I had a 12-gauge shotgun slung over my back and snowshoes on my feet, and the moderately steep incline ahead of me looked ominous, though my good friend assured me I'd be fine.
"If you can walk, you can snowshoe," he said, a not-so-subtle reference to my status as a snowshoeing neophyte.
We were shoeing through 4 inches of fresh snow, en route to one of those way-off-the-beaten-trail late-season pheasant magnets that all but guaranteed multiple flushes and, with any luck, pheasant under glass.
"It'll be worth the hike," he assured me yet again.
I didn't come close to cresting the small hill before I lost my balance and tipped over backward like a felled hardwood. Timber! The long, clumsy, old-school snowshoes I was wearing — the same kind American Indians used to hunt deep snow — betrayed me like an old girlfriend.
"They don't have much traction, do they?" said my friend as he stood over me. "You should have been walking at an angle up the hill."
I laughed recently at that memorable statement, uttered circa the Clinton administration, as I went to purchase my first pair of snowshoes for winter exploration and exercise. Before I started shopping, I went on a fact-finding mission to educate myself on what to buy. Thanks to a tip from a friend, I hit the jackpot and contacted Kristine Hiller, a park naturalist for the Minnesota Department of Natural Resources at Jay Cooke State Park, about 20 minutes south of Duluth.
Hiller has been snowshoeing her entire life and leads the snowshoeing instructional program at Jay Cooke. She's a wealth of knowledge and practical experience.