When it comes to claims by outdoor equipment makers about the capabilities of their products, weigh what they say carefully. You may find that there’s a bit of hype contained in those glossy phrases.

It may not seem like much at first glance, but you may find yourself in over your head (or over your knees) if you believe that Brand X backcountry skis or Brand Y snowshoes will float you effortlessly through the woods to grandmother’s house, a grin on your face and wings on your feet.

Snow conditions can vary immensely, from hard-packed, groomed snowmobile trails to powdered-sugar fluffy. On the former you could get by with just about any size or shape of ski or snowshoe. On the latter, forget it. You’ll find that those claims about being able to “bust trail in the backcountry” or “floating anybody in any snow” are just a tad overblown.

Since we live where the weather changes frequently, and we have so many different weather regions in our state, you know snow conditions vary widely. Throw in sudden changes like we had last week where the thermometer reached 50 degrees in places and you have a whole new picture.

Take my last two outings, for example.

You may recall a column I wrote last spring about a day trip I did with Brad Viles on Pleasant Pond Mountain. He’s a volunteer who maintains a 2-plus-mile section of the Maine Appalachian Trail that begins atop the mountain.

And you may remember that Viles wrote a guest column for me awhile back about “huckin’ boulders.”

Well, he called the other day and suggested we revisit his favorite section of the Appalachian Trail and try hurtling ourselves off snow-covered boulders to the trail below. I took his invitation under advisement, but really couldn’t come up with an excuse not to go.

So, on Sunday morning, Feb. 20, I struck out with Viles for the Caratunk area, packed for a winter day outing, skis and snowshoes in tow. It had snowed on Friday, but the roads were clear. We stopped in Solon at a little market so I could get a sandwich and trail snack, and then skittered up the road to Pleasant Pond. It’s plowed to within a couple miles of the lean-to on the Appalachian Trail.

We strapped on gaiters and cross-country skis, hoisted our packs and snowshoes and headed out. The first mile or so is a snowmobile trail, so the going was easy. After we ran out of packed trail we followed a couple’s snowshoe tracks for a bit, then ran into virgin snow — about 30 inches deep. In two strides I was up to my knees in sugarlike powder. The Caratunk area had not had warm spells like we’d had in Bangor. There was no crust, no resistance under my feet. Each step was an effort. Backcountry skis? Not much flotation here, buddy.

Meanwhile, Viles is off somewhere ahead, floating merrily along. (The fact that I have about 50 pounds on him was evident with each step, even the ones I’d taken in his tracks.)

As I slogged along I couldn’t help but think I’d have it easier on the return trip since there’d be a nice trench to follow.

We reached the lean-to and rested up a bit, stowed the skis in the shelter and strapped on the snowshoes. My spirits improved as I envisioned our ascent atop the snow.

Was I ever disillusioned! My first step into the abyss brought reality home quickly. I was down nearly two feet — up to, and above my knees! And I had stepped in Viles’ shoe print that was only about 8 inches deep. So much for “floating anybody in any snow.”

Each labored step after that was the same. I tried to put my foot down tentatively and transfer weight to it. I tried tapping my foot a couple of times on the snow to pack it more. Nothing worked. Each time my foot would sink out of sight, something called postholing.

After struggling for an hour (with several brief rest stops to catch my breath) I’d had it. We’d climbed about halfway up the mountain and I was toast. After packing out a spot to rest on, I collapsed and broke out my lunch. There was no way, I told Viles, I was going to make the top. He took sympathy on me. (It helped that I had an energy bar to offer him. In his rush to hit the trail, he’d left his lunch in his truck.)

Besides, we could look forward, he said, to the fun part — “huckin’ boulders.” I had a hard time mustering the same enthusiasm. The thought of throwing my now-pooped body off the side of a mountain was sounding either real good or real bad.

