Skiing and winter sports > Articles > If the Shoe Fits

Tennis rackets. Right, that’s got the usual wisecrack remark about snowshoes out of the way, now we can get on with things.

First off, erase from your mind images of North American Indians and Canadian fur trappers plodding across frozen winter landscapes in snowshoes the size and weight of a small rowing boat. Modern snowshoes are lightweight, high-tech bits of kit that anyone can learn to use in minutes and can get on and off in seconds.

They’re based only loosely on the traditional Indian designs from North America, and can be used for everything from winter backpacking to accessing off piste ski and snowboard runs. For most people though, modern snowshoes simply offer a fun and easy way of getting into the snowclad forests and mountains of winter.

The reincarnation of snowshoeing started in the USA, where sales rose from 13,500 pairs in 1996 to 160,000 in 2000, and it show no sign of slowing down – indeed, some reports claim that snowshoeing is the fastest growing winter sport in the States.

As with most trends these days, what started on the other side of the Atlantic eventually takes off in Europe, and snowshoeing is no exception. While snowshoers plodding across the Alps may still not be a regular sight, with many ski resorts hiring out snowshoes and having marked trails on which to use them this fun way of spending an afternoon in the mountains is undoubtedly set to become more popular. On top of that, it’s a surprisingly good workout, especially on steeper trails, so it’s no problem to justify your walk in the woods with a beer or two on your return to civilisation.

One of the best things about snowshoeing is the chance it offers to get away from it all and enjoy winter alpine landscapes in solitude and silence. On those days when you maybe feel like a break from the lift queues and general hullabaloo that so often surrounds skiing and boarding, or when the light is bad and riding down the slopes wouldn’t really be much fun, snowshoeing is a fine alternative way of getting out and breathing some clean, fresh mountain air and work up a worthy sweat at the same time.

Let me give you an example. Last winter I was staying in the little alpine village of Le Pre on the edge of the vast Les Arcs ski area, we’d had a couple of days when the light was too flat for a decent day of skiing, but I still wanted to get out in the mountains. With miles of marked trails through the forest above the village it was a matter of minutes to pack a rucksack with a few sandwiches and some warm clothes and head off into the hills with my snowshoes and ski poles (important for extra stability on steeper terrain).

Initially I had the clatter of a ski lift to accompany my heavy breathing as I climbed up towards the glacier topped peak of Aiguille Rouge, way above the forest and certainly far higher than I would be going this day, but eventually I left the lift far behind me, as well as the occasional skier swooshing past, and took a quiet, lonely trail into the forest. The snow wasn’t of the best quality – wet in some places, icy patches in others, but my snowshoes would glide over the top when necessary and, with the help of crampon-like teeth on the undersurface, bite into icy patches firmly and securely, so I always had a good grip.

Occasionally a gap would open in the trees when I could see way down the Tarentaise Valley below me towards Bourg St. Maurice and, across on the opposite side of the valley, the resort of La Rosiere where skiers in the shape of tiny, black dots could be seen wending their way down the slopes. Out towards the west dark clouds were developing and snow was no doubt falling out of them, but I had no worries about it sweeping over me – with a well-marked trail, a good pair of snowshoes and plenty of warm clothing I would have no problem getting back to Le Pre whatever the weather.

I took a little time out at one of the viewpoints to eat my sandwiches and enjoy the solitude. And when my breathing was back to normal I could also enjoy the silence. Apart from the occasional twitter of a bird or the clump of snow falling from a tree branch, all that was to be heard was the gentle soughing of the wind through the trees and, occasionally, the low whine of a motorbike racing up the distant valley bottom towards Val d’Isere. It would be hard to get this kind of experience on the nearby slopes of Les Arcs unless you’re a pretty competent off-piste skier, yet here I was, enjoying the mountains in perfect solitude, and it required nothing more than the ability to put one foot in front of the other to get here.

As the first flakes of the approaching storm flittered towards me I set off walking again, to eventually turn back and make my way back down the mountain trail when the light started to dim (the snowfall never did come to anything much), and by the time I got back to the chalet I’d had just as good a workout as if I’d been skiing – but unlike skiing I’d also had a whole forest to myself for the afternoon.

I now take my snowshoes with me on every ski trip for those days when skiing isn’t the best option, and you’d be surprised how much interest they elicit from friends and acquaintances. Maybe it’s time you tried a walk in the hills too this winter?

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