I have 3 sleeping bags in my tin can. A summer weight bag good only to about 50 degrees F, a fall and spring bag, good to about 35 to 40 degrees F and a winter bag. The winter bag is not a high dollar sub zero bag that one would find on Mt. Everest. The label on it says it is good to 0 degrees, but that is a lie. I tried it one night at 25 degrees. It failed. I froze.
It was 30 degrees below zero and I was nestled into two high quality, military, goose down sleeping bags on a winter camp out in upstate New York as a boy scout. I was as snug as a bug in a rug. Layering worked then and it still works.
Layering is the secret when it comes to staying warm when dressed. It also is the secret to staying warm at night. Last night the temperature dipped to about 15 degrees F. The fall bag inside the winter bag was just right. I slept in total comfort. This fall, the fall bag inside the summer bag was ideal. When the temperature gets down to single digits or even to zero, I think I will need to slip my current combo of the fall and winter bag into the summer bag. Since the summer bag is the roomiest it always has to be on the outside.
That should do the trick. If it gets much colder I will have to build a tent in side the van or go buy another really good winter bag. You can only layer up the bags, with bags inside of bags, so much before it gets too tight to move inside.
Night time cold is different than daytime cold. I have noticed that when the sun goes down, the feeling one gets when a chill settles into your bones is more than just a chill. It is a statement. It is a feeling that goes beyond just being cold. It gnaws at your very soul. It makes you feel doubt. It make you depressed and it makes you doubt where you are and what you are doing. The lack of sunlight and the cold together are deadly. There is a reason that the young men in Inuit country are constantly trying, and succeeding at offing themselves.
It is very important that a camper or adventurer remember this. This desperate feeling that settles in at dark when it is cold can lead to bad decisions, depression and trouble. There are three things that you must do to avoid falling into this little trap that mother nature sets for you. First, you must have camp ready early. Have your nest built, your shelter done and ready for habitation long before it gets dark. The feeling of being homeless in the cold is unsettling at best. Secondly, have some food early. You do not want low blood sugar or a general lack of fuel to aggravate the situation. Even a cold snack an hour or so before it gets dark is enough to lift your spirits and keep you warm. Thirdly, have heat and light of some sort. If you can put a hot meal together, light a candle, fire up the camp stove or even a tiny little wood fire, do it. The light and the warmth helps you physically and mentally.
Last but certainly not least, do something constructive. Read a book, do some exercises, write in your journal or simply fix up your supplies or organize your nest. This activity helps you realize that you are in control, that you can improve the situation and you will be better off for it.
Last night I heated up a can of stew for dinner, washed up the one spoon I used, washed up me, crawled into my doubled up bag and read the book, "The Big Book of Words You Should Know." I learned pettifoggery, pedantic and prate. I'll probably never use them but it felt good to learn something.
As the temperature dropped and night fell on PUCK, I was in high spirits. I was committed to making the overnight voyage to Sturgeon Bay in my 7'4" dingy, I was in fresh clean, dry clothes and I had eaten my dinner. The hot thermos of coffee would keep my spirits up through the night and the north star would keep me on course. I had a compass and was charting my course but since it was a straight run NE the north star was all I needed. Because I had stripped off my wet clothes down to my 'never-nevers', put on warm dry ones, eaten my meal early, plotted my course while it was still light, I now felt good. A lot can happen in the night on a little boat in open water. You need to be fortified, in good spirits and ready to make good decisions. Being cold and hungry is no way to start any night.
I found my self further away from the entrance than where I started. Winds were 35-40 now, seas were 4' and breaking over the side of PUCK, I was getting wetter by the minute. Bailing PUCK would have been easier if I had an extra arm. Holding the tiller and the main sheet and fighting for every upwind inch I could meant that bailing had to wait. When the water collected on the lee side of the floor board to a depth of 6-8 inches I would try to hold the tiller and main sheet in one hand and bail with the other. I always lost what little ground I had made.
This continued until I realized that eventually I would get blown out into the bay away from land and away from any chance of rest or sleep. I decided that while I still had the energy, I would drop the sail and paddle. I loosed the main halyard, dropped the sail and boom into the cockpit and pulled out the double ended kayak paddle my friend Karen had lent me. I paddled towards the rocky shoreline for about an hour.
Sometimes, I would make zero headway. It was all I could do for minutes at a time to hold my own and not get blown further away. Even though I was now wet clean through, I was hot. The energy I was expending heated me up to a point where I was sweating.
About an hour before morning, my headlight picked up an aluminum dock, the only dock along that entire rocky, dangerous shore. I made for it. I made PUCK fast, stripped off my wet clothes, shook out my sleeping bag from its dry sack and crawled into it. I was asleep, butt naked in a bag, on a strangers dock in about 30 seconds.
Dawn arrived, I woke. I had to poop. PUCK has no toilet. My next day begins. But, I made it. Fourty miles up Green Bay from the town of Green Bay in a 7'4" sailing dingy.
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