Apprehensive. I have never done anything like what I had planned when I headed to the deserts of southern Utah at the beginning of the year. I was going to spend ten days in the desert, during winter, camping (yes, in a tent) alone. Yeah, I *might* be a little crazy. I was certainly thinking about the advisability of my plan as I pulled into my first campsite of the week, nestled against yellow slickrock deep within the Needles District of Canyonlands National Park. I made sure I found a campsite that would protect me from the cold wind but also let the last rays of the setting sun warm my tent as much as possible. I set up, made my hot dinner, and settled down to watch the sun set over my favorite place on the planet. The low was forecasted to be 10 degrees Fahrenheit; it was going to be a long night.
There were two other brave (crazy) people in the campground with me, and I listened to their voices murmuring a couple of campsites away as I snuggled into my sleeping bag and slipped off to sleep just as soon as the sun went down. Unfortunately, I didn't stay asleep very long. Only a few hours after I crawled into my tent I woke up confused, and it took me a minute to realize that my feet were freezing, despite the water bottle filled with hot water resting between them. What confused me most was that my whole body, even my legs, were warm but my feet just would not warm up. After that, I slept fitfully, tossing and turning, dozing off then waking up minutes later, but time seemed like it wouldn't pass. I pulled the drawstrings of my mummy-style bag down over my head so that only my nose and mouth were exposed, but nothing I did seemed to help my feet. Multiple layers of wool socks did nothing, and even zipping up my coat and pulling it over my feet and lower legs made no difference. I knew I wasn't in danger of frostbite, but sleep wasn't going to happen. Given my way, I prefer to sleep warm, even a little humid, instead of dry and cold. Remind me why I chose to camp in the desert during the winter?
Being awake most of the night did have some advantages, however. A couple of hours before dawn the campground was treated to a pack of coyotes yipping, howling and carrying on just beyond the road. Hell, I thought they were in the campground itself, and began wondering what would happen if they realized there were a couple of human popsicles wrapped in fabric, just laying on the ground. The half-horror-story half-snowwhite-bullshit fantasies, no doubt borne from lack of sleep and bone-chilling cold, entertained me for a while as I lay in my bag and listened to the canines calling into the night. I even pulled my head out of my sleeping bag to hear them better, and I'm pretty sure I couldn't have slept even if I was comfortable just because of the ruckus.
The coyotes moved on, and I was left to contemplate the wisdom of winter camping for the remainder of the fifteen-hour long night. With the first glimmer of dawn, I gave up all hope of sleep and started packing up to begin my desert adventures. Moving around in the tent was warmer than it could have been, but it wasn't pleasant. There was frost inside my raincover! It was also cold enough that the one water bottle I didn't have inside my sleeping bag was frozen solid, and it took hours in the sun to thaw out. I don't know why I expected anything different for a night of camping in the high desert during January, but it wasn't bad enough to deter me from doing it again!
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