Even though the warmth of summer has kept us Washingtonians in shorts and t-shirts longer than normal the cool, foggy mornings have pushed into my brain the hunger for mountain top winter camping. Its been occupying much of my thought lately. Obviously,as I stated, the change in weather has been my prompter. But not just that. Part of it has been my internal struggle as a responsible (trying to be) family man to decide what to do with my Jeep. The Freedom Machine. The Adventure Wagon. My backpack on wheels.THE JEEP! I've halfheartedly tried a couple times to sell it. Part of me says its not practical, part of me-a large part of me-says keep it for Ethan. Keep it for memory making. Keep it for high winter mountain camping with your son. So there's my struggle and my lust for winter camping. Many people don't understand camping in the sunny 70+ degree weather much less 17 degree camping. That's fine. Leave those peaks to me and mine. But you're missing out. Let me take you for an adventure in my Freedom Machine.
To make a short story long...
Lets start on a Friday, early December a couple years ago. I've been waiting all week for it, I get home and finish loading the Jeep. The backseat is removed giving way to room for a 10 degree rated sleeping bag that I've had for 8 years now. My Big Agnes two man tent that Carin bought for me (the lady knows her tents. This one achieved top ratings the year before in Outdoor magazine. She got last years model for some 60% off) My ALICE pack that's traveled the world with me,now holding a change of clothes,ammo and Mountain House meals. I still liked beef stroganoff then.( Bad gas and a mummy bag changed that later this particular winter. TMI, I'm sorry). Monte,my closest in age brother, and I share a passion for camping and exploring handed down to us from our Dad. His Jeep is the lowliest in our group of Jeeps but his skill, wrought from much trial and error supercedes everyones expectations constantly. We often enjoy watching new wheelers give him advice on how to conquer a difficult section of trail. He humbly nods, we smile and he blows their minds by taking the route they advised against while making it look as difficult as parking at the mall. But this time there are no onlookers, no minds blown. Its just he and I and our mountain. Our destination this cold afternoon is Beckler River Road past Skykomish. The sun has long since fizzled into the snowy horizon when we turn off highway 2. The roar of the Jeeps torquey 4 liter makes way to the throaty "whopwhopwhop" after we shift into 4low. In summer Beckler River Rd is driveable by a Honda Accord. But today there's easily two feet of powder, nearly double that at our campsite. Perfect conditions. We take the necessary side road that takes us to our icy retreat. 10 lbs of air in our tires gives us a boost in traction while still keeping the tire on the rim. We slowly wend our way up the Forrest Service roads, above the tree line and finally above the low clouds. The moon is nearly full, bathing a blueish tint to the snow, the shadows a darker blue. We could, and briefly do, turn off our headlights as we drive. The sun is powerful enough in its moony reflection to light our way.
At last we've arrived. Elevation on the GPS says we're 4,445 feet above the whales in the sea. Not quite a vertical mile above my house. We stomp the snow flat for our tents, LED headlamps filling light into the gaps left by the moonlight. We hadn't planned for a fire, instead expecting to sit around the Coleman stove, boiling water for our food,sipping Jack Daniels and Dr Pepper for warmth. But the cold gets the better of us when we remember a log that was there last summer, now mired in the snow. Soon its unearthed (unsnowed?) from the grave and Monte strips off the wet outer layer of bark and wood. Amazingly we get it lit. This log, four feet long and thick enough to keep me from wrapping my arms around it, will be but ash by the time we leave. But now its heat. I eat reconstituted beef stroganoff. Stomachs full, it's time for the camping ritual. Cigars. I recall a Romeo y Julietta of some sort. The smell of campfire. The leathery goodness of tobacco leaves from some distant land. The warmth of a little whiskey. Go ahead, close your eyes. Enjoy. Now open them and see my view from this mountain. As the orange of the flames strobes the snow I can look north to the mountain ranges near Darrington and beyond. The clouds below us looking like grey blue cotton candy, the snow on the backs of the mountains 50+ miles away lighted up for our viewing pleasure. It's after the halfway point of night. The week and the cold takes its toll. Its time for bed....
Its time for winter camping...
