I spent two nights winter camping in the Nicolet, and the weather made sure it wasn’t just a casual overnight.
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I drove in under heavy fog and rain. While I was setting up camp, the temperature dropped just enough for that rain to turn into snow. By nightfall it was a full blizzard. High wind gusts, trees snapping in the dark, and roughly 7 inches of snow fell overnight.
To get everything in, I used snowshoes and pulled a sled to haul the extra gear winter camping requires. Between the stove, fuel, food, and cold-weather sleep system, this wasn’t an ultralight trip. The snowshoes kept me on top of the fresh snow, and the sled made it possible to move deliberately without overloading my back. Slower—but controlled—and that matters in winter.
Before committing to a camp spot, I took my time. I’d checked the forecast and knew a storm with high winds was coming, so I spent a long while scanning overhead for deadfalls and widow-makers. Even with that, laying in my hammock that first night listening to trees crack and fall nearby definitely keeps your brain awake. Warm, prepared—but very aware that nature always gets a vote.
Once the stove was going, the tent told a different story. It was 32°F when I finished setting up, and after things settled in the inside climbed to 68°F. I slept great—almost too warm at first, but it evened out and held steady through the night.
Morning one, the inside of the tent had dropped to 28°F. I fired the stove back up, brought the tent back into the 60s, made scrambled eggs and coffee, and warmed up before heading back into the cold. I kept the stove running all day and treated the tent like a true base camp.
About every 30 minutes I’d stop, bring the wood I’d processed back into the tent, stack it to keep it dry, drink some water, warm up a bit, and add more wood to the stove. That rhythm made all the difference—steady heat, no sweating, no energy crashes. There was plenty of downed wood around, so most of the day was spent chopping, sawing, and staying ahead of the fire. Steak on the stove the first night was a morale booster, and eggs never disappoint in winter.
The last morning was the real wake-up call. 10°F. The kind of cold that feels like getting hit with a brick of ice. I didn’t want to leave my warm sleeping bag—but staying still isn’t an option in winter. I got the fire going, made oatmeal and coffee, and let the heat do its job.
Breaking camp took longer than expected. Knots that had been soaked by rain were now frozen solid, and working them with gloves on was frustrating. Bare hands weren’t an option for long in that cold. I ended up using a tent stake as a pry tool to slowly work the knots loose. Not elegant—but effective.
Lesson learned: knot choice matters. In wet conditions that later freeze, even simple knots can turn into concrete. Next time I’ll use toggles instead of hard knots so lines can slip free easily with gloves on.
I also carried hard-sided bottles specifically for boiling water. Filling a Nalgene and a MIGO bottle straight off the stove worked great for drying wet boots and adding warmth in the sleeping system overnight—simple, reliable, and no extra gear.
The hike out was calm and quiet. Fresh snow on the trail, storm passed, woods reset.
Two nights. Real wind. Real cold. Real work.Winter camping isn’t about toughness—it’s about preparation, pacing, and respecting the conditions.
I’d do it again.