It seems every first trip of the year I forget something at home. In the past I’ve forgotten matches, rain gear, my camp mug, sunscreen, bug repellent, extra flashlight battery, paddles and even toilet paper.

This year, I only left behind hot chocolate and an extra wool sweater. Problem was, the average daytime temperature hovered around 4 degrees Celsius, night time temps dropped to minus five, and the rain turned to snow two days into the trip. I wish I would have brought that extra sweater. The only way to deal with this dilemma is to prepare an equipment list and then check and re-check it at least a-thousand times before heading out. Here’s a packing list for a five-day trip during moderate weather conditions

Clothes:

• Two shirts
• Two T-shirts
• One wool sweater or fleece top
• Three extra pairs of socks
• One extra pair of underwear
• Two pairs of pants (no blue jeans)
• One pair of shorts (doubles as swim suit if you’re not into skinny dipping)
• Hiking boots
• Sneakers, moccasins or sport sandals for around camp
• Bug hat (finer mesh for black-fly season)
• Bandanna (useful for spraying bug dope on rather than directly on to your skin)
• Wide rimmed hat
• Rain gear (make sure to keep handy on the top of your pack)
• Quality sunglasses

Toiletries:

• Beach towel (those light weight ones from Therm-a-rest are great)
• Portable toothbrush and toothpaste (small travel sizes can usually be purchased at drug store)
• Toilet paper (store in a zip-lock bag)
• Hair brush
• Biodegradable soap
• Hair band
• Razor
• Contact lens solution
• Glasses case and extra pair of glasses
• Birth control

Kitchen Set:

• One medium and one small cooking pot with lids and non-stick frying pan (to avoid expensive cooking sets purchase all three separately at a department store and simply remove handles)
• Outback Oven
• Travel mug
• Metal plate (plastic Frisbee can also be used as a plate, bowl and toy for the beach)
• Hard plastic spoon and metal fork
• Metal spatula
• Aluminum foil
• Camp stove with extra fuel container and funnel
• Waterproof matches in waterproof container plus a butane lighter
• Scouring pad and sponge mixture
• Tea-towel
• Pair of garden gloves for grabbing cooking pot off the fire
• Lightweight saw
• Water bottle
• Water purification gadget
• Spices, jam, peanut butter, coffee, sugar, maple syrup, honey, margarine, etc…various size, shape and style of plastic containers
• Meals packed in separate containers and in one large food bag

Sleeping Gear:

• Tent
• Ground sheet that fits inside tent
• Large rain tarp
• Sleeping bag
• Sleeping pad

Packs:

• External or internal frame pack
• Various stuff sacks for cloths and other items
• Separate pack/barrel for food
• Day-pack
• Camera bag

Individual Items:

• Maps with waterproof map case
• Compass
• Bug dope
• Hand lotion
• Sun screen
• Camera, film and extra batteries
• Playing cards, cribbage board, etc.
• Fishing licence
• Camping permit
• First-aid kit
• Repair kit
• Roll of Duct tape
• Extra zip-lock bags
• Couple of strong garbage bags
• Journal and pencil
• Paperback novel
• Hammock
• Bird, tree, animal track identification guide
• Binoculars
• Star chart
• Fishing rod and small compact tackle box
• Pocket knife

Items (required by law) for Canoe or Kayak:

• Two 30-metre lengths of nylon rope stuffed in a throw bag
• Flashlight
• Sounding device (whistle)
• Approved PFD (personal flotation device)
• Bailer
• Extra paddle

Luxury Items

• Collapsible camp chair
• Camp pillow
• Extra-long sleeping pad
• Solar powered radio
• Propane-fired hot-shower gadget
• Two-burner camp stove
• Miniature espresso maker
• Java Press/Coffee Bowden
• Thermos
• Cast-iron frying pan
• Reflector Oven
• Bug Screen
• Lantern
• Hammock
• Cooler packed with ice and an endless assortment of fresh food, spirits of choice, and ice cream
• Oversized tent
• Fold-out picnic table

I knew it was too good to be true. The plane flying me home after I presented at the paddling show in Minneapolis was on-time; early in fact. The joyful passengers, including myself, boarded in an organized manner with everyone being considerate of each other. Life was good — or at least the best it can be at a busy airport.

