WEATHERSFIELD, Vt. - I had never been snowshoeing and wanted to give it a try. But preliminary research in a few basic sporting guides had not been encouraging.
"Don't worry if you develop "mal de raquette" (French for pain of the snowshoe) during your first jaunt or two," advised the author of "The L.L. Bean Guide to the Outdoors." "Undue straddling and excessively long strides stretch muscles and leg joints, resulting in pain in the hips, thighs, and sometimes in the knees."
This didn't sound so great.
Plus, according to the guide, there were all sorts of snowshoe styles to choose from. I could try the Maine or the Michigan models, both suited to the woods and similarly shaped, except that the Michigan is a bit bigger. Or the Pickerel, which is longer and narrower. Or the Bear Paw, also known as the Beavertail, which is lighter and more compact. And there were many variations on these styles, as well as different kinds of bindings.
The guide continued, "No matter which model you choose, there will be days during which you'll wish you'd chosen another style."
Right. Doubting whether I'd enjoy any of them, I was reluctant to invest in equipment straightaway. I also knew that I needed help to get started. I decided to look for an inn that provides snowshoes to guests and has good, easy trails close by.
When an Internet search turned up the Inn at Weathersfield in east central Vermont, it seemed as good a place as any to launch my adventure. The inn is situated on 21 wooded acres with trails suited for beginners. I could experiment on paths that started almost at its back door. And overnight guests get to use the inn's snowshoes for free.
Intriguingly, the inn is a historic 1792 stagecoach stop renovated with an eye toward accentuating its cozy, rustic charms. It has a tavern, a restaurant, and a well-stocked bar. After my experimental trek, I could relax with a soothing libation by one of its many fireplaces.
It all sounded convenient and appealing to this reluctant novice and in the end turned out to be even better than I had imagined.
When a friend and I arrived at the inn, he wanted to read by the fire. I was eager for my first taste of snowshoeing. To my surprise, Jane Sandelman, who owns and manages the inn with her husband, David, offered to join me. "I'm always ready for a walk," she said.
The inn's snowshoes were sturdy, oblong, aluminum discs with slightly upturned toes. Wearing boots or any warm walking shoes, you slip your feet into simple nylon riggings, tighten them, buckle a leather strap around each heel, "and you're good to go," Sandelman said.
