I spent almost a two month stretch here in the city.

Sure, I went on day hikes, rode my bike, walked my border collies on the greenbelt, but my last backpack trip was back in October.

Until last weekend.

I was determined to go, no matter what the weather.

I learned again that it is hard work keeping warm, when the morning temperature is ten degrees, and the wind had been blowing since the afternoon before.

I understood clearly the feelings of the poet who wrote that 'fire is the rose of winter.'

And you can be certain I didn't write this when I was up there.

In fact I had to return to the fire several times to warm up while I picked up camp and loaded my backpack, before the hike down to my truck.

But you know how it goes – the handling of yourself in such conditions inspires a high level of confidence, knowing that you have the skills to backpack alone in winter, and in the doing have a good time.

And I will not soon forget the sight of those winter stars in a wind swept sky, early in the evening before the moon came up,

Or the sunrise the next morning, in solitude on that chilly mountain, except for my border collies and the coyotes, deer, and foxes that all left their tracks in the snow down along the river.

I also heard the chickadees call up there, which imparted something like home to my cold camp, with their familiar song.