"After walking down the hill through the veil of darkness, I quickly realized that we were not on the trail. As I turned back, I scanned for a sense of familiarity. "Take a few deep breaths and re-trace", I thought to
myself as I approached the top of the crest of the ridge. A blue blaze appeared, and we were back on track."
We discussed the crazy idea a week prior - what if we went backpacking...in the cold? My partner (Holly) had purchased a new sleeping bag, and we wanted to give it a go. But the more we discussed, the more we realized that we simply weren't prepared. So we threw it on the calendar for the following weekend, and started to prep. We attended a class on Cold Weather Hiking, purchased some gear, and discussed our location. Throughout the week, I found myself constantly checking the weather for the weekend - and it constantly showed 25 degrees, with a wind chill effect of 15 degrees. Woo hoo.
Saturday arrived, along with some anxiety. "What if it is too cold? If we aren't prepared? If I become an actual popsicle?" The thoughts flowed through my head as we were packing the gear. After playing Tetris in the car with the supplies, we were off to East Fork State Park. We made sure to enjoy every bit of warmth coming from the car heater on our drive.
We arrived at the parking lot, loaded up the supplies on our back like mules, and were off!
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...
About 15 minutes down the trail, we realized that we were on the wrong one - yikes. Talk about "How not to start a backpacking trip 101". After deciphering the map and retracing our steps, we made it back to the car and drove to the correct place. By the time we parked and re-packed our stuff, it was already dark outside. With our headlamps on, we were off, again!
While somewhat eerie, it was also equally amazing to take on the trail at nighttime. The headlamps granted about 10 feet of visibility . The trees' dark silhouettes surrounded our views. The only sounds present were an occasional breeze, the crunching sound of the frozen mud under our boots, and our breathing.
(The view (or lack of view) when night-hiking)
The rhythmic nature of hiking allows for something that the daily grind removes: being in the present. Step by step, you are able to turn your brain into autopilot, and quite literally exist within the environment. You see the trees passing by, smell the wet leaves that have fallen off of the trees, and hear the creek racing along the ravine. A minute passes by. Or maybe an hour. Time is arbitrary.
A couple miles into the trail, the temperature wasn't really a factor. To be honest, it felt nicer than hiking in the summer. You can regulate your body temperature with layers, which allows for minimal sweating. While the regulating was easy, navigating was not as simple. We walked through creek beds, up ravines, and through pine forests with 25+ pounds on our backs. After walking down the hill through the veil of darkness, I quickly realized that we were not on the trail. As I turned back, I scanned for a sense of familiarity. "Take a few deep breaths and re-trace", I thought to myself as I approached the top of the crest of the ridge. A blue blaze appeared, and we were back on track.
After some time, I noticed a small ball of light off in the distance. My first inclination was a headlamp - maybe we were going to pass someone hiking in the opposite direction. But as our perspective changed while walking down a hill, the light remained in a stationary position. I was so confused - was it a reflector on a stake marking the campsite?
We hiked another half-mile, and it suddenly became apparent - it was a campfire. The billowing plumes were welcoming - we weren't the only ones out there. As we crested the hill, we met a pair of med students who had spent the day getting the fire going. They invited us to pull up a log and get warm.
We spent the night thawing out while sharing stories of places we've traveled and places to add to our bucket list. It was a pleasant surprise after hiking several miles in sub-30 degree weather to have a fire and a friendly chat with some strangers. After some time, we decided to call it night. Luckily, there was a 3-walled shelter for us to throw our tent in.
The "shelter", while old and small, helped with wind control. A raised platform allowed for us to be off of the frozen ground, which helped a little. But the cold was still there. Under 4-5 layers, and in a 15-degree bag, it was still cold. Think about Monday mornings in the winter. When you wake up and its cold in your room. You have to peel the covers off of yourself before getting dressed. You run to your car, and has to stay in a small ball until the heater warms up the cabin of car. You know how that feeling is tough? The only thing that keeps you sane is the idea that eventually it will get warm. Once you jump back in bed. The hot shower. The warm office.
Now imagine laying in a tent, miles from your car. No movement to keep you warm. 15 degrees. There is cold, and then there is 15 degrees. And you have to get out of your bag, put your cold feet in frozen boots, to walk out and use the bathroom.
The frigid night allowed for some teaching moments - things I need to have and things to do the next go-around.
Camping teaches you 2 things: you go to bed early, and you wake up early. Around 7 in the morning, we gave ourselves a pep talk to get out of the sleeping bag (that took some time), and slowly started packing. By the time we started down the trail, the sky was just starting to illuminate the tree-line. The landscape was vasty different from just 12 hours previous. Before, I couldn't see past arms-reach. Now, I could see rolling hills, beds of leaves on the ground, and creeks running alongside the path.
We hiked towards the direction of the car. Luckily, we were able to walk the long stretches of a few state roads that ran parallel to the trails. The early morning and rural location created an isolated, yet peaceful meeting. We were able to walk the center line the entirety of the walk. The fog hung over our heads, and frost lined the yards we passed along the way. Within an hour and a half, we were back to the car; sore and little tired, but full of memories and learning moments for the future.
-MT