Miller State Park has been one of my favorite playgrounds for as long as I can remember. It sits on Pack Monadnock in southern New Hampshire, with a long winding road to the summit, a stone shelter, a fire tower, and views that can reach across New England on a clear day.
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Camping at Thirteen Degrees Below Zero
One of the best stories from Pack Monadnock came on a winter trip with Dann the Mann
When we started hiking from my truck at mid-afternoon, it was already about five degrees below zero. By the time we reached the summit and settled into the old stone shelter, the temperature had fallen to thirteen degrees below zero.
This was before either of us had accumulated all the fancy winter equipment people can buy today. We were still using old Coleman sleeping bags and the older, bulkier gear we already owned. We made do with what we had, paid close attention to the cold, and learned as we went. The shelter was crusted with snow and lined with icicles, and every time we stopped moving we could feel how quickly the cold began pulling heat away from us.
That free equipment made an enormous difference. Before we owned snowshoes and specialized cold-weather gear, the Fitchburg Outing Club gave us a way to learn by actually getting outside. Those borrowed snowshoes opened winter trails, summit camps, and adventures that otherwise might have waited for years.
We had Gatorade mixed with whiskey, and it was so bitterly cold that we thought the whiskey was beginning to turn slushy in the bottle. Whether it really was or not, that was how cold the night felt. Even inside the shelter, everything was stiff, frozen, and difficult to handle.
After dark, we climbed the fire tower. The wind swept across the exposed summit, but the nighttime view made the climb worthwhile. Standing high above the mountain in the darkness, looking over the lights and frozen winter landscape, turned an already memorable trip into one of those adventures that never fades.
In the morning, we packed up and hiked back to my truck. Because it had been five below when we began and thirteen below on the summit, we were not sure the truck would start after sitting outside all night. Fortunately, it did.
After dropping Dan off, I continued toward home. There had been a major train wreck in Fitchburg during the night, and the story at the time was that the extreme cold had caused the railroad tracks to buckle. Seeing the aftermath reinforced just how extraordinary that cold snap had been.
That whole trip—from the borrowed snowshoes, old Coleman sleeping bags, Therm-a-Rest, and slushy whiskey to the fire tower, the uncertain truck start, and the train wreck—belongs to the story of that one night at thirteen below.
Other Winter Nights and Adventures
The thirteen-below trip with Dan was only one chapter in my history with the mountain. I also camped on the summit by myself on other nights simply for the adventure. On one trip, I slept on the platform of the fire tower just below the tower itself. Those solo nights gave me time to think, test my judgment, and learn what worked without anyone else making the decisions for me.
Pack Monadnock was also a great winter mountain for trying out snowshoes. Several hiking trails climb the sides of the mountain, so there was no need to follow the auto road uphill. We could hike through the woods on a real trail, reach the summit, and descend the broad closed auto road by headlamp. Sometimes we brought sleds and rode back down the snow-covered road.
(More pics and rememberences of Dann here, and how he saved my life twice here )
(The Joy Of Being Uncomfortable!
I wake up and go straight out for a cold-water swim—the best way to start the day on a trip. It's a crisp morning with late-August chill and mist rising. Still toasty from the sleeping bag, I plunge before my body clues into the temperature. Jump, breathe, let the body adjust.
Then, blood pumping, adrenaline coursing, I'm temporarily immune to cold. I can climb out and air-dry in the morning breeze, perfectly comfortable, while my family looks on in their puffy jackets, shaking their wool-swaddled heads.
I take in the view of the sky, the morning sun on the white pines, the early rays slicing through the mist, feeling nothing but alive. Later, bundled in warm layers, sitting in my folding chair, cup of coffee in hand, freshly split cedar in a pile, fire crackling cheerily, I couldn't be happier.
Early on a trip, all the bending, squatting, kneeling, heavy lifting and torquing of the body, hunkering against the rain and wind are a shock to the system.
Some people never get past it. But what sets wilderness tripping apart from all-inclusive vacations is the willingness to embrace discomfort as part of the deal.)
-Author Unknown, but something that has always been part of my DNA when it comes to adventuring and exploring the planet!
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