Getting out for a weekend of camping has never seemed more difficult or more necessary. Luckily, mother nature delivered a fantastic one.
As I hop into my truck and turn over the engine, I am excited to hear it roar to life with a grumble. I breathe a sigh of relief; this camping trip was supposed to happen last week. The simple act of turning my key in the ignition wasn't at all effective precisely seven days earlier.
Somehow, my truck's battery AND my booster battery had simultaneously died, preventing me from going on this trip a week earlier. Instead, I had the enjoyment of jumping through the myriad of hoops needed to get my hands on a car battery through endless Covid red tape and without a working vehicle. (Companies can't ship car batteries to residential and Canadian tire doesn't sell car batteries for standard curbside, so I had to requisition a service order)
Today, nothing stops me as I rip down the highway towards snowy Algonquin, grinning ear to ear. After about three hours, I pull into the parking lot for the Western Uplands hiking trail and gear up.
The trail is well-travelled, so I opt not to strap on the snowshoes. The day is beautiful, offering more of a workout than I would have expected out of only 4km in Ontario. Magnified by the fact that Covid has been like Kryptonite to my hiking fitness. I love every second of it, my heart pounding through a winter wonderland under a blue sky. I couldn't ask for anything better.
After about 90min of hiking, I wander into my campsite on the shore of Maple Leaf Lake. I love it. Some of the campsites in Algonquin can leave something to be desired, but this one is exactly what I was hoping for. It is nestled in a grove of soaring trees only a few feet from the frozen lake.
I begin by being a responsible winter camper and ensuring that my shelter is set up first for the doubtful chance that this bright sunny day transforms into a storm. Setting up the tent is reasonably straightforward. Some quick work with my shovel builds a nice pad to set upon. The snow is also dense enough to just hammer regular tent pegs rather than fight with the snow stakes, which is always a victory.
Next comes the real work; gathering wood. For those who have never camped in the winter, wood collection is more work when snow is on the ground because it has covered up and hidden all the obvious deadfall. My strategy is to walk around with my axe and try to find stumps of broken off trees that are tall enough that I can harvest a reasonable amount of wood from them. This allows me to collect wood without felling living trees. It also generally means the wood isn't filled with as much frozen water as deadfall lying on the ground.
Hammering on large, frozen stumps with a relatively lightweight camping axe is quite a bit of work. By the time I have collected enough wood for the evening, I am sufficiently worn out. I am also magnificently hungry and know that I still have a fair bit of work processing the wood to be useful in a fire. Starting the fire and building it enough to act as a cooking fire will also take some time.
I design my fire to act as a small cooking fire while also flanked by two large logs to turn it into a Long Log fire once I am done eating. Getting the fire started is a challenge; clearly, all the wood froze in a wet state, I eventually prevail, and my plan works great.
I enjoy a feast of spicy ramen while melting an endless supply of snow to rehydrate. Once my appetite is suitably quenched, I convert my fire to last for hours, slowly generating heat. A Long Log is a fire design that will burn for hours without needing to feed it. I relax, enjoying a clear night sky and warm fire while sipping tea. At 10pm, I crawl into my tent for bed.
The night is chilly, cooler than forecasted. I expect this because I am at a higher elevation and nestled against a lake. I don't carry a thermometer, but I'd estimate about -25 celsius. My -30 bag mostly does its job, but I am a cold sleeper by nature. I spend the night warm enough but not comfortably warm even though I am wearing a down sweater and thermal pants.
As the sun begins lighting the sky, I slowly work my way out of the slumber, warming each garment in the sleeping bag before putting it on. After about half an hour of procrastinating, my bladder inspires me to drag myself into the gloomy morning air. The overcast sky is bright enough that visibility is just fine, but the sun hasn't crested the horizon yet.
I am pretty chilly and don't want to spend the next hour building a fire. I decide to forgo pulling out my stove and decide that my breakfast will be a protein bar and plenty of water. The best way to warm up is to be on the trail as quickly as possible.
I pack up camp and am on my way, retracing the previous days' steps in the glow of morning light. The return hike is terrific. The morning light is beautiful. I quickly warm up and enjoy my trek back.