I looked askance at Viles as he readied himself for the first airborne assault. He eyed a landing spot some six feet below, launched himself briefly into space with a gleeful scream, dodged an overhanging branch and landed with a poof. Budda bing! He righted himself, shook off the snow and shuffled toward the next drop-off.

My turn. I felt like a cat ready to pounce on a mouse (a rather fat cat with rather big feet). I scouted out a landing spot, questioned my sanity and gave a short jump (and some sort of scream). Fawump! It was a soft landing! I stood for a second, snow up to my waist. Everything seemed to be in place. Wow, I thought, I could learn to enjoy this.

Needless to say, the trip down was a ball. It took only minutes, and I’d rate it right up there with downhill skiing on the fun scale (only easier). If only there were a way to get to the top without all that effort!

The next Wednesday (when I felt like I could walk without pain) I decided to give the snowshoes a second chance. After all, two or more feet of fluffy powder snow is not really a fair test. (I know this now!)

In looking over the brochure I received with this pair of Crescent Moon Permagrin 10 snowshoes, I found a paragraph which sums up my experience. “More important than your weight is the density or condition of the snow. If your snowshoeing is on hard pack or packed powder where flotation and traction are good, you’ll want as light and strong a shoe as possible.” Not stated, however, is the fact that in light snow I’d need river barges under my feet if I planned to do any floating.

The Permagrin 10s I have on loan are teardrop-shaped — 9 inches at the widest point, 32 inches long. The company’s newest and biggest offering is 10 inches wide by 37 inches long, and in the picture it looks like it has less of a teardrop shape, thereby giving it a lot more surface area. Maybe these would have done the trick for me the previous Sunday.

By Wednesday the weather closer to Bangor was considerably warmer. Our snowpack is different too. We’ve had snowstorms that have turned to rain, so there were three thin crust layers. And the warming temperatures had made the surface snow stickier.

I drove up to Hirundo Wildlife Refuge in Old Town for a quick outing. The trust property of the University of Maine is laced with nature and ski trails and is bordered by Pushaw Stream.

After registering at the gatehouse, I strapped on the Permagrin 10s and off I went. Snow conditions were perfect. The trails had been walked so I didn’t have to break trail. Walking was effortless (the Permagrin 10s weigh 3 pounds, 6 ounces per pair), almost as if I were hiking without snowshoes. The teardrop shape allows you to take a near-normal stride and not clash shoes. My outing was a joy.

Permagrin’s binding system, which has two easily adjusted toe straps and a locking ratchet heel strap, is nearly flawless (my only nitpick is having to hold up the toe straps while you slide your boot toe under them).

Perhaps the feature that sets these shoes apart from others is the three-claw crampon system. One set is under your heel, another is under the ball of your foot, while a third set of teeth is just below your toes. Traction on packed snow and icy is not a problem. And plastic inserts in the claw area help prevent snow buildup underfoot.

Hirundo’s color-coded trails are more than adequately marked. You can get a map when you register (no charge), but each trail intersection has a mounted and laminated map showing where you are. You can’ get lost. I had the place to myself — me and the deer. While I saw only one through the trees, I felt as though I was walking in a deer yard, what with all the footprints and droppings.

My only regret was that I hadn’t had an earlier start so I could have spent a few hours walking all the trails and maybe having a trail lunch on the banks of Pushaw Stream. There’s nothing more serene and relaxing than a flowing body of water in the winter.

To get to Hirundo, take the Old Town-Hudson exit off I-95 and go west 4.5 miles. You’ll cross the stream on two bridges. Not far from the second bridge you’ll see the first red sign on the right for the refuge. Just up the road from there is a second one. Turn in here to a large parking lot and a house. Ring the doorbell and you’ll be greeted and asked to register. Then you’re on your own to enjoy the quietude.

Hirundo is open 9 a.m. to 4 p.m. daily. Call 394-4681 for more information.

Jeff Strout’s column is published on Thursdays. He can be reached at 990-8202 or by e-mail at jstrout@bangornews.infi.net.