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FROM LAKE SUPERIOR MAGAZINE / FEBRUARY-MARCH 1990
Republished, North Writers: A Strong Woods Collection, Ed. by John Henricksson (Univ. of Minn. Press, 1991).

SNOWCAMP
ROMANCING WINTER IN THE
LAKE SUPERIOR WILDERNESS

Written and Photographed by Mark Sakry

 

      Fifty degrees below zero was to him just precisely fifty degrees below zero.  That there should be anything more to it than that was a thought that never entered his head. … The trouble with him was that he was without imagination.

—From "To Build a Fire" by Jack London

To know winter in the wilderness is to know silence.  When all is still—when the Arctic storm has dwindled to a sighing memory and the forested lakes stretch unbroken before you with a fresh cover of new-fallen snow—the silence is overwhelming.  You cannot really hear it, as some say you can.  Yet, for a time, a certain loudness rings.
    Then, listen closely, beyond the silence, and you begin to hear faint voices.  Hushed whisperings seem to emanate from nowhere and everywhere at once, as though from some in-between world, somewhere between death and rebirth—the sleeping billions:  multitudes entombed by ice and snow and infinitesimal cold speaking through the immense silence.  Perhaps of an afterlife.  Perhaps of the promise of distant spring.
   And just when you think you are beginning to understand, a breeze breathes through the trees.  The whispers vanish.  Snow hisses softly down through the pines as their peaks rock gently against the sky, then the gravelly grawk-grawk of a raven on the far shore.  A muffled groan rises from the lake as the ice yields to the sudden, gentle tug from above.  Somewhere, a pop from a fire and the murmur of voices inside the forest.
    This is the setting, the magic.  This is what compels a handful of adventuresome souls every winter to venture off established trails into the frozen wilderness of the Lake Superior region.
    Some ski, some snowshoe.  Many go just for the day, realizing they must return before night casts its mortal shadows across the forest.  As many see it, to be caught in the dark would be folly.  The moon, if it's full enough, might defer risk for awhile.  But it rests on one's best reckoning to quit the fading forest or be forced on humankind's most ancient and incumbent measure for surviving the winter night—to build a fire.
    Yet some see it differently.  Just a few.  Those with the wherewithal.  And an incredible amount of imagination.
    The Inuit had many names for it:  pukak, upsik, anniu. To the rest of us, it's all the same stuff:  Snow.
    To sleep under it, to repose in sublime comfort among heartfelt comrades inside a hollowed-out mound, while the wind howls outside on one of the coldest nights of the year, is indescribable.  To the winter adventurer, it is the height of romance, the consummation of his or her wilderness ability.
    Indeed, it is not just imagination but ability which makes accessible some of the most enchanting haunts of the Lake Superior region and fully opens the door to the winter season.
    Once one attains the essential skills with which to comfortably endure extended stays in the winter wilderness, larger-scale excursions are possible (not unlike their summer canoe-trip counterparts) into such areas as the Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness of Minnesota and Quetico Provincial Park of Ontario.  Here the combination of scenic forests and flat lake travel affords immeasurable beauty over long distances.
    For shorter, though possibly more strenuous, wilderness excursions, Porcupine Mountains Wilderness State Park in Michigan and Cascade River State Park in Minnesota offer miles of rolling forest in pristine alpine settings.  Many state and provincial parks in the Lake Superior region offer groomed trails as well as winter camping.  All, by virtue of the season itself, afford almost total seclusion and unadulterated winter beauty.
    This also applies to other remote areas where, with the exception of snowmobiles, accessibility by mechanized travel is limited during winter months.  For instance, winter wayfarers will find suitable conditions for a wilderness snowcamp in many places beyond the road heads of Superior, Chequamegon, Hiawatha and Ottawa National forests.
    Nothing compares with the special confidence gained by facing the winter elements in a snowcamp for an extended stay in the Lake Superior wilderness. Nor the beauty. But the essential skills—knowing not only how to "survive," but (more importantly) how to be comfortable—are necessary before winter becomes less formidable than it was. If there is a single key to staying comfortable, even in the kind of cold which grips the northern Great Lakes region, it is doing away completely with the notion that one must rely on an external heat source, such as a stove or campfire. Winter campers depend on internal heat for warmth.
   The body is viewed as a furnace fueled by high-calorie foods.  These are rarely taken in the form of sugar; they are eaten (in seemingly gluttonous quantities) in the form of fat, protein and complex carbohydrates, like nuts and whole-grain cereals, which burn more slowly and substantially.  The furnace is then insulated properly—no cotton, please—in layers of clothing which may be added or removed to suit the level of activity.  This prevents overheating and excess perspiration which can dampen clothing (especially cotton), ultimately causing heat to be lost faster than the body can generate it.   The condition is known as hypothermia.
    Plenty of fluids (more than you need) are routinely consumed to prevent dehydration common to winter activity.  Body fluids must be maintained to properly metabolize food-fuel into heat.  But no alcohol; this promotes heat loss.   Coffee is avoided because it is diuretic; it depletes body fluids.
    Water is obtained by melting snow or boring through lake ice with an auger and dipping it out.  While many areas in the Lake Superior region provide pure natural water, it is still good practice to boil water before consuming it.
    To be truthful, overnight shelter, even in an established snowcamp, is unnecessary. That is, if you have an adequate sleeping system consisting of a fully rated winter sleeping bag or combination three-season bag and liner, with a closed-cel foam pad between your bag and the ground.  Otherwise, a quin-zhee (pronounced kwahn-chee) snow shelter, fashioned by hollowing out a mound of snow, will keep you surprisingly warm, even in a three-season bag, if the shelter is built with its floor elevated above the top of a small door opening.  A tent will keep the wind and snow off, as well as help consolidate your sleeping area, but it won't insulate you from outside temperatures.
    The pack sled, or pulk, has rendered the backpack nearly obsolete for winter travel, especially over flat lake country.  It is not only easier to tote, it extends the amount of camp hardware and equipment you are able to bring along (about the same as a summer canoe trip).  With a harness you can put your dog to work, too.
    February is a good time to plan an extended trek.  Average daytime high temperatures around the Lake Superior region are around 20 degrees above zero.   But don't be caught off guard.  It can still hit sub-zero; best to be prepared for the worst.  Plan all winter treks as though you were going in mid-January.
    And if you've never spent an entire night outdoors in winter before, try it in your back yard first.  It's your safest testing ground.
    Wilderness was once defined as that area of undisturbed natural land resting beyond the road head.  Truly, by that definition, winter brings to this region, already rich and abundant with wild land, a wilderness of immense proportion.   Indeed, the stillness invoked by Nature's hand upon the vast forested areas about Lake Superior amplifies the implicit solitude and romance of the region.
    It is accessible to anyone with a pair of skis, or snowshoes, and the wherewithal to negotiate even a half-day trek beyond the trail head.  But with a little more imagination, you may be compelled to advance your sensibilities beyond the perimeters of daylight into the unvisited realm—of the sleeping billions.
    It waits.  Still.  Silent.  Snowcamp.  LSM

Mark Sakry, a resident of Brimson, Minnesota, has written for Minnesota Out-of-Doors, Boundary Waters Journal and the Duluth News-Tribune.

FURTHER INFORMATION

In addition to certain private lands, the national, state and provincial parks and forests provide day use and limited overnight camping opportunities.  Be sure to register with park representatives prior to starting your trip into an area and for exact information. They have literature available.

LAKE SUPERIOR MAGAZINE / FEBRUARY-MARCH 1990
Copyright C. Mark Sakry 1988

Article Photos and Captions

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