I always feel a little guilt when snowshoeing over an untouched snow cover.  Until the next snowfall, no one else will see this snowy meadow free of human tracks. 

The place is not pristine. Non-human animals have marked the snow.  Two hundred meters in we will find a single set of canine tracks, wolf or coyote, dimpling the snow. Last night a snowshoe hare left evidence of its passing. Parallel lines of tiny tracks, as close together as the stitches on a baseball lead toward the trunk of bull pine.

            The carnage caused by three sets of snowshoes and a small poodle will memorialize our passage until the next storm arrives tomorrow night. Then wind and snow will erase the evidence of our passage. 

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