Chase and I have a Christmas tradition that started in 2017, the first year we both lived in Boise. We had to be on shift on Christmas Eve and got off the morning of Christmas Day, and our significant others had chosen to travel to see their families instead of staying home alone. Left at loose ends in the middle of winter with no wives or girlfriends to tell us what to do, we did what most adventurous young men in their twenties would: we went camping! 

Cold sucks, and it sucks every winter. After a long summer, always long enough to make me forget what cold even feels like, when I walk outside into the first frosty morning I think: “Whoa, what is this? This sucks.” But, like most things that make you uncomfortable, exposure therapy does the trick. By the end of winter all my gear is staged by the garage door and I’ve figured out how to hike, snowshoe, ski, and work outside without giving the cold much of a thought. Then spring comes along and I’m once again set up to be surprised on that first chilly day. 

This is all just to give context to why Chase and I found ourselves, a few days after Christmas last winter, continuing our cold exposure therapy tradition by snowshoeing 2 miles away from the car in 20 degree weather, with a mountain peak as a vague destination, and the goal of pitching a tent and sleeping whenever we found ourselves wherever we were going. I know that greater hardships are endured regularly by alpinists climbing Everest, but I think it’s safe to say that even most people who fancy themselves pretty outdoorsy hang up the tent when the temps dip towards freezing. I understand why. 

Camping out in below-freezing weather has its challenges. Obviously, you want to wake up the next day. Even if you misjudge a little on your gear, as long as you’re not exposed, wet, or trying to sleep naked in a snowbank, the worst outcome you’re probably going to experience is an uncomfortable, sleepless night. It’s okay, those build character. One or two of those in your life make you appreciate the nights that you’re prepared. I’ll go over some basics you’ll need, and if you're still not ready to head off-trail, sleeping in your car (with heat available at the twist of a key) can be a good intro. Check out Chase’s guide to staying warm while camping in a car if you want to walk before you run.

Here in Idaho I make do with a 15 degree sleeping bag all year, but I usually take along an extra liner or a fleece blanket to add another layer in the winter, wear my base and mid-layers to bed, and I  wrap the down jacket that I always carry around my feet while sleeping. Just as important as the bag is an insulated pad to keep the ground from stealing your body heat. If you’re not planning on summiting a mountain and dealing with extreme wind or deep snow loads, a quality summer tent will probably do just fine. And what if you wake up, or never get to sleep, and you become bone-chillingly cold and can’t stand another second of being outside? Maybe start close to the car your first time, and have a headlamp so you can skedaddle out of there and get that heater pumping. Lesson learned, character built. 

After a leisurely snowshoe, stopping often to enjoy the panorama out over the snow-covered mountains, we chose a spot to pitch our tent that we thought would give us a good view of the next morning’s sunrise. We stomped our tent stakes into the snow as the sun disappeared behind a peak, and the vague cold that had been in the back of our minds all day suddenly became a palpable pressure. Tossing our sleeping and eating essentials into the tent, and leaving our packs handy in the vestibule, we quickly shed our boots and tucked our feet into sleeping bags. Water boiling on our Jetboil stove and our own body heat soon made the temperature begin to rise. We savoured the warmth of our Mountain House packets in our hands after pouring the hot water in, kneading them until they were ready. Some steaming hot chocolate was the last touch before mummying up with just our mouths and noses exposed to the cold and settling in for the night. If you’re prepared, the toughest part of winter camping is dragging yourself out of your sleeping bag and facing the cold the next morning. I always stuff every article of clothing that isn’t wet at the bottom of my bag, and get dressed inside it as much as possible to make the initial shock less jarring. 

We crawled out of the tent the next morning to one of the most spectacular sunrises I have ever seen. The peak where we stood was marooned in a sea of clouds, with nothing in sight but a white blanket stretching all the way to the distant Sawtooth Mountains, their own lonely outpost. Chase captured our view in the picture below, and having it in my memory is worth a few hours of cold feet.