Once the plane taxied out to the runway, however, things changed. The revving engine dropped to a faint hum and brakes beneath us began to squeak. Not long afterwards, the pilot made an announcement that there was a delay in Toronto and we would have to sit patiently on the tarmac until we got the go ahead to take-off.

Ten minutes into the hour-an-a-half wait and the same friendly people became barbaric. Intolerance took over from compassion. The steward got the worst of it — but he also was one of the rudest flight attendants I’ve ever come across. The guy beside also smelled bad — made up of body odour, foot odour, bad breath and something identifiable. I hated being there. It was so claustrophobic and I felt like a goldfish in one of those tanks used at the fall fair — I prayed someone would throw the ring over the pin, win me and take me home in a baggie. To survive this I knew I needed to go to my happy place.

Sleep was impossible, I read the magazine I packed along three times already, and the battery for my minipad was totally drained. So I searched my side bag for something to entertain me and found an old Algonquin Provincial Park map stored on the very bottom. It was stained with coffee, weathered and torn at each corner, and even had a few dried up mosquitoes squashed on it. Planning my next canoe trip in Algonquin became my salvation and out of it came a 20-day, 350-km trip around the park called The Meanest Link.

It wasn’t until a couple weeks later I rethought my idea to paddle the legendary Meanest Link. After all, it has 93 portages, ranging from 50 metres to five metres, adding up to 68 km. That’s if I only walk them once across. I generally go across twice, multiplying the length. Yikes. I guess I’ll have to leave the camp chair and pillow at home for this one.

This route is the brain child of the staff at Algonquin Outfitters, Alex Hurley and Gordon Baker, devised in the summer of 2004. They combined four challenging canoe routes connecting the four Algonquin Outfitters stores serving Algonquin Park: Oxtongue Lake, Huntsville, Brent, on Cedar Lake, and Lake Opeongo. It was named in honour and memory of Bill Swift Sr., one of the founders of Algonquin Outfitters. Swifty, as he was most often called, had other nicknames, such as Mean Dude, or Meanest, which were a tribute to his gruff exterior persona.

There’s only a few rules to follow — one is you can’t go solo, due to safety. I may how to break that one, however. I’m waiting for my regular canoe mate, Andy Baxter, to see if he can get the time off work. I hope he does.

Stay tuned for more details as the planning progresses. I’m going in June when bugs are at their prime, the water level are up and the Algonquin portages aren’t too crowded.

The more I kayaked past Newfoundland’s weathered coastline the more I wanted to get out of my boat and walk.

There are some incredible hills along the eastern shore that are just as jaw-dropping gorgeous as the western shore’s more commonly known Gros Morne Mountain. So, after a quick visit to some outward islands to film thousands of puffins, the crew pulled our kayaks up on shore and began a side-trip inland for a couple of days.

The trail system we utilized was a network of paths and old cart trails once used to link the families living in the remote villages of Salvage, Broomclose, Barrow Harbour and Sandy Cove. The trail is marked, but hardly used, and there were times we left the main trail by following the meandering footpaths of caribou and moose. Some sections took us through peat bogs, across brooks and around ponds, other sections had us clambering above the treeline and over a glacier-carved landscape comparable to the surface of the moon. The scenery was transfixing, the wildlife sightings were extraordinary, and for me, it felt good to walk in the woods again instead of floating out on big water.

On a fog-cloaked morning we walked down from the highlands and boarded our kayaks once again, heading back now to the town of Happy Adventure and a cozy room at The Inn at Happy Adventure. The locals at Happy Adventure claim their name comes from three possible origins.

The first is that the first settlers were quite joyful upon arriving in this scenic place; the second was that George Holbrook, a British surveyor was “happy” to find shelter here during a storm in 1817; and the third is to commemorate a ship belonging to a 17th century pirate, Peter Easton, who also found shelter here.

I like the third, and so did the camera crew. So we spent a good part of our paddle time heading to Happy Adventure touring some caves and coves looking for hidden treasure. We never found any of course, but we got to explore a place called the Dungeon; an incredible hole in the shoreline that you paddle directly into. It’s a good size chamber and comes complete with water trickling from high above and the booming echo of the ocean waves crashing outside. If I was a pirate I’d hide my treasure in here.

