When Dan and I began hiking in 1985, it was already late October, and we had decided that we were going to continue straight through the winter. The problem was that neither of us had any idea what we were doing.
We wore the same sweatpants, cotton sweatshirts, and ordinary clothing we had always worn. We soon got ourselves into serious trouble with cold and hypothermia. We had to learn the hard way that winter mountains were not simply summer mountains with snow on them.
Those early mistakes could have ended badly, but they also forced us to learn. We began studying clothing, stoves, boots, snowshoes, sleeping bags, shelter, wind, moisture, and the many ways the human body loses heat. Eventually, the weather that had once frightened and nearly overwhelmed us became something I actively sought out.
The Outing Club Gear Basement
Learning with equipment we could not yet afford
One of the best breaks we had was living on a college campus. Our house was only a couple of minutes from the campus pub and library, but it was also close to the outing club equipment basement.
As college students and club members, we could borrow winter boots, parkas, snowshoes, cross-country skis, mountaineering stoves, and other equipment at no cost. We could take it for a weekend or, when arrangements allowed, keep it long enough to learn how to use it properly.
For our first winter, borrowed snowshoes allowed us to keep hiking into the mountains even when the snow became deep. They were traditional wooden bear-paw, Michigan, or Alaskan-style snowshoes—large, awkward-looking things compared with modern equipment, but they worked.
I still remember them fondly. They gave us a way into the winter landscape before we had the money or knowledge to buy our own equipment. The same was true of the mountaineering stoves. We learned on rugged gear that had already been used by many students before us.
Eventually, we began buying our own equipment. But those borrowed boots, stoves, parkas, and snowshoes gave us the chance to discover that we loved winter travel before we had to make a major financial commitment.
Going Out on the Coldest Nights
Testing equipment and testing ourselves
Once I had better gear, I began looking forward to the coldest nights of the year. When the weather report predicted record-low temperatures, I wanted to go outside and experience them.
Dan felt much the same way. We would choose the coldest weekends for camping trips and see how well our clothing, shelters, stoves, and sleeping systems worked.
One of our coldest trips was to Pack Monadnock in New Hampshire. The temperature was around five degrees below zero when we left the parking lot. By the time we were camped near the top, it dropped to about thirteen below zero.
We still did not have the finest equipment, but we had enough. Dan wore a hat he had made by sewing rabbit skins together. We had wool mittens, layers of clothing, and sleeping bags capable of getting us through the night.
I also began sleeping outside at home whenever record cold was predicted. I would take my sleeping bags into the yard, stomp down a trench in the snow with boots or snowshoes, spread out a bivy sack, and sleep directly on the snow.
Part of that was practical testing. I had dreams of camping in Alaska, the Andes, the western mountains, and perhaps someday even the Himalayas. Before trusting equipment in a distant mountain range, I wanted to know how it performed in a place where I could retreat indoors if something went seriously wrong.
Testing a Tent in Hurricane Winds
Mount Watatic during Gloria and Bob
I owned a mountaineering tent modeled after the rugged North Face expedition tents that were supposed to withstand hurricane-force winds. Naturally, I wanted to know whether it really could.
During the powerful winds associated with Hurricane Gloria and later Hurricane Bob in New England, I carried the tent to the top of Mount Watatic and set it up in an exposed location.
The purpose was not comfort. I wanted to see whether the poles would break, the fabric would tear, the guy lines would fail, or the stakes would pull free.
The tent survived both tests. I became thoroughly soaked because the rain was driven almost sideways and found its way inside, but the structure remained standing. The poles held, the seams and fabric stayed together, and the anchor system worked.
That mattered because we were training for serious mountain travel. A tent that is comfortable on a calm summer night tells you very little about how it will perform when the wind is trying to flatten it.
Sleeping in the Pouring Rain
Learning what waterproof really means
I also took my bivy sack into heavy rainstorms simply to learn how it performed. Sometimes I strung a tarp overhead, but strong wind often drove the rain underneath it from the side.
By then, I had good synthetic sleeping bags rather than relying entirely on down. Synthetic insulation was heavier and bulkier, but it continued to provide warmth when damp.
There were mornings when I woke to find water inside the bivy sack. I might be wet, but I was still warm because of the amount of insulation, the clothing I wore, and the way the sleep system was arranged.
Experiences like that taught me that outdoor equipment is rarely perfect. “Waterproof” does not always mean that no moisture will ever get inside. The real question is whether the complete system keeps working well enough to protect you when conditions are worse than expected.
Heat Advisories as Training Days
Learning to function when the temperature climbed
My fascination was not limited to cold. When television forecasters warned people to stay indoors because temperatures might reach ninety-five or one hundred degrees, I often wanted to take the day off and hike.
I would choose a steep mountain, carry large amounts of water and Gatorade, climb hard, and sweat as much as possible. By then I was in excellent physical condition and understood that hydration, pacing, shade, and recognizing heat illness were essential.
I was not trying to prove that warnings were unnecessary. Extreme heat can be deadly, and people need to respect it. My purpose was to learn how my own body responded while I still had the option to stop, slow down, or return to safety.
Years later, I found myself hiking in desert environments where those temperatures were simply part of the trip. The earlier experience meant the heat was not entirely new or psychologically overwhelming.
Lightning Over Florida
Fascination balanced with respect
I have always loved thunderstorms. That was true in New England, and it is especially true now in Florida, where the sky can change quickly and lightning can fill the horizon.
Even while developing this story, I was sitting outside watching a storm flashing in the distance. The scale, energy, movement, and unpredictability of it were fascinating.
Lightning is also one of the greatest weather dangers in Florida. Loving a storm does not mean ignoring the risk. The key is finding a place where I am protected while still being able to watch what is happening.
The same principle applies to all extreme weather. Respect and fascination can exist together. Understanding the danger makes the experience more meaningful, not less.
Science, Weather, and a Reference Library
Why reality has always interested me more than fiction
I am grateful that I studied meteorology in graduate school. Understanding fronts, pressure, convection, moisture, wind, and atmospheric instability gave me a deeper appreciation for the weather I had already spent years experiencing outdoors.
Even now, when I browse the web at night, I often end up on meteorology pages looking at weather systems, extreme events, forecasts, and conditions around the country.
I have never been especially interested in fiction, fantasy, horror, or make-believe worlds. I understand why other people love those things, and everyone should enjoy whatever holds their attention. My own curiosity has nearly always been drawn toward science, reality, knowledge, and the way the natural world actually works.
Probably ninety-nine percent of the books on my shelves are nonfiction. During college, one professor said that anyone serious about science should build a reference library, and I took that advice seriously.
I still enjoy pulling several books from the shelves on an ordinary evening and reading a section from each without necessarily reading any of them from beginning to end. A book about weather may lead to one about mountains, which may lead to geology, water, ecology, or human physiology.
That is simply the way my mind works. I want to understand what I am seeing and what I have experienced. Extreme weather gave me something dramatic to feel, but science gave me a way to understand it.
Dan and I began with cotton clothing, borrowed wooden snowshoes, and very little judgment. We made mistakes, became dangerously cold, and slowly learned what winter travel demanded.
Over time, those lessons became confidence. Cold, wind, rain, heat, and storms stopped feeling like interruptions to life and became some of the most vivid parts of it.
I would never suggest that everyone should go looking for record cold or hurricane winds. We all choose our own way of experiencing the world. For me, learning to understand and function in extreme weather opened a door to mountains, deserts, winter camps, remote travel, and a lifetime of curiosity.
It taught me that nature does not have to be calm to be beautiful.