Ah, Spring. A time of renewal. A time for nature to shrug off her cool white mantle. A time of growth, warmth, and life. Or at least, that's what supposed to happen.

Maybe I was pushing the timetable a bit, but with spring a scant 12 hours old, I was determined to start the season in style. And with a friend coming to visit in May, I needed to scout potential overnight campsites. So, I packed up my hummus and made tracks for the woods.

The day dawned sunny, as expected. I rose early (for me, at least) since the forecast called for a nasty turn in the weather for the afternoon. Plus, it was my sister's birthday and I had to drive up to Vancouver that afternoon to party it up.

I-90 soon deposited me on a gravel forest service road. I dodged potholes for a mile or two until the road came to an end, blocked by a jeep. The jeep had gotten stuck in a snow drift across the road. I felt suddenly inadequate in my sporty-yet-practical Mazda Protege. Where did all this snow come from, anyway? It certainly was unexpected. Undaunted, I parked at the side of the road, booted up, and went off in search of the trailhead. I found it another quarter mile up the road, and dove into the woods.

The snow had mostly disappeared again, leaving only small patches along the trail. As I hiked, the patches got larger, and deeper. After a while, it was the bare spots that were patches, not the snow. And then, the trail was gone.

Following a trail in the snow is rather hard. You know that well-worn path you usually follow? Well, it's hard to see through 4 feet of snow. To make matters worse, the bootprints of previous hikers led in every direction. Well, up seems like as good a direction as any...

I trudged up the hillside, following what appeared to be the most popular line through the snow. I soon popped out on the main trail, where the snow had miraculously disappeared. I carefully marked the point where I had entered the trail (figuring it would be easier to find my way through the familiar area I had just traversed) and continued up. The trail remained bare for another mile or so, then the snow began to creep back in.

The trail crossed a few gullies that were pretty full of snow. For the most part I was able to walk on top, but occasionally a foot would punch through, sending me crashing to the ground, and nearly wrenching the knee above the offending foot. The trail was faintly visible as a line of bootprints through the needle encrusted snow, and several times I stopped for a few minutes to get my bearings and reassure myself that I wasn't yet lost in this Winter (oops, Spring) wonderland.

I took a break at some river, once again trying to figure out which direction I should be going. The map was pretty much useless. Or maybe it was me who was useless and couldn't figure out how to read the map. Either way, the trail hinted at some switchbacks and I took the bait.

The switchbacks ended and I found myself following a trail through a light forest. However, this was no ordinary trail. This was a snowshoe trail. Now this was getting out of hand. I mean, who goes snowshoeing in the Spring? Still, the guy with the snowshoes seemed to be the wiser of the two of us as I continued to punch through the thin crust of snow into the wet depths beneath.

After ten minutes or so I came upon my next challenge: the snow-covered bridge of death! What (at any sane time of the year) was normally a pleasant, three-foot-by-ten-foot walkway across a bubbling stream was now an icy gable. The snow had piled on the bridge a good three feet deep, and the top had melted into a glistening, rounded point. I spent a few minutes pondering the best way to surmount the obstacle before springing into action. Well, okay, by now there was nothing at all "Spring"-ish about this hike. I lowered myself down to the bridge, straddled the snowy mound (ooo! that's cold!) and slid across on my butt.

The snowshoe trail continued on the other side and I followed. By now I had stopped carefully placing each foot in the trail, testing the weight the snow would bear, and was steadfastly plunging on. I could sense that my destination was near. My hiking became more careless as I careened through the snow drifts. And then, I was there!

I stayed up at the lake for about half an hour, admiring the scenery around me. After a while a chill set in and I packed up and began the journey back.

Using my own footsteps as a trail, I wound my way back through the woods. My boots, feet, and leggings were soaked, but (thankfully) everything stayed warm as I hiked. Once again I ate up the trail on the return route, hardly stopping and going much faster. Been there, done that. Yawn.

Back near the trailhead I passed several people just beginning their hikes. I left them with dire warnings of deep snow and wet conditions. They looked even less prepared than me. Two girls I passed had low boots, shorts, and bare legs. I doubt they got very far.

Sometimes I think of myself as a chronic overpacker. I like to use the excuse that I should carry lots of stuff so that I can "practice for bigger hikes". But really, I'm just paranoid. This time around, it was probably a good thing. The extra clothing I brought never got worn, but would have come in very handy had I plunged into an icy cold stream or something along those lines. Anyhow, I think now I might have finally learned one of hiking's more valuable lessons. Check the conditions before you go!