where they are useful. When 
this longing cannot be gratified, one feels like 
smashing the innocent cause of it. The present 
winter has so far proved a pleasing exception 
to the rule, and it has been worth while to have 
a pair of snowshoes handy. 
Last winter I became dissatisfied with the pair 
I had been using. These were not selected be¬ 
cause they suited me. Instead, they were the 
only pair obtainable in a North Woods coun¬ 
try store on the eve of my departure, several 
years ago, with a companion on a hundred-mile 
tramp across the Adirondacks. They were big 
and wide and heavy and the footgear was 
clumsy; so last winter I appealed to a friend 
who promised to look after the making of a 
pair such as he employs in long tramps into the 
backwoods in midwinter. 
With the first fall of snow last December 
cam^ a note from my friend saying the shoes 
had been sent, and adding: “A white ash tree, 
growing in the open field, was cut to make the 
frames from, and the stringing is of heavy raw- 
hide; so, as far as I can judge, the shoes will 
stand the hardest kind of service.” That state¬ 
ment appealed to me. The workman who knew 
the tree from which his frames were riven could 
be depended on, for I could imagine him say¬ 
ing: “No sawed stuff for me, to warp and sag 
or snap off.” 
These snowshoes are of a type not often seen 
hereabout—a sort of compromise between the 
Canadian and the bearpaw, at their best perhaps 
in the woods. The frames are straight, without 
the miserable upturn of the toe which char¬ 
acterizes the so-called club shoes, hence one does 
not have to select every place in which his shoe 
is 1o be put down. 
There was also a small girl to provide for, 
and a very serviceable pair of snowshoes for an 
eight-year-old to begin with was obtained from 
an outfitter, who complained that his large stock, 
which was a drug last year, had been going like 
hot cakes until only a few pairs remained, while 
the makers turned a deaf ear to all of his de¬ 
mands for more. All of which shows that snow- 
shoe makers, like other people, sometimes fail 
to heed the warnings of the oldest inhabitant 
when, in October, the latter inspects the fabled 
goose wingbone and predicts a long, hard winter. 
As if to grace the festival season with appro¬ 
priate settings, the storm king came with a rush 
on Christmas day, depositing a foot of snow 
which he piled into drifts, making the use of 
snowshoes not only a pleasure but a convenience 
COMING THROUGH THE JUNIPERS. 
in a village where the elements are considered 
by those who cater to the daily needs of the 
citizens. 
The little girl was turned loose in the yard 
where there were drifts higher than her head, 
but was not allowed to start out alone until she 
had been coached on the proper stride. Al¬ 
though the family gathered at the windows to 
watch her antics, she surprised them all, for she 
took to the raquettes as naturally as she had 
taken to the water, in summer. Thereafter for 
several hours she made strange trails all over 
the neighborhood, falling but seldom, much to 
the disappointment of her small friends, who 
waded after her, primed for shouts of glee at 
her expense. 
Often we sallied forth on long tramps in the 
outskirts of the village and across the fields, 
and one night when the wind was shrieking over¬ 
head, the snow falling in large flakes and the 
temperature so low that few persons were 
abroad, it was noticeable, even to the child, that 
our mode of traveling was far more comfort¬ 
able and easy than was that of the few who 
waded, slipping and plunging, half winded, 
wholly cross, through the drifts on their home¬ 
ward way. Many an old fellow, in goloshes, 
fur coat and muffler, stopped to tell the child 
that when he was a boy—when cold winters and 
deep snow were the rule—he, too, had enjoyed 
snowshoeing; and he would like to have a pair 
just then. 
Once we burst out of a white birch thicket 
into a bypath along which an old-time darkey 
was plodding. He had neither seen us nor heard 
our approach, and was so startled by the sudden 
advent of two people “walkin’ on de snow” 
that he regarded us in silent wonder, eyes bulg¬ 
ing and mouth agape, forgetting until we were 
afar off, the customary doffing of his ’coon skin 
cap and the respectful “Mornin’ boss; mornin’ 
missy.” A quarter of a mile away, at a turn 
in the path, we looked back to see him still re¬ 
garding the queer tracks leading from the woods. 
On another occasion we passed a former Hol¬ 
lander plodding through the snow. He called 
our attention to the wooden sabots he was wear¬ 
ing, and said they, too, were better for snow 
than leather footgear, a fact that was apparent 
to one who watched his easy progress. Still an¬ 
other snow-walker, also black, had wound a 
gunnysack about each foot and made fair head¬ 
way. His trail reminded me of one I crossed 
while, as a boy, I was following the trail of 
several wild turkeys I had flushed. Those 
tracks were made by a club-footed negro trap¬ 
per whose deformed extremities were so wrap¬ 
ped about with straw and bagging that I took 
his trail for that of a bear and debated long 
and earnestly the advisabiliiy of putting about 
for home. 
The camera goes well with the raquettes on 
the morning after a storm, and on such a day 
we tramped over the hills and through the woods 
where the pictures outlined by the snow were 
finest. The evergreens are most attractive after 
a fresh fall of snow and before its smooth sur¬ 
face is marred by tracks. To pick one’s way 
among them reminds him of the feelings that 
must come to the explorer who first treads on 
virgin ground. Where all is so pure and white 
it is hard to realize that beneath the purifying 
