Sleeping On Snow

John Steinbeck wrote, "Ideas are like rabbits. You get a couple and learn how to handle them, and pretty soon you have a dozen." I thought about that as I hobbled down the stairs the morning after skiing for the first time this season. Nineteen runs through thick, heavy snow were in the books, and my legs were feeling every page. So, what in the world made me think pulling a 25 lb sled with another 20 lbs on my back through the same thick sludge up the side of a mountain would be a good idea? Rabbit ideas, that's what. One good idea, and suddenly, I think have a dozen.

The challenge hit immediately. My legs, already tired from skiing, screamed with my first step. My sled, with two tie-down straps wrapped tightly around it, had zero glide. Pulling it by hand was a ton of work and quitting crossed my mind, fervently, for the first mile. In fact, I almost did quit a couple of times, but was lucky enough to realize what I wanted just slightly more than quitting was success. I visualized the lake not my car. So, I trudged on with the mantra one foot in front of the other for hours. I'd set a small goal, force myself to reach it, then do it again. Sometimes I only aimed for a spot two trees in front of me. Five feet of trail. That's how hard pulling that deadbeat sled was. But eventually, something happened. The going got easier, my goals grew further apart until they disappeared completely, and I made progress.    

                                                                   

    My hiking partner had been smiling the whole way, 

 so eventually, I forced myself to smile too. 

It helped. By smiling, I recognized that I was happy. Happy to be me, in the woods, and on this trail. Happy to be under the sun and the tall trees. Happy to be in the snow with my dog, the cold air biting at us, reminding me just how alive we were. I drank it all in and continued on. For we were almost there. 

Then, the last half mile hit. The half mile that was supposed to be cake. The half mile of downhill coasting. The half mile when I lost my load a total of six times and my mind six times more in frustration. Perhaps I was tired and not tightening the straps correctly. I don't know, but I do know it was hugely exasperating and I was done. Fini. Cooked.  

But isn't that precisely the moment we find otherwise? The moment we find some untouched batch of strength that carries us to the goal line? So, I swore and I cursed and I reloaded that sled over and over until finally, I made it. I was at the lake.

Once there, I found a handful of snowshoers and cross country skiers ready to watch me with interest. I also found a lot of snow. Between the two, I immediately lost all confidence. I believed I had no idea what I was doing. What if I couldn't get the tent up in all the snow? What do I do about a fire pit? Would our water keep from freezing in my sleeping bag without me in it until bedtime? I had snow-camped one other time when there was maybe six inches on the ground and much warmer temperatures. Here, I guessed, lay three feet. Everything was covered. I texted my partner, Kimi, and said all I wanted was to be home. I feared I was in over my head. Plus, all these people were watching me like I knew what I was doing. Essentially, she responded with, "That sucks" and "Can you go back to the car?" That's when I knew Wisdom and I were there whether we liked it or not. There was no way in hell I was dragging that sled back to the car. My hands ached from pulling it and I had rope burns on both thumbs. No. We would be sleeping on the snow no matter what. Might as well get to it, I thought, and I began to make the woods our home. About that time, three of the nicest people stopped to say hello. I expressed to them some of my doubts about the night ahead. They were supportive and so excited for Wisdom and I to be out on such a great adventure, and their positivity was catching. I became excited again too. I got the tent up and knew Wisdom and I would be fine. But I have to work on that confidence thing and not be so quick to discredit and discourage myself. We can do the things we dream.   

I spent some time digging out the fire pit and finally got to rest and savor camp. The day hikers were gone and Wisdom and I had the woods to ourselves. With the fire crackling at my feet, I enjoyed a hot dinner, a mug of tea, and whiskey with the moon. 

But night comes early in the winter mountains and by 730, it had been dark for three hours. With the fire nearly out and the cold creeping in, the time was right to call it a night. I tucked Wisdom into a down jacket I'd brought for her and supplied her pockets with hand warmers. She was asleep in minutes. 

It took me a bit longer. My legs ached and the tent was cold. Sometime overnight, however, I noticed the temperature inside the tent had increased. Eventually, I figured out it was snowing. My tent now had insulation! The next morning, I was curious to know how much. 

Almost 4 inches had fallen, it was still coming down, and breakfast in bed sounded good.

Without delay, I crawled back in the tent and boiled water for tea and oatmeal in the vestibule from my sleeping bag. The heat from the stove warmed the tent providing the perfect ambiance for a 5 star breakfast. Happy and proud of myself and Wisdom for doing something that took some guts, I began to think what I would change the next time- an improved sled set-up (one that hitches to my body instead of having to pull it by hand), more wood to be able to stay out longer, and a gas lantern for light and warmth inside the tent at night. I almost couldn't wait!

Just before lunch, I broke camp and we started for the car. The hike back was easier because it was mostly downhill, but still, that sled lacked all glide. Not once did it bump up against my snowshoes. Oh well, I wasn't failing now. Wisdom, bounding down the trail in front of me, appeared ready to climb another mountain. 

Next time, she's pulling the sled. 

Who Says Camping Is A Summer Sport?

From below the bottom bunk in the guest room, tucked behind a large plastic bin filled with kayak paddles and ultralight cookware, came a beckoning. Cautiously, like the sound of hope when it's first forming, something called to me. That something was my tent. 

Immediately, I thought: Great. I haven't camped in awhile.

Then I thought: That's because it's January. 

