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13 | (continued) Much could be written on the whole subject of winter camping, much that does not seem to appear in books on the subject. I’ve often wondered about these omissions; I don’t know their prime cause, but I have my suspicions: the authors of those books are presumably trying to encourage their readers to at least attempt the experience, in the hope that they will find it enjoyable, then go out and buy a truckload of gear (in addition to a book) to enjoy it with. But if all of its truths were to be laid on the table, face up, few people would even consider such an adventure in misery, as most of them would see it.
Here’s a typical unpromising situation, the quite plausible kind that a summer camper would be quick to conjure up: You wake on a truly frosty morning, hungry as a bear. Your nostrils are aching from a night’s exposure to sub-zero air. There is a uniform layer of hoarfrost on the inner tent wall, from your breath: tiny ice crystals gently drift down onto the shell of your sleeping bag and begin to melt as soon as you begin to stir. You try not to move while you do a quick mental inventory of your breakfast options: canned corned-beef hash, canned chili, digestive crackers, powdered orange drink, powdered hot chocolate and milk. Since the local bear population is safely asleep, you have sensibly placed all of these within arm’s reach in the vestibule of the tent. But all those containing water are frozen solid; all those requiring water must have it melted from snow; your drinking water jug feels like a boat anchor; your body feels as stiff as your boots, and outside a wind is already whistling through the trees. You begin with the only immediately edible item you have: the digestive crackers, which are not a bad beginning, especially if they’re chocolate-coated. Eat as many as you can. You’ll miss having something to wash them down with, but this is a temporary inconvenience. What matters is that you now have plenty of energy to serve yourself a sumptuous meal. And of course, if you are truly prepared for the Life, even if only on an experimental basis, you will have at least four goodies stashed in small pockets cunningly sewn into the lining of your sleeping-bag: plain milk and chocolate milk, 500ml each, in hip-flasks; a slab of your favorite cheese, still hermetically sealed; and three or four Power Bars®, also sealed—all low-profile items, kept at an edible temperature by your body. From there, the rest is easy, and can be executed entirely from your sleeping bag. When I said breakfast in bed, I wasn’t joking. If, after devouring your stash, you still yearn for some of the more substantial canned goods, you can enjoy any or all of them, if you have had the foresight, the night before, to pour about a liter of water (not necessarily drinkable) into a two- or three-liter pot, preferably stainless steel, with a snug-fitting lid, an insulated handle and a jet-black bottom. It’s best to pour the water over the can of food that you intend to heat, until it is just covered—this should give you the necessary margin of safety along the top of the pot. You’ll now know exactly how much water you’ll need, but don’t leave the can in the water overnight as it freezes—if the temperature drops low enough, the ice could damage the can, or possibly even split the pot. That water will of course be solid ice by morning, but solid ice is a hell of lot easier to melt over a flame of any kind than snow, however tightly-packed. Ice is denser, obviously, and is in intimate contact with the steel pot, allowing maximum heat transfer. But there is always the more effective technique of heating that pot of water to boiling the night before, then carefully wrapping it in the camper’s equivalent of a tea-cosy —just an insulated bag, best made from the foot end of an old sleeping bag, filled with polyester batting (not cotton). The water won’t retain much of its warmth overnight—winter nights, don’t forget, are very long—but it will almost certainly not be frozen (you can salt it heavily, just to make sure). This will make the following process that much easier. In fact, since you won’t be drinking this water in any case, you can easily put enough salt into it to prevent it from freezing even at sub-arctic latitudes, and keep it on hand until you leave. As soon as the pot is ready (if you have ice to melt, it will be done much faster over the butane), lower a can or two into it—watching its level, until it begins to boil—then place it onto the Sterno, for a more controllable margin of safety. |
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