A Winter Camping Poem

It is 6pm on a Sunday in late October and I am in my jammies.  Half the clothes in the house are smoke stinky, the garage is a disaster, the car is a mess, and everyone else is already sleeping.  It was a camping weekend, and I am in seventh heaven.

Two nights sleeping in a tent, with frost on the ground in the morning and well below freezing after dark.  I almost choked to death on the first night, and was trapped in the tent the second night, needing to pee but with no toilet paper.  At times I was frustrated, annoyed, and even pissed.  I was poorly prepared, with cruddy shoes, one set of clothes, and no matches or flashlight of my own.  But still, I am on a massive endorphin rush.

It could not have been the great conversation with awesome adults on Friday night around a bonfire, because I was busy losing a fight with our stove while watching Alex and the dog.  It could not have been the fantastic live bluegrass band on Saturday night along with the wild party over at the old lodge, because I was too tired to make it.  So I guess it was just the fact that we were camping.  Camping!

But it wasn't any kind of hard core camping to account for the endorphins.  We were camping at a Camp.  There were actually about eight lodges on site, each with stone fireplace and welcoming vibes.  There was no big push to get to camp, just a nice drive in.  There was no battle for firewood, it was all provided, dry and split by the staff.  I didn't even have to think about food, one of the lodges was also the dining hall complete with excellent chow.  Kevin set up the tent, and broke it down too.  So what provided all these marvelous endorphins?  Why, even when I got home, was I so pumped that I cleaned up and even did many extra chores?

Maybe it was me, my hubbie, our kiddo, and even the dog, out and about in the outdoors.  We hiked a bit, canoed a bit, hauled stuff a bit, and Alex even climbed outdoors.  He made it about 16 feet off the ground, twice what he did last time.  We also played some frisbee, visited the goats and the miniature horse on the grounds, and played around on the dock.  The leaves were crunchy, the air was crisp, and my blood was pumping in a pleasant fashion.  Yes, it may have been all that, but then again, it may have been something even more.

We were camping with a purpose.  We were camping at the 13th Annual Winter Camping Symposium.  We were not alone.  We were not randomly "getting out".  We were in the middle of an event.  40 some tents were spread across the fields and into the woods, and every one of them had a chimney sticking out of it.  160 people were pre-registered.  160 very special people.  The Symposium is a gathering of the nutbags of the mid-west that like to go out and camp all winter long.  The colder the better. The snowier the better.  And best of all if you haul it yourself at least five miles into the wilderness on a toboggan.  The tents are white- to blend with the winter landscape, and wood heated- to make it survivable.  Not just survivable, but fun.  Crazy fun.  There is something just a little off about camping next to a wood stove in the middle of winter.  It is not a pursuit for the faint of heart, but it is worthy.

It is an understated crowd that gets into this kind of thing.  Everyone wears wool, the older the better.  The more the outfits are mis-matched, the better.  The longer you've been around, the better.  And the less you have to say for yourself, the better.  Lots of white hairs, and grey beards, and knowledge to pass around.  This years Symposium was the biggest ever, with presenters Thursday through Sunday.  You could join classes on fires and stoves, on sawing and splitting, on knife making and mitten making and winter travel.  There were edible plant walks, tent tours, and good old nature hikes.  Plus having fun with kids at minus 26, and kitting out your gear to run electric if you want to hit the Colorado ski slopes for $20 a night. There was a camp cook off that culminated in the Golden Spatula award, and many door prizes given away, including sweet axes, spiffy saws, and nifty wool hats. 

Alex did really well.  He attended last year with his dad, while I worked at home.  This year we all got to attend.  Kevin left on Thursday to teach classes, help organize, and get us set up too.   It was a rough go on Friday, because Alex and I packed up and headed to camp after the Halloween parade and party at school.  Otherwise known as chaos on a stick.  I did nothing to plan ahead, so just threw together most of what we both needed for clothes and a few snacks.  It is surprising how much energy that can take.  By the time we arrived I was wreaked.  That night, when the stove would not cooperate, Kevin was gone, and Alex was cranky I was sure the trip was a mistake.  I allowed so much smoke to pour out of the stove and into the tent I was worried we might pass out.  Fortunately tents just aren't that air tight, and the next morning I determined to tame that stove.  By Saturday night I had it in hand, and the tent was so cozy I sent Kevin off to the music while I snuggled in with my book and watched my sleeping boy.  He had hiked, and climbed, and canoed like a champ all day.  He settled in easy to camp life, strung up pumpkin lights in the tent, and encouraged me in my quest to tame that stove.  He had no trouble eating in the dining hall, attended a few seminars with minimal complaints, and made friends with the other kids running about.  We hope that next year they will all start where they left off and make a junior nutbag pack.  All they have to do is love the outdoors, want to play with fire, and have a fascination hatchets and tents.  That should not be a tough sell.

So, I had a great weekend.  I got to meet all the folks Kevin has been talking about all these years.  He has been going to the Symposium for over six years now.  Every year it landed on my work weekend, and every year it was a royal pain in the butt to schedule Alex care.  Kevin is always stressed leading up to the Symposium because he sells gear there and presents as well, and then comes home and is a wreak.  I had come to hate it because it meant nothing good to me.  Sure, Kevin had some good stories about folks I'd barely or never met, and he always said I'd love it, but I had my doubts.  Not even doubts really, I just didn't have any experience to tie things to.  All that has changed.  Now I have met them, eaten with them, taken their classes, and toured their tents.  I am getting up on the skills, and falling for the sport.  Next year I plan to present a class, and help make a real kids and family program. I think I may be hooked.  We are planning to winter camp for real on December 10-11-12, and February 4-5-6, and I can barely wait.

My First Winter Camping Poem


As the last of the leaves fall from the trees and the winds begin to blow,
the temps will drop and the flakes will fly,
and I will be ready to go!