From the Duluth News Tribune, Sunday, March 16th, 2008.
NEAR ATIKOKAN, ONTARIO — The concept seemed reasonable. We’d make a little winter camping trip up north, in March, when winter wasn’t so — well, wintry. You know, balmy days in the upper 20s. Maybe even the 30s. Sunshine. Lots of daylight.
But at 6:15 that first night, the thermometer hanging outside our tent registered 9 below zero. At 8:30 p.m., the needle would hit 15 below. By 9 p.m., it would be 19 below.
By daybreak, the temperature would drop to minus 22. Crisp.
Fortunately, the four of us camped on the shore of Nym Lake near Atikokan, Ontario, had come prepared. Our tent was a pyramid of canvas. A sheepherder’s woodstove, its belly full of spruce and birch, was radiating plenty of heat through the 9-by-9-foot tent. Clint Moen and his wife, Kris Kolenz, and Wayne Bogen, all of Duluth, relaxed on sleeping pads in their shirt sleeves, sipping tea or hot chocolate before a dinner of 15-bean soup.
We had skied across four miles of Nym earlier in the day, headed for Quetico Provincial Park a few milesfarther south. We had come north for snow and silence and stars in this quiet country, about 40 miles north of the Minnesota-Ontario border. The going had been slow across the brittle snowpack of Nym. Each of us pulled a sled or toboggan loaded with winter gear.
We had hoped to reach Pickerel Lake in Quetico Provincial Park, Ontario’s 1.2-million-acre canoeing wilderness. But by midafternoon that first day, the cold had us reconsidering. We might have made another four miles to the park, but it seemed more prudent to camp early, make wood while the temperature was still around zero and settle in to a comfortable camp.
“All of our trips are these epic things,” Kolenz said. “Why does it have to be that way? It doesn’t take much to get away.”
Watching the temperature drop that evening, snug in a handsome camp on Black Bay of Nym Lake, we liked our decision.

COLD BUT GOOD
Over the next three days, we rediscovered the joy of living close to the land in a northern winter. We day-tripped into Pickerel Lake. We poked around Nym. We skied. We snowshoed. We fished for only a couple of hours and found no willing trout. But we were more than rewarded with the simple pleasures of moving through this austere land and maintaining our little oasis of warmth.
The cold prevailed until the last day. After that first night of 22 below, we saw 19 below the second night and 16 below our last night. But, perhaps surprisingly, we were never cold.
“Many of the hours were below zero,” Bogen said late in the trip, “but I was never cold for more than a couple of minutes. I’m way colder leaving Fitger’s [Brewery Complex in Duluth] on a cold night and driving home.”
It was just a matter of dressing right, moving around and having a warm tent waiting whenever we returned. Your fingers would get cold trying to light a campstove outside the tent. Or you might get the cold aches while dipping water from a hole in the lake. But we never stayed cold because, frankly, that isn’t one of the choices when you’re out on the land in winter. You solve your problem. You put your choppers on if your hands are cold. You get moving if your toes are cold. Along the way, you realize what an adaptable creature you are.
“If you told people you had a wonderful time at 20 below, they’d think you were crazy,” Moen said.
Maybe we are. But it’s a good crazy.
SOLITUDE IN QUANTITY
Clearly, nobody else wanted this kind of crazy, at least while we were out. In four days, we didn’t see another person. Our last morning, we heard a couple of snow machines in the distance. What we heard was a hairy woodpecker chipping insects from a jackpine, a great-horned owl playing oboe behind the tent and the wind working its way through the pine needles.
On our day trips by snowshoe or ski, we came across the tracks of otter, weasel, pine marten, ruffed grouse and snowshoe hare. We saw wingprints in the snow that depicted a grouse lift-off. Without seeing any of the actual animals, we felt their presence in the woods around us.
Mostly, a winter trip full of silence slows you down. Living this way makes you realize how complicated and fast-paced life is back home. And how good the absence of that pace feels.
On one snowshoe walk, Moen and Kolenz had happened upon a pileated woodpecker and watched it for some time.
“When the highlight of your day is seeing a pileated woodpecker — and it truly is exciting — it tells you you’re in the right place,” Moen said.
BACK IN CAMP
We spent part of each day making wood. We would snowshoe down the shore pulling an empty sled and fell a long-dead spruce or jackpine. Back at camp, we cut and split it. Not only does making wood keep you warm, it is also satisfying. The sound of the saw cutting through the years is a good sound. The smell of sawdust is a good smell. And what is it about driving an ax through a piece of wood, watching the splits fly, that is such pleasant work?
Inside the tent, life was good. One night, about 8:15 p.m., it was 12 below zero outside. Inside, up where our mittens were hung, the temperature was 96. Where we sat on our insulated mats, it was just right.
We told stories that took us from Bhutan to Beaverhouse Lake, from Baffin Island to the Baja, from Basswood Lake to Badwater Lake. Kolenz baked brownies one night, and it was all we could do to remain awake until 9 p.m. to sample them. How can doing so little make you so tired?
Kolenz got the Most Valuable Player award for the trip. She slept near the stove and fed it more wood every couple of hours during the night. We always awoke to a warm 9-by-9-foot world.
Of course, when it came time to hitch up and go home, temperatures soared to near freezing. Sunshine flooded Nym Lake. It seemed like 70 degrees.
The trip back to the landing seemed like nothing. When she approached the parking lot, Kolenz stopped short while she was still on the ice. Still in the traces of her sled, she said what all of us were thinking.
“I don’t want to go back,” she said.