There are certain things in the world that are not meant for everyone.
Winter camping is one of those things.
Back in late November, I had a beer or two at the Cambridge Brewing Company and said something silly. I said I wanted to say goodbye to camping for the year. We camped a good amount last summer, including a stint in Yellowstone, but we missed our anniversary camping trip due to illness. I should mention our anniversary is in early October- a still perfectly respectable time for camping.
So, in order to say goodbye to camping, we planned a trip to Lincoln, NH to camp on the Kancamagus Highway.
This was a bad idea.
We left early one Saturday morning in December. I promptly fell asleep in the car- it's a Pavlovian response for me. When I woke up, it was snowing.
I desperately tried to dig deep and find my inner badass mountain woman. We bought coffee and decided to go for a hike.
Gilligan got so excited by the idea of hiking in the snow, he jumped over the the center console from the back seat and stuck his foot into my coffee, splashing it all over my pants.
Did I mention I only brought one pair of pants?
After our hike, we went to our camp site to set up shop.
We stayed here. NOT.
Nope, we actually stayed here. Desolate, snow-covered home sweet home. We were not the only people at the camp- these other people had giant Cabella's compounds complete with wood stoves. We did not.
We had this- our trusty trailer. Great for summer camping. Bad for winter camping.
I'll spare you the details of the rest of the day and cut to the part where it's 11 o'clock and I'm crying hysterically, rapidly losing all the street cred I'd built over the course of the day.
We/me survived the trip- Nick actually had a good time. I swore off winter camping FOREVER.
I did, however, say I would go backpacking this summer. Will I ever learn?