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the Outdoors
Winter camping cures cabin fever
This time of year, cabin fever is real. But deep down, it’s not about the temperature or size of the snowbanks outside your kitchen window; it’s more about staying cooped up.
Some folks flock to Florida or Arizona seeking cures with sunshine and short sleeves, but you don’t have to go that far. After all, you’re not that old.
And if it’s daylight you’re craving, do the math. Miami’s address on the planet is 25* 48’ 47” North. Marquette’s coordinates are 46* 32’ 02”. Big deal, except coming up on March 21, the vernal equinox, the Upper Peninsula will have more daylight than Florida—six minutes more to be exact. We will clock twelve hours sixteen minutes, compared to the southern state’s twelve hours and ten minutes; and the spread only gets bigger from now until solstice in June. So, if you’re looking for sunshine, you don’t have to travel farther than out your front door.
But that’s the key: you have to get out.
What you need doesn’t have to cost that much either.
Checking base price for flights from Marquette (MQT) to Miami (MIA), American Airlines scored the lowest price at $571.16. But it put the total tab for a family of two adults and two children at $2,700. That’s a chunk of change out of the vacation budget just for transportation. You still need to add food, lodging, destination rental car—and the reason you’re traveling to begin with—fun.
From every angle of this argument, you’re better off saving your money and planning an adventure close to home. With 16,452 square miles to roam, you have choices. But where should you go and what should you do? What’s something new, something different, something exciting? Spin back the clock to when you were twelve and the family took that week-long vacation to go camping. There’s your answer: winter camping.
OK, I sense your scowl. But before you dump me in front of the snowplow conga line, let me explain. I’m with you; I don’t like to be cold either. That’s why I wear layers of sweat-soaking fleece topped off with a windproof jacket, hat, neck gaiter, insulated boots and change my gloves every time they get wet. When you know how to stay dry, you’ll stay warm.
But even more than the cold, I hate bugs. In all my years of winter camping, I’ve never had a black fly take me down a couple of quarts or a mosquito buzz wake me out of a sound sleep. For that reason alone, I’ll camp in March.
No whining about being too old. I’ll stomp on that excuse faster than a stray spark. Face it, if you’re older than forty, you need to go winter camping more than a twenty-year-old. At forty—according to statistics—your life probably is half over. You can’t count on the excitement of a first job, first car, first house or first child to make memories and cast that inner glow of accomplishment. So c’mon, try something risky. Bust out of the box. And when it comes to rolling out of your comfort zone, there’s no better way than sleeping in snow.
Camping, regardless of the season, requires the same three basics: water, food and shelter.
• Water—Surrounded by snow, water is the least of your worries, providing you have a heat source to melt it. If the area allows campfires, melt snow in a pot that’s easy to pour with a lid to keep out debris and ash. Be sure when handling a hot pot that your gloves won’t scorch or melt.
If you pack a stove be sure the fuel will light in freezing temperatures. No matter how cute it looks a JetBoil like all butane stoves is not reliable. Even alcohol stoves can be fussy. It was so cold while camping in February 2009 during the UP 200 Sled Dog Race that my Trangia alcohol stove wouldn’t light until I warmed the brass container and liquid near the campfire.
• Food—It’s a given, everything you eat will start out frozen. Which makes the winter camping menu bigger than summer because you can pack meat without worry it will spoil or have to be stowed away from a nosey bear. That’s good, considering you’ll need double the calories to keep the pilot lit in your furnace. But remember, unless you are cooking over a campfire, you’ll need to figure on added fuel for cooking as well as making water.
• Breakfast—Oatmeal is simple, but add a handful of nuts and fruit and a dollop of butter to up the calorie count. Peanut butter is rich fuel, but it’s tough to spread in the cold, so it’s best to bake it into cookies.
• Lunch—Throughout the day, stop every hour to snack and drink. Keep water bottles from freezing by carrying them upside down in an insulated holder.
For lunch, you’ll rarely take time to dig out a stove and prepare a hot meal, so fill a thermos of hot water at breakfast that can later mix into an insulated mug of powdered drink or soup. Cheese, nuts, crackers and beef jerky also are tasty and easy snacks.
• Dinner—After a day on the trail and making camp, this meal is your reward and the best insurance for a good night’s sleep. Don’t skimp. Eryka Thorley likes to backcountry ski and ice climb near her home in Bozeman (Montana). As a graduate of the National Outdoor Leadership School, she’s perfected her camp cooking skills.
“I like pasta and I usually dehydrate a sauce back at home that, with just a little water, can turn into a hearty meal on the trail,” she said.
Knowing how much precious fuel it takes to turn snow into water, she doesn’t waste a drop when boiling pasta.
“When I drain the noodles I use the excess water for hot chocolate,” she said. “It makes the best nightcap.”
