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The
Dynamic Duo, Tony and Chris, hit the trails for the first Tony was lot more worried than Chris, who had been reading the winter camping book by the hippies from NOLS. I was pretty convinced we wouldn't die, and probably wouldn't even be too uncomfortable, if we were prepared. I'd been skiing up there a bunch of times, had slept in wicked cold conditions in my sleeping bag, and generally seemed to be feeling more confident than Sr. Pisarra. We had mild weather the whole weekend. Getting on the trail at three o'clock on Saturday, we were suffering from our usual tardiness. I wasn't too worried, because I knew where we were going, and conditions were perfect. Temp in the twenties (teens at night), no wind to speak of, cloudy. The trail had been tracked fairly well, so we didn't have much trouble. The first mile is gently uphill. We had big giant packs of course, but the skiing was still great. At the one mile mark, we took the steep right downhill to the level of the Neversink. Tony took some spectacular dives while trying to negotiate the last steep face. Too bad I was so slow with the camera! Upon arriving at our designated campsite we were surprised to find a bunch of Canadians working on an igloo. Bummer, as it was getting dark, and the next site I had in mind was a good forty five to an hour further in. We decided to wing it and found a nice spot just a bit further up the river. With darkness falling, we stomped a circle in the snow, set up the tent, and boiled up some dinner. Tony was ragged from the whole up-early, drive-six-hours, ski-two-hours regimen. Chris refused to let him be, and we spent the next couple hours pacing restless circles around the tent. When we finally allowed ourselves to jump in our bags, we both fell asleep pretty instantly. We then slept like babies, or in Tony's case, like giant, grinding, earth-moving equipment. I managed to only have to get up to pee once. It was actually kind of nice checking out the weather and feeling how darn cold it was outside. And then how toasty back in the bag. One downside to winter camping is the fact that you have to sleep with all your damp stuff, or it will freeze solid by morning. I'd kept my innner layer on so it had dried on me, but a couple pairs of socks, a damp sweater, and my two huge hulking, snow-encrusted plastic boots made me feel like I was sleeping inside a big, moist yard sale. It was good that everything was indeed nice and dry the next morning, but those boots were over the top. And though the inside of my bag remained fairly dry, I noticed that the outside was thoroughly soaked, and then frozen. I guess that's good, 'cause it means the bag is insulating well enough to allow ice on the outside. Maybe plastic bags around the boots... I awoke the next morning at six-ish. Tony was still sleeping like a bug in a rug so I donned skis and had a gorgeous solo morning constitutional. The upper Neversink valley is beautiful, summer or winter. It was fascinating to see familiar places in the cloak of winter. The air was totally still, and the sun poking up over the ridge sparkled ice crystals into myriad dazzling jolts of color. When Tony awoke, he complained about how his skis (and their lack of edges) had handicapped him the first day. I mentioned how much I enjoy egg and bacon sandwiches. Two seconds later the two of us were on the trail heading down to the car. We went back to the house and exchanged Tony's skis for Liz', which are more suited to the backcountry. On the way back to the trailhead we stopped at the Country Cupboard for egg sandwiches. Roughing it has never been so smooth. Back in the woods, Tony's skiing was much improved by the switch to Liz' edged boards. We fooled around, headed up Slide Mountain for a while, skied back down with much hooting and hollering. Back at camp, we pretty quickly got back into the repetitive "walk in endless circles around the tent" routine. After asking for the hundredth time, "Can we go to bed yet?" (my epitaph, no doubt...), I managed the feat of staying awake until I watched the clock wander around to ten pm and we burrowed into our bags for another night. I slept like a baby marmot: this time I didn't sleep with my boots, and they were fine to slip into the next morning. I suppose if it had been really cold, it would have been tough getting them on, but as it turned out I was darn happy to not have to sleep with them banging on my knees and ankles. Monday morning, we were both up fairly early, so we packed our stuff up and hit the trail without much ado. The trip out was super easy, in fact we passed a couple little old ladies on snowshoes. We returned to Claryville for a sunny mild afternoon watching everything dry out on the porch. The first thing most folks ask is, "But weren't you cold?" The answer is "no". We were dressed right, and kept busy to generate heat. Skiing, packing snow, melting it for water, all kept us warm during the day. The only real drag about winter camping is that it gets dark at around five pm. After cooking dinner, cleaning up etc it was like six. The thought of trying to sleep for twelve hours was not pleasant, so we stayed up walking circles and making hot beverages until a reasonable hour. I kept trying to interest Tony in building a snow kitchen (a la the hippies), but he seemed more psyched to walk circles. To each his own. See what he has to say, but I thought it was a sweet little trip. Next time, now that we're over the hurdle of whether we'll freeze, I think we'll try something a little more intense. We were camped near these Canadians who were building an igloo, and then slept in it the final night. Now that would be fun, applications being accepted for next year... |