“I’m dreaming of a white Christmas…Just like the ones I used to know…”

White Christmas is not my favorite holiday song. I’m more of a Silent Night kind of gal. I like the solitude of the song. But this year, with kids arriving on December 26, we decided we would go for the white stuff while exercising our snowshoes—and hearts, lungs and thighs—on Christmas Day.

Skiing, camping, backpacking, snowshoeing, fill in your favorite expedition, why is the first trip of the season always such a struggle to get off the ground? Where are the mittens? Are these the boots that go with the snowshoes? What are we going to eat? Did you fill the gas tank? And on and on. We were determined to get out before the crowds on Christmas morning. No need to even think about it. The minutiae of the first trip slowed us down. And the crowds seeking snow like us? We would see.

By noon, we had gathered snowshoes, poles, coats, socks and more socks, mittens and hats, extra mittens and hats, Christmas lunch, maps, chains, shovel, cell phones (for an area with no service), layers of fleece and day packs with some percentage of the “10 essentials.” And, of course, the critical Sno-Park Permit. But more about that later.

[Read more →]