• Shelter—A good night’s sleep really counts when you are the engine, so take extra care to make it comfortable. To make a level platform, take a hint from Lynn Moon and Don Snowden of Marquette, and before setting up your tent, pack down the area with skis or snowshoes. Skis also make good tent stakes in deep snow.
Dave and Donna Shields of Au Train wanted a trailside view of the UP 200, so they camped along the sled dog course near the crossing at H-58 in Alger County. These grandparents don’t have a four-season tent, so they decided to make their shelter out of snow.
It took Donna a couple of hours to shovel snow into a dome and then scoop out a space big enough for two sleeping bags, but when she was done she had a cozy “quinzhee”—the Athabaskan word for snow shelter (personally I’m starting to use the Finnish word “lumitalo,” or snow house).
Whatever you call it, building a snow shelter doesn’t cost a thing. In fact, when the kids get restless, and zombie-eyed from too much TV, hand them a shovel and team up to build one in the backyard.
It will take a couple of hours in two sessions. First, mound up snow in a pile. Size the pile so it’s wide and tall enough for everyone to sit inside comfortably. Then take a hot chocolate break.
The snow needs about an hour to set up. Then, it’s time to start digging like a mole. A small plastic sled works great for scraping snow and hauling it away. It takes time, but you’ll be surprised how well snow works as a building material. Even if you just haul out a pot of soup and ladle up bowls for dinner, you’ll be making the kind of spring break memory your kids will carry to retirement.
Winter camping takes confidence, and the best way to build your skills is to go with a pro. Mike Neiger of Marquette is a veteran wilderness tripper and often guides trips for the Michigan Sierra Club. Visit www.therucksack.com for his tips.
If sleeping in the snow pulls you too far out of your comfort zone, try a weekend in a wilderness cabin.
Can you cope without electricity or running water for forty-eight hours? Remember it’s all about choosing a new path. You’re not destined to use an outhouse forever, just forty-eight hours. You will survive, trust me.
According to Sharon Pitz, administrative support at Marquette’s DNR office, the cabins at Little Presque Isle and Harlow Lake rent for $65 per night with a two-night minimum.
Each cabin has two sets of bunkbeds, a wood stove and a picnic table. You bring food, utensils, sleeping bag and lanterns. To reserve a cabin, call Sharon at 228-6561.
Bottom line, you live here for a reason, take advantage of the season. Turn down the volume on the elevator music of life and pick up the banjo. Why would you settle for sleeping with five stars when you can have a whole sky full?
—Frida Waara
Notes from the North Country
We take our sermon this month from the gospel according to Henry David Thoreau. The message is quite simple: There is a profound difference between naming something and knowing it.
For the past three decades, we have led many bird-watching field trips and hiking adventures. Usually there is at least one participant who must demonstrate his skills by being the first to name a fern, wildflower or bird. Some even embellish the self-display by pronouncing a scientific name—usually accompanied by a smug smile.
Birders are the most blatant members of the “I named it First Club.” One time during a bird census in the Hiawatha National Forest, we were driving six volunteers to a data collection site near the Buckhorn Road. A small, dark colored bird flew across the road in front of the van. Instantly, the competition began between two men:
“That was a male redstart!”
“Yes, but it was a first year male—didn’t you notice the pale red wing patches?”
“I did, I did...but did you see the band on its leg?”
“Sure did, on its left leg, to be exact.”
“Well, I bet you didn’t see the number…it was 41732—banded in Kalamazoo.”
The less-informed birders looked at each other in bewildered amusement and some apprehension about how this outing was going to go for them. When we arrived at the census plot, we set the guidelines for our work. This was not going to be a contest for the swift and glib; no awards would be given for the “competitor” who identified the most birds. Novice birders (as well as beginning hikers and woods visitors) are intimidated easily by self-appointed experts and will not question a rapid identification even when they suspect it is incorrect.
“We want to awaken your curiosity about birds, but minds cannot be opened by an overload of information. We will focus on observing, by looking closely at the bird and asking questions: How big is it? What colors does it display? How was it acting and where does it live? We want to describe first, not label. Later we will identify the particular species and we can find out more about it by looking in a bird identification guide.”
To be sure, names are very convenient labels, substitutes for reality and convenient shorthand maps of our perceptual territory. It is so much easier to use the word “cow” instead of having to retrieve Old Bossie from the barn and point at her. Here’s the thing: names are purely arbitrary metaphors for features in our world. There is no “cowness” label anywhere on Old Bossie. We consult maps when we travel, but we don’t travel on the map. What we call things are not the things.
Furthermore, we have found that identifying things by labels is the wrong place to start, particularly when introducing aspects of nature to budding enthusiasts.
Why not start with wonder, beauty, even mystery? That’s what gets people hooked...then they will want more information.
So, the next time someone asks “What is it?” upon seeing a wildflower or a wild bird, gently remind them: “No one knows what it is but we call it a trillium or a willet.”
—Lon and Lynn Emerick
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