We all enjoyed the warmth and hospitality of the Inn at Happy Adventure. Chuck, our boat driver for the camera crew during our first half of the trip, is the owner and operator. His wife, an incredible artist, and daughter, help run the place. They shuttled our rental car here from where we started our trip and we spent our last two days, using the inn as a hub, exploring other small hamlets along the coast. My favourite was Salvage. This place is like walking into a tourism postcard — its made up of rustic but charming seaside homes, a wharf with well-used fishing boats, and one of the oldest 17th century graveyards in Newfoundland. It’s been called a catalyst for artists and a dreamscape for the historian. Harrowsmith Country Life Magazine even listed it as of of the top 10 prettiest towns and is labelled one of the oldest continually inhabited communities in North America.

This quaint village also has some of the nicest people — most of them being fisherman — and we all thought it would be fitting to end our film with a scene of me fishing for cod with some locals. Fishing has been the backbone of Newfoundland’s economy for over 500 years and it would be as suitable as running huskies in Alaska or drinking single malt whisky in Scotland.

Luck would have it that the cod ban was lifted for a short period, and getting the scene was as simple as having me walk up to a couple of locals on the dock in Salvage and ask them to take me fishing. They accepted without question. We all caught a cod, kissed it, cleaned it, cooked it, and eat it while we gathered along the ocean shore, sipping beers and listening to one of the locals play the fiddle as the sun set over one of the most beautiful, tranquil places I’ve ever been.

See The Video:

I wouldn’t call myself a kayaker. I prefer paddling a canoe, even if I do have to portage now and then. But I also wouldn’t consider myself a canoe snob either. Any soft-path vessel is fine by me as long as it gets me into a wilderness area.

So, when the gang at Birchbark Media signed me up for a film project along the eastern shore of Newfoundland, I didn’t have an issue with using kayak to float along a portion of its rugged ocean shoreline. After all, paddling a canoe on the Atlantic would be just darn silly.

Agreeable or not, however, I still had my trepidations. Send me along a flushing wild river in a canoe and I’m tinkled pink — but squeeze me into tight neoprene suit and slide me into the cockpit of a kayak adrift on the cold waters of the Atlantic, and I’m apprehensive to say the least. I guess it’s all about being comfortable with the familiar.

The butterflies continued to move about freely in my stomach when we landed in St. John’s. We had scheduled two days of filming here  – gathering footage of tourism hotspots like Signal Hill and the crazy antics that happen during the annual George Street Festival. Two days became three. The producer kept claiming I was messing my lines up to avoid heading out on the kayak portion of the trip. And he may have been right. Newfoundland is a beautiful but rugged landscape. There’s more rain, snow and fog here than anywhere else in Canada. When we arrived on the island, the weather was brutal — so for that reason I might have been stalling a bit. But this magnificent province also has the most generous people. Nobody does hospitality better. I really enjoyed my time in St John’s and was reluctant to leave simply because we were having fun.

St. John’s has an addictive quality to it. There seems to be more musicians, writers and poets here than in any other province in Canada… and what better place to meet them then at the annual George Street festival. This two block chunk of St. John’s is home to nothing but pubs and restaurants… there’s more places to wet your whistle here per-square-foot of any street in North America, and only pedestrians are allowed to stagger — I mean walk — the streets. For six nights, the city hosts 120,000 people (population of St. John’s is 150,000). It’s the Mardi Gras of the north and its been mentioned in countless bits of pop-culture from Great Big Sea’s “The Old Black Rum” to the song “The Night Paddy Murphy Died.”

The city definitely has an Irish feel to it, which is probably why I felt so comfortable here. I’m half Irish. It comes complete with coloured rowed houses, cobbled streets and black-haired pub waitresses. It’s also full of chaos and clamor and a great place to go boozin’, kiss a cod and get screeched in.

The Newfoundland experience isn’t all about socializing in St. John’s, however. Nature called and I eventually had to break away from the fun and go paddling. After all, that’s what most Newfoundlanders do here — play out in the ocean.

We chose to paddle Terra Nova National Park, located along the eastern shoreline, which makes it Canada’s most easterly National Park. The protected area was formed back in 1957 to safeguard the natural splendor of the rugged coastline and prominent inland boreal forest. It measures 400 km long and takes its name from the Latin term for “Newfoundland.”

Our hired guide from Happy Adventure, Grant Cudmore, helped ease my anxiety of kayaking on the ocean. He met us at the boat launch at the park’s visitor centre in Newman’s Sound and went over a few safety tips before we paddled off on our trip along the coast. The sea was somewhat calm that day, thankfully, but I was shocked at how cold the water was. Freezing actually, and full of sea creatures I knew nothing about.

