Winter Wondercamp
We arrived mid-afternoon on a sunny but frigid January day. The trailhead was an unmarked six-foot opening amidst an endless expanse of snow and trees. Ben, Will, and I were here to experience the Minnesota wilderness in winter and this looked promising. So Will backed his truck into the snowy ditch, we unloaded three sleds of gear. and I said goodbye to the modern world. With a narrow trail and a 4 day camping trip ahead of us, we ventured into the Cabin Creek Roadless Area. About a mile in appeared a rare and welcome sight, a flat and treeless opening to pitch our 8 by 10 wall tent. As the sun slipped below the horizon and the temperature dipped below zero, we scurried to make camp. We gathered dry fallen branches, chopped and split them to length, and stoked the wood stove for our first night in the wilderness. After warming my bones and filling my belly, I unzipped the tent and stepped into the delicious chill of night. Inhaling the cold scent of wood smoke and balsam fir, I looked beyond the treetops to take in the view. I had forgotten the beauty of stars. My celestial friends, the epicenters of distant planets, hidden from my citified eyes by the perilous haze of light pollution. This sensuous nighttime awakening, this openness to the vulnerability of wild nature, was just the change I was craving.
On the ride there, Will told us a story of a man who suffered a traumatic brain injury all the way down to his basal ganglia. The man lost all of his memories but managed to “get by” in day-to-day life because of his past habits. He couldn’t tell you where he lived or how he got there each day, but he always managed to find it. With the help of his wife, he even began taking daily walks guided purely by habit. Stories like these are a sure testament to the resilience of the human brain. With determination we can change our habits, nurturing the healthy ones and letting go of the bad. The quietude of winter has long been a time for renewal. Intentions set on winter solstice and resolutions made for the new year are just a couple of rituals that call us to this opportunity. I’ve grown to appreciate Minnesota winters. I like feeling the distinct change between Spring, Summer, Fall, and Winter. Since my work is primarily tied to the growing seasons, my life truly slows down when the ground freezes. The new pace allows me to contemplate my year, practice my craft, and dream up new adventures. On my best days, I’m carving spoons, making holiday gifts, and writing in my journal. On my worst, I procrastinate it all with a computer in my lap and internet TV. Don’t be mistaken, I enjoy the escape that media affords, but consuming in moderation has always been a fine balance. Lately, my procrastinations have become the norm and I’m afraid they’ve become habit. So here I am, in the middle of the woods, trying to break this winter slump.
I awoke the first morning with extremely cold feet and a strong urge to empty my bladder, but the mere thought of unwrapping my wool blanket-down sleeping bag burrito was unfathomable. The stove’s cozy heat had long escaped every crevice of the tent, which now functioned as nothing more than a shelter from the wind. I laid there for at least an hour repeating the next steps in my head. Get out of burrito, put on coat, slip on boots, go outside, pee, gather some kindling, and start the stove. I eventually mustered up the will to follow through on this litany and my day was underway. Over the previous twenty-four hours my focus had shifted from aimlessly waking in my cozy Minneapolis bed to purposefully staying alive through a night in the cold winter wild. It is said that changing your environment is one of the best ways to break a habit. So I’d say I was off to a good start. Over the course of the next three days, I snowshoed the trails and witnessed the majesty of undisturbed wilderness. Layers of snow crunched underfoot as I passed giant white cedars and gnarly old yellow birch. The sun shone through maples and spruce to warm baby balsams wrapped in blankets of snow. Birch conks wore snow dome hats in celebration of their summer growth. But for every scene of whimsy, there was one of austere beauty as well. Rabbit tracks disappeared mid-stride, revealing the results of a recent raptor hunt. Mighty fallen trees left holes in the forest where saplings race toward the light. If nature can be an analogy for life, it is imperative to embrace the subtle and stark changes within each of the seasons. I must shamelessly accept the Orphan Black binge-watching ebbs, and willfully seek the winter wilderness flows. Self worth is ill-measured on the scale of good and bad, but best considered on the natural spectrum of being human.
Throughout my time in the wilderness I learned some valuable new tricks for winter camping, like the absolute joy of going to bed with a hot water bottle at the foot of my sleeping bag. And that twenty minutes of snowshoeing brings warm blood back to hopelessly frozen feet. I shared stories, laughs, and hearty food with two amazing friends. I tried earnestly to capture the beauty of my surroundings not just in photos, but in the deep recesses of my brain. But most importantly, I felt privileged to contemplate my existence among the many beings of the winter wilderness.