Every trip has its share of small mishaps and this one would be no exception.
Mike and Ron’s first winter backpacking trip seemed like a poor time to attempt anything ambitious, so we chose the North Country Trail in northeastern Pennsylvania’s Allegheny National Forest. The plan was simple: meet at Ron’s house at six, be on the road by six-thirty, and reach the trailhead with plenty of daylight remaining. Naturally, at six-thirty I was still standing beside my car fighting with frozen door locks.
After a brief battle with the locks, I got the doors open and loaded my gear, but we were already behind schedule by the time I arrived at Ron’s house. Ron greeted me with the news that Mike had just woken up and that we now needed to drive to his house and pick him up. We threw my gear into Ron’s truck, raced across town, piled Mike’s gear on top of everything else, and got on the road.
Two hours later we reached Erie, Pennsylvania, where we decided to stop at an outfitter and get breakfast. We found the store easily enough but discovered it was not yet open, so we opted instead for a high-cholesterol breakfast that probably removed several years from our collective life expectancy. Mid-morning on a Saturday meant the restaurant was crowded and it was nearly an hour before we escaped. Back at the outfitter, I had only intended to look for a better topographic map of the trail, but one thing led to another and all three of us were carrying armloads of equipment we suddenly considered absolutely essential. With our wallets somewhat lighter, we got back on the road.
The highways were mostly clear of snow, but as the roads became narrower and less traveled they also became increasingly snow covered and slippery, forcing us to slow down and costing us even more daylight. We reached the trailhead, quickly sorted out our gear, and started hiking toward the New York/Pennsylvania border. Lacking any truly mountainous terrain within easy driving distance of home, we had settled on an alternative long-term objective: hiking all eighty-two miles of the North Country Trail within the Allegheny National Forest. Of course it would take many weekend trips to accomplish this, but at least it gave us an excuse to use all our expensive new gear.
Because the trailhead was south of the state line, we first had to hike north a short distance to officially begin the route. It didn’t take long to reach the border, where we turned around and headed south again. It was a beautiful day to be in the woods. The sun was shining and, despite the snow-covered forest, the day felt almost uncomfortably warm. By the time we returned to the trailhead it was mid-afternoon and we had managed to hike a rather unimpressive total of 2.4 miles.
Crossing the road, we continued northwest toward our intended campsite near the junction of the North Country and Tracy Ridge Trails. The trail wound along the shaded side of the ridge and felt considerably colder than the sunny woods we had started in earlier that afternoon. As we climbed higher, the trees occasionally opened to reveal views across the Allegheny Reservoir while the sun slowly dropped toward the horizon.
The temperature was dropping quickly and we didn’t spend much time sightseeing. Ron slipped while crossing a small stream, soaking one of his boots. Assuming he would simply change socks once we reached camp, he neglected to mention it.
Twilight had settled over the forest and the woods had taken on the slightly surreal atmosphere winter forests often acquire after sunset. We still had a fair distance to cover before reaching camp and continued hiking until we lost the trail in the gathering darkness. After a quick look at the map I recognized several landmarks from a previous trip and managed to relocate the trail. Fifteen minutes later we reached the campsite.
It was now long after dark, the temperature had fallen to single digits, and we were only just beginning to set up camp. I found a spot for my tent some distance away from Ron and Mike, but the cold had made the poles and fabric unusually difficult to work with, and I struggled with the setup. While I fought with my tent, Ron and Mike set up theirs and attempted to get their new stoves running. At least that appeared to be the plan.
The last time I looked over they seemed to be doing reasonably well, but when I checked again a few minutes later Mike was crouched over a tiny fire desperately trying to coax damp wood into burning while neither stove appeared to be functioning. More concerning was the fact that Ron was nowhere to be seen.
I walked over to help and discovered that Ron, despite changing into dry socks, had become extremely cold and retreated into his sleeping bag in an effort to warm up. I dug out my own stove, went through the priming ritual, and was enormously relieved when it roared to life. While Mike started melting snow for water I made one final halfhearted attempt at the fire before abandoning the effort completely.
I peeked into Ron’s tent to check on him and immediately became concerned. Despite spending at least thirty minutes inside his sleeping bag, his feet were still numb, he was shivering badly, and his responses to my questions were becoming alarmingly irrational. None of it seemed normal.
By then Mike had boiled enough water to fill two water bottles, which I shoved into the foot of Ron’s sleeping bag. Mike and I discussed our options. We could either warm Ron enough to break camp and hike out in the dark, or stay put, melt more snow, get hot food and water into all of us, and reevaluate the situation afterward. As cold and exhausted as we already were, the prospect of an emergency winter night hike was not especially appealing.
Mike’s stove eventually cooperated enough to remain partially operational, giving us two working stoves and a growing pile of frozen cookware scattered around camp. When the next pot of water boiled I made hot chocolate and forced Ron to drink it. Mike cooked noodles while I prepared another hot water bottle and stuffed it into the sleeping bag with the others. Gradually Ron began warming up and soon reached the point where he started complaining that he was too hot inside his bag, which by then was zipped shut to little more than a breathing hole.
Once it became obvious the immediate danger had passed, I melted snow for my own dinner. Mike had already cleaned up his cooking gear and, after promising to keep an eye on Ron, headed off to bed. Shortly before midnight, with the temperature hovering around four degrees, I finally crawled into my own sleeping bag, far too tired to finish attaching the rain fly to my tent.
I woke first the next morning and started melting snow for breakfast. By the time Ron and Mike emerged from their tent, the sun was already out, the temperature was approaching twenty degrees, and Ron appeared to be fully recovered. After breakfast we packed up camp, left our gear near the trail, and hiked down to the shoreline of the reservoir where we spent nearly an hour examining thousands of fossils embedded in the rocks along the water’s edge. As the morning wore on, the wind picked up enough to drive us back into the shelter of the trees and we returned to our packs.
The hike back to the trailhead was relaxed and uneventful. We tossed our gear into the truck and headed home, all three of us already thinking about hot showers and real food.