The camera man (JJ Wyllie) and producer (Scott Adams) had it easy the first day out. They got a lift in Happy Venture’s pontoon boat so they could film without bobbing up and down in the moderate swells. I was jealous at first but changed my tune when I found out a bear had given them a visit when they were dropped off to set up camp for us at Minchin Cove.

The bear never did come back. Well, that’s not true. He did wander into camp again sometime during the night while we were sleeping and left a big pile of steaming poop beside the cameraman’s tent. But that caused me little concern. The amount of blueberry seeds in the scat meant he was well-fed. I was more on edge about the dropping temperatures and increasing wind then bear poop. Again, I was more familiar dealing with a nuisance bear in camp than kayaking in large ocean swells. The camerman wasn’t though. He was in a hurry to hitch a ride in the Happy Adventure boat and film all day, away from the bear infested shoreline — that is until he got sea sick.

Our plan that day was to reach a remote campsite out at the tip of Swale Island, through what’s called the Swale Tickle (“tickle” means inlet or link between two sections of water). It was a long haul for a greenhorn kayaker like me. But I have to say, I absolutely loved it. We moved far quicker paddling a kayak then a canoe and were far safer in the open water. Paddling the ocean itself was also less intimidating than some of the large freshwater lakes I’ve travelled on. It seemed to me that the swells are farther apart and much more manageable. There’s been times I felt far more vulnerable in lesser conditions while canoeing on lakes like Lake Timiskaming or even kayaking Lake Superior.

Our second day out, the sea was getting too rough to handle, even for our guide. So the owner of Happy Adventure, Chuck Mitcham, made room for Grant and I on the boat and took all four of us across the expanse of Bonavista Bay. We warmed up at Chuck’s rustic cottage and from there Chuck and Grant left us to play on our own for awhile. We spent a few days paddling and camping, without the help of locals, in more isolated bays and inlets (in Barrow Harbour and Broomclove Harbour) just south of the town of Salvage.

…to be continued.

VIDEO:

Yes, you can dehydrate yogurt. I didn’t think it was possible, actually. But I was put to the challenge while working with nutritionist Margaret Howard on my latest book: The New Trailside Cookbook (second book for 2013, released by Firefly in April).

Margaret and I were asked to write the book together. She isn’t a camper, but Margaret is a darn good cook. So when my publisher asked me to co-write, adding all the “how-to” parts while Margaret wrote all the recipes, I agreed. Half way into the project, however, I noticed a good majority of recipes couldn’t be made on an interior trip. They contained things like bananas, cream cheese — and yogurt. Some recipes had to stay in the chapter for campground camping or first-night-out meals. But I was determined to make some work for the backwoods. That’s how I came to realize yogurt could be dehydrated. It works amazingly well actually.

Preparation

Use low-fat yogurt to keep it from going rancid. Don’t use yogurts with gelatin or other thickeners (they won’t dry all the way through). Place the yogurt onto a sauce tray when using the dehydrator or an oiled cookie sheet for the oven. Make sure it’s smoothed out into a consistent thickness, about ¼-inch (0.5 cm) thick. It’s a good idea to rotate the tray every couple of hours and flip-over the yogurt halfway through the drying time.

Time: 10–12 hours

When is it done? It should peel off the tray like fruit leather, or even have a brittle appearance with no sign of moisture. Dried yogurt should be stored in the refrigerator. Also, dried yogurt only has an approximately one week shelf-life at room temperature.

Here’s one of Margaret’s recipes from the book that includes yogurt — I’ve changed it a bit to make the recipe while out in the woods rather than at home before you go.

Apricot Sunflower Seed Cereal Bars

Crisp and chewy, this bar is a good-for-you alternative to store-bought cereal bars. The secret ingredient is yogurt, which will give your day a protein-packed start. This recipe will work with many other fruit and nuts or seed combinations.

