On Winter Camping Lillian Bufton
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amping in any season other than summer tends to be an unpleasant prospect for all but the most committed outdoors enthusiast. Late spring or early fall camping can, of course, provide some of the most rewarding natural experiences. Falling asleep and waking up under canvas to the sounds of life returning to the wild after months of winter torpor or to the blaze of autumnal colours are some of the most exhilarating adventures this writer has enjoyed. But the mere suggestion of camping in February is enough to strike primal, bone-chilling fear in most of us. To everything, there is a season. Winter is for reading, streaming, knitting, or curling by the fire. Not roughing it. Until that is, one realizes that the term camping can encompass a broad array of possibilities. The humble tent alone takes multiple forms. The wall tent has been the preferred shelter of adventurers, prospectors, hunters, and many other outdoors folks for generations. Many camps and resorts offer a variation on this heated, moderately comfortable tent.
But probably the most popular today is the modernized version of the Mongolian nomad’s mobile residence: the yurt (or ger as it is actually known in Mongolia). While still technically a tent, the yurt offers all manner of comforts, including heating, furniture, and so on. Our region abounds in winter camping facilities equipped with yurts, including nearby provincial parks and several private providers, now easier to find with the various online hospitality platforms available. So, if sleeping on the ground, under paper-thin fabric in a blizzard is not at the top of your list, consider camping at a yurt this winter. Enjoy the pristine wilderness without the nuisance of bugs; watch the northern lights dance in the crisp sky; fall asleep to the sound of distant wolves howling at the moon. Pack your bags and strap on your snowshoes - it’s time for winter camping!
One of many yurts available for winter camping in nearby provincial parks. Photo courtesy Ontario Parks.
You can check out the Ontario Parks website for a full list of roofed accommodations (including yurts) and cold-weather camping options at www. ontarioparks.com/ roofedaccommodation.
Frozen River in February Snowflakes fluffing white, floating to a whitening ground. Fine etchings of frosty flowers emboss my window panes. Juncos flock to the feeder. Fastening skis on, frozen river beckons. Fresh skidoo tracks set the stage. I follow the riverbank, avoid black-pooled edges where ever-so-thin ice floats. Flurry falls furiously now, thickly wet on my upturned face. Picking up pace, laying track faster and faster on the Apanea, winding into the future. Squares of shoveled snow in the sheltered bays. Click of hockey stick filling the air and, fleet of foot, red-cheeked boys with snow flecked toques call triumphantly across the frozen riverscape. Now hush, all is hush, as a husky hurries along broadside, tongue lolling merrily. Leaving white capped houses behind, undulating tree clad landscapes, frozen reeds tinkling in the wind. Suspended deep below the ice sheet, burrowed turtles, and slumbering fish, frogs. Wind picks up, whipping snow around my ankles. Then higher still. It would help to have windshield wipers for eyeglasses. Where does river end, white sky begin? Which way the river tiding, sloshing to and from the Bay of Quinte, Lake Ontario Skanadario? Ice booms, races across the river, startlingly close. Heart a-flurry, hurrying back, laying fresh track again. Skis flying, poles clicking, ice booming. Fleeing past houses now all in a blur. Wind dies down. The river she sings friendly now. Fat snow falls slowly, silently. Wiping off skis, wiping off glasses, trudging on home. Layer firewood in the fireplace. Rubbing frozen fingers. Forage in the fridge and fill the teakettle. The juncos have stopped feeding. Fat robin takes their place. —Barbara Roch
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The SCOOP • February / March 2019
Good times sitting around the toasty woodstove inside a yurt. Photo courtesy Ontario Parks.
Sentinels in the Snow The world is full of exacting morning light, clouds billowing above the strata of smooth white. Sentinels standing, are the barren trees – grey severing the azure in a guarded wintery way. The west wind an axiom, this breezy ardent truth, of winter’s frigid, steadfast azimuth. The arc of the horizon, sliced and sprinkled with crisp snows, has frost decorating some branches as a westerly zephyr now blows. Spring is still in full hiding, like the green kiss of youth, is fast asleep until it is ready for your soul to sooth. Remove yourself, beautiful sinister white ash from the frozen ground, uncover the earthed green glory as you retreat without a sound. —E. D. J. Morel
