I coasted down hills on them amidst universal jeers; every
one declared that they were quite unsuited to Canadian conditions.
The old-fashioned raquettes had their advantages, for one could
walk over the softest snow in them. Here, again, I fancy that it
was the sense of man triumphant over Nature that made snow-shoeing
so attractive. The Canadian snow-shoe brings certain unaccustomed
muscles into play, and these muscles show their resentment by
aching furiously. The French habitants term this pain mal de
raquettes. In my time snow-shoe tramps at night, across-country
into the woods, were one of the standard winter amusements of
Ottawa, and the girls showed great dexterity in vaulting fences
with their snow-shoes on.
A Canadian winter is bathed in sunshine. In the dry, crisp
atmosphere distant objects are as clear-cut and hard as though
they were carved out of wood; the air is like wine, and with every
breath human beings seem to enter on a new lease of life.
It is not so in the lower world. There is not a bird to be seen,
for no bird could secure a living with three feet of snow on the
ground.
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