of Backpacks and Beards
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The day has started off grey, with the beautiful promise of a coming snowfall on the tip of the mountains tongue. But in this moment, that promise seemed daunting. Further we watched the ceiling fall and close in. We saw less and less of the surrounding mountain tops and the gentle falling of snow was like the first signs of fear, the first heightening of senses, the cautionary feeling entering your movements.
Zen and the Art of Ski Touring Sliding my feet in that familiar cross-country motion, I take a look at my surroundings; karst mountain peaks ripple the landscape as far as I can see, I’m surrounded by a strange variety of trees seemingly mummified in a blanket of windblown snow and ice, as the sun beats down providing a comforting warmth in a seemingly cold and hostile place. Almost anyone that tours… Read More
Late Season Winter Camping In Algonquin – Who Needs Snowshoes? There’s something about the calming white abyss and the feeling of complete isolation that forges a passion for winter camping within a person. For my girl and I, it’s pristine wilderness without the bugs or people; a place where a warm fire really does make or break the night, and a place where the sky is never more alight with stars, and… Read More
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