This thread has been around for almost three years. I probably replied and told my tale already some time ago, but I don't remember. So, here goes...
I'm a hunter, first, last, always. When I was younger, I camped. From the sub-artic of northern Quebec to the deserts of Arizona, I camped. I had many wonderful adventures, but one winter camp stands out.
Deer season in Michigan opens on November 15th each year. (at least it did, don't know now) One year in the mid-90's my pardner, Paul, and I went to hunt the McCormack Wilderness in the upper peninsula of Michigan. 9 miles in on a logging road to the trail head. Then a 3 mile hike on foot to the lake and the hemlock swamp where we intended to hunt.
We got there the day before the opening, hiked in and set up a half-faced, lean-to camp. We cut firewood and prepared to stay awhile. We both have snowshoes, but if any snow was to be expected that early in the season, we figured it wouldn't be much. So, the snowshoes stayed home.
That night the temperature dropped, the wind blew strong, and the snow fell. On opening morning we woke to a foot of the white stuff on the ground. We stoked up the campfire and got breakfast. Then, we went out to hunt. Paul went one way, and I another. The snow continued to fall and the wind blew. It was freezing!
Back at camp that evening, neither of us had seen a thing, not even a fresh track. The snow was deeper and still coming down. We built up the fire, cooked dinner and sat around for several hours before climbing into our sleeping bags.
The blizzard raged all night. The next day was mostly a repeat of the first, except the snow was now over two feet deep on the level.
A third night in our open-faced camp. Good cold weather sleeping bags kept us snug. The blizzard continued.
The next morning the snow was nearly waist deep. I told Paul; "We have to get out of here." We packed up our meager camp and started out. We took turns breaking trail. In some places the snowdrifts were over our heads. We wallowed through it. It took us most of the day to make it the 3 miles back to our trucks.
Of course, our trucks looked just like mounds of snow. We dug them out. My truck was only a 2-wheel drive, but Paul had a Ford 250 4-wheel drive. With a tow strap we hooked my truck behind his and we headed out down the snow-bound logging road. We were lucky that Paul's truck was able to plow through the snowdrifts while towing me in my truck. We made it back to the paved road and were glad to find that it had been plowed. Down the road in Ishpeming we stopped in a restaurant for dinner before heading back home to southern Michigan.
