It was Thanksgiving weekend, and I had made a habit of using this three day weekend as an opportunity for one last backpacking trip before it got too cold. 

So off I went on another winter adventure in an attempt to expand the frontiers of my comfort zone.

Except this time, the frontier pushed back.

Cold weather backpacking is a bit more challenging for some obvious reasons. Not the least of which is the need to carry heavy, specialized gear to keep you warm throughout the night, and safe on the icy mountain slabs.

But these challenges were not enough to stop me from having a romantic night alone with my woman on the side, Gaia, Greek Goddess of Earth, and Mother Nature Herself.

And so, after a long drive up to the Adirondacks, I would hike up to a small mountain lake called “The Giant’s Washbowl” to establish a basecamp. After enjoying a peaceful night in nature, I would then head up the relatively straightforward Ridge Trail to the top of Giant Mountain the next morning. 

That was the plan at least.

I parked my jeep alongside Chapel Pond. Nestled in a cozy valley between the cliff face of Round Mountain to my left, and the welcoming wilderness of Giant Mountain to my right.

Snow flurries had already begun to fall and visibility was low, but other than that, the weather was calm.

After signing in at the trailhead, I hiked gradually upward through a hardwood forest typical of the Adirondacks at lower elevations.

As the trail turned onto a streambed, it became rockier and steeper. There was a thin coating of snow on the rocks, but footing was generally good and there was no need to don the microspikes yet.

Up one final steep ascent, I noticed the wind started to pick up dramatically as I found my way out to a vantage point over a cliff-top just slightly off trail.

From this rock perch I could see Chapel Pond below and the Adirondack Great Range to the West (Gothics, Armstrong, Upper and Lower Wolfjaw Mountains).

I lingered up there to take in the views as they slowly began to disappear behind a curtain of white snowy haze. 

It was at this point I realized my first mistake. While preparing for this trip, I looked up the weather for a nearby town as opposed to the weather in these higher elevation mountain tops. 

But whatever. Couldn’t be that much different. Right?

Continuing on, I found my way to the shore of the Giant’s Washbowl, where conditions were not improving. The wind coming off the frozen lake was harsh, and it became difficult to keep my eyes open as the ice crystals stung my face. 

Nonetheless, I pushed on and found a designated campsite on the North East side of the small lake. 

The conditions continued to deteriorate, so instead of hanging out to enjoy the boreal views, I attempted to set up my tent as the wind let me know it was very much not okay with that. 

With increasingly numb hands, I was eventually able to get it pitched with minimal snow on the inside.

The wind and snow was a pain in the ass, but if there is one thing I wasn’t too concerned about, it was staying warm.

Applying all the lessons I had learned from both arctic training in the Marine Corps, as well as my first winter camping trip out here in the Adirondacks, I made sure I had more than enough layers to keep me cozy.

Mother Nature was going to have to throw more than a cold shoulder at me to dampen my spirits.

...And she took me up on that challenge.

The wind picked up as the night went on. And with a thin sheet of nylon wall peeled onto my face with every gust, I realized my second mistake:

I should not have brought my lightweight, 3-season, fair weather tent up an Adirondack High Peak in winter weather.

Despite the tent fly  covering the whole tent, the wind was strong enough to blow powder up it’s skirt and accumulate between the tent and the fly. 

With every shake of the tent, I was dusted with snow that had built up on top of the fine mesh ceiling like a flour sifter.

It was difficult to sleep that night to say the least. But with my earbuds in, I did my best to focus on my audio book as this tempest attempted to trample my tent.

Falling in and out of the waking world, the hours went by. The darkness of the night slowly subsided even as the wind refused to. 

It was then that I saw my third and final mistake:

Normally, keeping my boots in the tent vestibule would be enough to protect them from some minor weather. Not this time.

The wind had shoved so much snow up under the tent fly that my boots were not only covered, but filled with snow.

This was the deal breaker. Trying to summit an alpine zone peak with barely any sleep in wet boots and a continuously raging snowstorm was not going to happen. I may be crazy, but I am not *that* crazy.

I was calling it. I used my Garmin InReach emergency satellite communicator to let my loved ones know I was safe, and was heading back down the mountain. 

Part of me was disappointed that I did not get to cross another high peak off my list that day, but a bigger part of me appreciated that this is all part of the adventure.

Even when attempting to expand my comfort zone, I am comfortable with not pushing it to the point of taking unnecessary, frostbitey risks. 

More than a few mistakes were made on this trip. And things could have gone a lot worse. But once again I was reminded that the goal of these adventures is never making it to the summit, but making it back to the parking lot.

Mission accomplished.