A drop of condensation from my bivy startled me awake. I brushed the moisture away and blinked at a tableau of stars framed by leafless trees. The temperature hovered around 0 degrees Fahrenheit.
Hours before, we had parked at the empty trailhead and affixed our headlamps for the two-mile hike to our planned camping area. The trail hadn’t been used since the last snowfall and our snowshoes sank several inches with each step. We chose a spot to camp that—in warmer months—was likely a boggy glade strewn with rocks and rotting stumps. On that February night, it was buried under many feet of leveling snow.
As I tried to find my way back to sleep, my head spun from the rapid transitions of the last few hours: busy Friday workday to dark car ride to frozen woods. The disorientation was profound—like stepping from a frenetic and steamy restaurant kitchen into a silent walk-in freezer. As I fidgeted in my sleeping bag, the hibernating forest seemed indifferent to my presence. Or perhaps it was casually curious—can these clumsy, furless hominids really survive the bitter Adirondack night?
Survive we did, although extracting myself from my layers of insulation required a measure of willpower. My gear was coated in a fine dusting of snow, but the morning light was cheerful. Most camp chores had to be frequently interrupted for hand re-warming. Less precise tasks could be done wearing my giant mittens (they afford me all the dexterity of a catcher’s mitt). The temperature was -2 degrees, but it wasn’t uncomfortable if I took my time. Like hiking in winter, cold-weather camping often rewards patient efficiency.
Eventually, we sat on our foam mats and enjoyed a hot breakfast. We watched as several early hikers marched past through a screen of trees fifty yards distant, their eyes fixed on the trail ahead of them. Even when I waved in their direction, they didn’t notice us.
I never thought I'd want to try winter camping. Performing all the necessary camping minutiae in the cold and extended dark always seemed impossible to me. I’ve spent many hours in the winter woods at night, but these were always spent hustling back to my car after a long day of hiking. There is something radical about choosing to hike into the cold and dark. It is empowering and exciting to learn that I can settle into that harsh environment and make it my home, even if only for a night. I've actually ended up really enjoying it.
Below are some notes about strategies and equipment at this very early point in my winter camping experience. They will be useful to me as I think ahead to future trips but may also be interesting to those who think they might want to try a night out in winter.
Winter camping gear
Winter camping skills and lessons
Planned refinements
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