The winter that wasn't

In the end of November, I set out with my housemate Olle towards the great wilderness that can be found on the borderlands of polders, peat bogs and wooded riverland. With our boots strapped and packs loaded with Euroshopper sweets, we strode into the area between Flevoland, Drenthe and Overijssel. The days were short and only slightly long enough for us to get from one wild camp site to the next, and the sub zero nights seemed not to end.

I had decided a few weeks before to go winter camping, as I still had to test my newly gained profi sleeping bag that announced to withstand a -22c night. That evening I envisioned myself tenting in a frosty landscape, and I asked Olle to join, who agreed without the slightest doubt. In the next two weeks I found another dozen of people willing to consider joining us, but as the date came closer, all but the adventurers of the first hour found obscure reasons to cancel, rainging from 'contempt for nature' to 'planned heart surgery'. So when the friday of our departure neared, we were back at the numbers we had two minutes after the conception of the idea.

It was surprising to see how much nature is available without going through to much civilization. We walked some 20 k, after which we pitched our tent on the forest authority's official wild sites. We cooked dinner in front of our tents, with our breath forming white plumes, and sleep came early. The sleeping bag passed with flying colours: I woke up heavily sweating. When we returned after three days in meadows, moors and woods, we made the deal to go camping later that winter when it would be really cold; I hadn't had the chance to properly gauge the sleeping bag's performance. If someone had told me that those days passed hiking belonged to the coldest of the winter to come, I wouldn't have believed them.

As I woke this morning, the sounds of birds floated in through the open window, carrying along a whiff of green and something about to burst into bloom. In my room, my sleeping bag looks at me aggrieved from behind the desk. I feel a little guilty too, but who can change the circumstances? I know I promised him the chance to live up to his full potential, but I feel we might have to wait until the next winter comes around. Until then, I think a little camp trip in spring wouldn't hurt either of us.