Snowbound, part one (the epic)

Winter camping holds charms that can't be matched in any other season: the solitude; the stark beauty; the contrast of warm clothes, fire or sleeping bag on a frosty night. Many fans would also note the absence of pests encountered on summer trips. There are no bugs, no snakes, no bears, no rowdy camper neighbors keeping you awake half the night.

For years, I have enjoyed occasional trips in the winter months, happily alone through cold and snow. Though I have had my share of complications - frozen boots, six-inch snowfall overnight, a four day stretch of freezing drizzle - I have met these challenges with a smile. Nothing is quite as soothing as a long evening watching snowflakes sizzle in the embers, and nothing is quite as magical as a ghostly-silent deer passing through the silvered brush just yards from your camp.

So, after hearing about the beauty of White Pines Forest State Park, I planned a cold-weather camping trip there. My original plan was preempted by a family emergency last March, and when that emergency was past, I spent the rest of the year yearning for the missed trip. My job and other obligations kept me busy. Meanwhile, the adventure lay dormant in my imagination, a pretty dream to hope for, but a nightmare to schedule. When at last I was able to carve out a little time for myself at the end of January, I felt that dormant dream begin to stir.

In the weeks leading up to the chosen date, I found myself thinking of it all the time. I recalled each of my past trips, what preparations I had found useful and what I remember wishing I had done differently. Each winter camping tip I had encountered since the last trip was weighed for applicability and value. I even succumbed to the modern age and got a cell phone so my family wouldn't worry about me being alone in the woods 100 miles from home. Four days early, I was completely packed and eager for the peace and contentment my journey would no doubt bring. But, as I watched the weather forecasts, they were daily revised from a comfortable hanging-around-freezing to a steep slide into dangerously cold. It seemed every time I looked at the weather predictions, the temperatures dropped a few more degrees.

Still, I was determined not to let the opportunity pass again. I'd tough it out. I just needed to be prepared, make good decisions, monitor the conditions and retreat to the mummy bag earlier than normal if I had trouble staying warm.

Winter at White Pines is as beautiful as I'd imagined from the accounts and summer photos shared by friends and family. It's a quiet, serene, evergreen forest, carpeted with snow and crossed by sparkling, tumbling creeks. In the summer, the open campsites where I was registered might feel a little crowded, but in late January, I had the place to myself. However, the troubles started from the moment I arrived.

Apparently, a secluded pine forest 100 miles from home is not the best place for cell phone reception. If my family wanted to reach me, they were out of luck. I had to find a pay phone in town to let them know I had arrived safely. Likewise, my camera started acting up. Extreme cold is no good for camera batteries.

Technology aside, the bitter cold made setting up camp more difficult than usual. Gloves are clumsy for the kind of fine manipulation that requires, and I could only risk exposing my fingers for a few minutes at a time. The tent fabric was brittle from the cold. The elastic in the collapsible poles was ridiculously slow to retract, and the stakes would only go halfway into the frozen ground if I was to have any hope of retrieving them when I was through.

With my camp prepared, I settled into a somewhat normal routine. It was cold, about 10 degrees Fahrenheit (-12C), but tolerable for the usual activities. I explored the immediate area, laid my fire, cooked and ate my evening meal. But when the sun went down, the temperature dropped even more. As I had in the past, I filled a bottle with hot water, sealed it and set it in my sleeping bag in anticipation of an early bedtime. By 6pm, I crawled into my downy haven only to find that the seal on my water bottle was not as tight as I had thought. Though the leaking was minor, there was now dampness in a key insulating layer on a night that promised a wind chill of -15 F (-26C). I tried to compensate with extra blankets, but the temperature was just too low. By 7pm, I was on my way to a local motel, choking a little on my pride, but with all of my toes intact.

For many years, I've reassured my family and friends that I'm being rational about camping alone in winter by telling them, "I'll sleep in the refrigerator, but not in the freezer." This is the first time it's ever been put to the test. Though the experience goes down as a failure with regards to my original intent, it has to be considered a big win for common sense.

The next day, I returned to my camp for the warmer day hours, but held onto my room for a night that was due to be not much better than the first. With the forecast now predicting a warm-up around the time I was due to return to work, I sadly made the decision to cut my trip short. The decision was liberating in its own way. I packed up the unnecessary parts of my camp and proceeded to enjoy my day outdoors. I split and burned the remainder of my wood, cooked my lunch, and when the embers were out, I took to the trails with my camera (loaded with a spare battery and kept close to my body to keep the new battery from freezing up.)

As I hiked, I thought about my plan and how it had changed. Despite missing the experience of sleeping in camp, I had spent two days in the woods, viewed some beautiful scenery, did all the work of setting up (and striking) camp, cooked and ate outdoors and got smoke in my hair. The only experience my bout of common sense had deprived me of was sleeping in the tent, and maybe a little frostbite or hypothermia.

Though my dream must hibernate again to wake when the temperature is not so frigid, I am glad I made the attempt. Further, I'm glad I failed in the attempt. The experience proves to me and to my family and friends that while I may enjoy the snow, I do know when to come in from the cold.

Photos will follow in a post tomorrow.