Pshaw. One can't let things like extreme temperatures and the possibility of hypothermia stop one from having fun. Besides, I'd been wanting to do a backpacking trip in the snow for awhile, so the timing of my tent's beckoning was perfect. First though, I had to find out if there was any snow. While much of the country, especially the Northeast, had been breaking records with their amount of snowfall, Oregon, and specifically Mt. Hood, was experiencing a snow drought. For example, we hadn't had any significant snow since right before Christmas. Clearly, I needed to assemble a reconnoissance team for snow level information, and as luck would have it, two friends were coming into town the following week. Friends, who for whatever reasons, tended to say yes to my ideas and often believed I knew what I was doing. Well, one friend anyway; Meg rather quickly vetoed snow camping and opted to stay home with the hot tub instead. However, she did agree to hike out with us the day before our trip to gauge the snow. Camping in the winter requires a lot of gear and I intended to supplement our backpacks with a sled full of it. However, first I needed to be sure the white stuff was on the ground for pulling a sled with no snow didn't sound very appealing. 

In addition to checking out the snow conditions, I also wanted to cache firewood. Knowing nightfall and the cold would come early, I understood we would need a fire unless we planned to be in our sleeping bags at 5:30 when evening and the temperatures plummeted making for a very long night in the tent. True we would be in the forest with wood all around, but it was also true that winter, delicate as it was this year, had come to Mt. Hood and said wood would likely be covered with snow. I had no experience starting a fire in the snow with wood that had spent the previous three months soaking up precipitation. No, we needed dry wood while out there in the backcountry, alone under the stars and convening with nature, so we stopped at the grocery store and got some.

Diana, Meg, and I at the trailhead

The next day with backpacks stuffed with timber, we started out on the Pacific Crest Trail- the very trail Cheryl Strayed herself walked years before in search of herself and the meaning of life. A heavy undertaking to be sure, but every time we slipped on a patch of ice or once again adjusted our many layers of clothing, the fact that Strayed did her hike in the summer when the trekking was easy wasn't lost on us. I'm sure some of you are thinking, yeah, but Cheryl Strayed hiked 1,100 miles; you guys only hiked eight. Please. We hiked in fake UGGs and snow pants. We pulled a sled and carried packs. We made yellow snow. Cheryl Strayed was in shorts and a t-shirt. Someone helped lighten her pack along the way. Furthermore, she skipped the snow. So, don't let the mileage fool you.

Meg, gamely carrying firewood for us.

Once we reached our destination, we considered whether or not to cache our wood for the night. Upper Twin Lake looked like it'd been deserted for days, but still, we felt it prudent to hide our only heat source just in case someone else planned to hike to 5,000 feet in elevation on a Wednesday night in January to camp for the night. Certainly, we didn't need anyone to spot our wood and conclude that the forest service had begun a new program in which they left bundles of dry firewood around Mt. Hood specifically for the convenience of winter campers, and therefore, burned it. So, we hid our grocery store wood under a mess of downed brush and hoped we'd see it the following day. Snow camping rule #1743: Don't take any chances with your firewood. 

Wisdom agreed.

By the time we finished making our wood the most stealth wood on the mountain, the sun was starting to set over Twin Lake. The reconnaissance trip a success, we snapped a quick picture and took off for the car. We still had to go home and go through gear for the actual Snow Camping Trip the following day. Now that we knew there was snow we felt more comfortable calling it that. 

Going through gear is one of my favorite things to do. When aiming to keep a pack between 22-25 pounds, it's a fun challenge to choose what's coming into the backcountry and what's staying at home from the comfort of the couch. I love examining each piece of equipment, considering its purpose, and determining if it makes the cut. If you don't already have a hobby that requires going through gear, get one. There's something extremely satisfying in the tangibility of choosing exactly what you think you'll need to accomplish your goal. I bet it's less than you think. Plus, you get to buy stuff. A lot of stuff.  

With gear sorted and packs packed, we left the comforts of home and hot tub the next day. Diana looked blissfully happy, Wisdom looked ready for adventure, and I don't know what I looked like. Maybe someone who could've used more sleep? At any rate, we were off.

At the trailhead, we loaded the sled and donned our packs. The sled was necessary because winter camping required an entirely different set up. The tent was sturdier; therefore, bulkier. The sleeping bags were rated to 10 degrees and bulkier too. Our sleeping pads had a high R-value; therefore- you guessed it- bulky. Our clothes were bulky too. Everything required space and lots of it, including our alcohol stash. After all, who knew if the wood we hauled up the day before would still be there, and we needed something to ensure our warmth.

An advantage to snow camping: no bugs. Another advantage: snow camping provides solitude and inspires a sense of accomplishment; it encourages one to trust in their own survival skills. Their own survival skills and the lucky star they were born under, that is.

Despite a couple of sled mishaps and downed trees, we soon had our lunch eaten and the tent pitched. Life was good in the snow. 

We spent the afternoon sipping whiskey, walking in the woods, and trying to get award winning photographs with our phones. What do you think? Did we get one?

As night fell, we were happy to find our wood where we left it. After an incredible amount of persistence, determination, and downright will, we got a fire. I tell you- it's no easy task building a fire on ice covered rocks in what was essentially a dug out snow bank in below freezing temperatures, but we did it. And it was delightful. 

As was our crab chowder cooking in the kitchen.

That night in the tent, we both felt the cold, but it wasn't too bad and didn't last too long. The key to being a happy snow camper, we decided, is having the right clothing. As they say, "There's no bad weather, only bad gear." 

We woke up the next morning feeling proud that we tried something new, something that few people do. Snow camping had been on a back burner of mine for awhile, but I could never quite pull it together. This trip reminded me of something I hadn't thought about in awhile: life is long and our best dreams sometimes take what feels an eternity to happen, but when their moment arrives, you know. You hear that tiny voice with its fledgling hope calling to you, softly at first as it takes hold and gains steam, eventually, consuming your being in the best possible way. And if you're lucky enough to have a friend who says, yeah, I'll come chase down your dream with you, know it will only be all the sweeter.