During a recent overnighter at Newport State Park, I realized I've been backpacking now for almost a decade. Crazy. It's an outdoor pursuit brings me utmost happiness and adrenaline while exposing me to some of the most humbling terrain I otherwise never would have thought imagined. State parks and national parks, state forests and national forests, plus a few jaunts on a national scenic trail, I'm really glad I dove headfirst into backpacking in my early 20s and remained committed to it. Backpacking constantly challenges me physically, emotionally, and mentally. There's zero pressure to compete with anyone else but myself, and I cherish that.
My first time ever solo backpacking, the trip that got me hooked, was also a massive shit show of total unpreparedness. In early 2014, a month or so after receiving my first backpacking tent from my parents on Christmas, I was parked at a trailhead on the northeast border of Wisconsin and Michigan's upper peninsula. Ambitious and excited to use the new gear I had been slowly accumulating months prior, 23-year-old me wanted to escape north and spend a night in the backcountry of the Menominee River State Recreation Area. My plan was really simple: hike out and find a place to setup camp for a night alongside the rocky gorges of the Menominee River, hopefully reaching within Pemene Falls. In the fall, I had become just obsessed with backpacking and the idea of winter backpacking seemed so alluring.
But I was so unprepared. While my tent, a Eureka Taron 2 that I still use today, was suited for winter backpacking, the rest of my gear was not. Hyper-warm, down puffy jackets, insulating caps, trekking poles, elevated sleeping pads with appropriate R-values, and proper hiking boots hadn't even come across my amateur mindset. Within minutes of departing from the trailhead, I was already freezing and my feet wet, but I kept pushing ahead, blindsided by my eagerness. I had a basic survival gear to start a fire and a headlamp but no handheld satellite GPS, first aid kit, or two-way communication device should should things get dicey. I had snowshoes, really good, ones from MSR, but no poles. My outer layer was a green coat from Kohl's, likely on sale, and I wore my skiing snowpants over like jeans and long underwear. Again, a shit show.
Perhaps the dumbest mistake I made was hilariously lugging a gallon-sized plastic jug of water from the grocery store with me out into the backcountry. It had frozen solid by the time I reached my site and rendered useless. Why I didn't primarily boil snow or filter water was beyond me. I eventually reached a clearing above the Menominee River to call home for the night just before sunset and I was exhausted. The heavy, extra-large North Face hiking daypack had been digging into my shoulders for a couple of hours as I hiked through knee-deep snow. Quickly setting up my tent and unfurling my new-to-me Alps Mountaineering sleeping bag that wasn't rated for temperatures below 30 degrees, I got a fire started to keep warm and have dinner. I don't recall what I ate, but it was probably awful.
This frozen landscape nestled between Michigan's UP and northern Wisconsin was breathtaking. It was so quiet, I remember, only the sounds of Pemene Falls's rumble, ice cracking in the river below, and the occasional distant howl of coyotes or wolves howling. It was a needed reset from the daily grind back home. As the sun dropped, the temperatures did too and I crawled into my tent. Without a footprint under my tent or a pad under my sleeping bag, the cold from the ground was immense. I tried to stuff other pieces of clothing and gear down in my sleeping bag, a trick I read online. At some point after midnight, I awoke not being able to move my feet much. It was miserable, and the thought of calling it quits and returning to the trailhead in the dark briefly crossed my mind. Fearing frostbite, I wrapped one of those cheap, thin reflective emergency blankets I bought form Feet Farm around my numbed feet. I regained movement, checked the outside temperature, which was __ degrees, and tried to fall back to sleep.
The next morning, under a bluebird sky, I exited my tent, unzipping the vestibule to a winter wonderland. I was happy, and amazed. After hiking around along the Menominee River and having breakfast (probably an uninspiring oatmeal pouch revived with hot water), I tore down my camp and returned to the trailhead.
To say I learned a lot from my first solo backpacking trip would be an understatement. I was foolish, way underprepared with the wrong gear, and lacked proper risk awareness. It's something I can laugh about today and ensure to never repeat those failures in the future. After that overnighter up in the Menominee River State Recreation Area, I've since made it priority to invest in dedicated high-quality gear, along with continually researching and learning as much as humanly possible about backpacking.
It's all part of the grand journey to better one's self.
Cheers,
Robby