Makes: 32 bars

Preparation Time: 15 minutes

Cooking Time: 40 minutes

Ingredients

2 cups  large flake rolled oats

1⁄2 cup sunflower seeds

3 cups puffed or rice crisp cereal

2 cups chopped dried apricots

1/4 cup whole wheat flour

1/2 tsp salt

1 carton (500 g) Greek style vanilla yogurt

1 egg (can use dehydrated egg)

1/3 cup canola oil

1 cup liquid honey

Zest of 1 lemon

1 tsp vanilla extract

Oil

At Home:

Grease a baking sheet with oil. Spread oats and sunflower seeds on the pan, bake in reflector oven, Dutch Oven or Outback Oven (I prefer a reflector oven) for eight to 10 minutes, or until golden brown. Transfer to a large bowl, stir in cereal, apricots, flour and salt until well-mixed. Meanwhile, mix reconstituted yogurt and powered egg. Add oil, honey, lemon zest and vanilla. Mix until smooth. Make a well in the centre of the dried mixture, pour in liquid and stir well to combine. Spread evenly on baking sheet. Bake for approximately 35 minutes or until firm in the centre and golden brown. Let cool completely in the pan before cutting into bars with a sharp knife.

Camping Tip:

You can make them ahead of the trip and wrap each bar in plastic. Keep at room temperature for five days, or freeze for longer storage.

If you wish, yogurt may be replaced by silken tofu for an even higher protein level.

It could be that I’m getting older — or wiser — but every year it seems I’m trying to lighten the load in my pack, especially when backpacking. This year I’m even more determined. Of course, not to the point that I”m cutting the ends of my toothbrush and resorting to eating granola for the entire trip, but enough not to curse the weight strapped to my back all day.

Here’s the trick. The major bulk inside your pack while backpacking usually comes from three essential items: tent, sleeping bag and clothes. When it comes to tents, your decision should be simple: Aim for the smallest and lightest you can afford and spend more quality time huddled under a rain tarp during foul weather. For last year’s backpacking trip, I used Eureka’s Spitfire Solo tent, weighing in at only 2 lbs 12 oz. It worked perfectly. It’s all I really needed for the trip. I was backpacking Frontenac Provincial Park in southeastern Ontario’s Land-O-Lakes region, and as long as I had a good tarp packed with it, I simply used the tent for a place to sleep. To me that’s all a tent really is — a place to sleep. It was the tarp that would be my main hangout if it rained.

For sleeping bags, this year I went for the new Therm-a-Rest Antares. That and the the NeoAir X-lite combined and I’m knocking my weight down and increasing my comfort level big time. It’s a win-win situation. The bag is down — I’ve always believed down is better and lighter. But this combo looks amazing. I’ll let you know. I’ve only experimented on my living room floor for a couple nights this week. My first hiking trip is the first week in May and that should be the real test. Let’s just hope the snow stops falling soon. The bag is rated at – 7 degrees Celsius but I’m wondering if it will fit the bill when the night temperatures drop.

Knowing the amount and type of clothes to pack is a little more complex. The choice of garments is totally dependent on the season. But you can’t help but bring an extra fleece, long-johns and wool toque during spring outings. In this case, I’ll be packing clothes with the highest possible performance-to-weight ratio. In warm summer conditions, you only need to pack one extra set of clothes. That’s all you’ll really need. Just hope for a hot, sunny day halfway through your trip so you can do laundry. My choice to keep warm during a spring outing is Merino wool like Woolpower (see the past blog below this one). This stuff is amazing at keeping me warm, and oddly enough, keeping my stink down as well. (Merino wool somehow magically repels body odour?)

I think my plan for lightening my pack even more this season is a solid one, and I can’t wait to get out and experiment with my latest purchase. Let’s just hope that darn groundhog is right… I’m looking out the window and seeing snowflakes in April and a major depression is starting to set in.

VIDEO

I just finished being interviewed by a series of morning television shows about the latest trends and camp gadgets for the upcoming season. It was a lot of media attention, especially since spring has just officially arrived. But one simple remark about how campers are prepared for a zombie apocalypse and every major morning show in Canada was eager to have me on.

Zombie culture is definitely on the rise — including in outdoor marketing. Since the classic Night of the Living Dead these flesh-eating soulless corpses have been the focus of countless movies (Shaun of the Dead is my favourite); millions of fans watch the cable television show The Walking Dead religiously (including myself); pre-teens stay up late killing zombies on their game consoles; the undead have been added to classic literature, including  Pride and Prejudice with Zombies; and there’s now a major surge in zombie apocalypse survival kits from outdoor retailers. That’s right. You can equip your own “Bug-Out Bag” with basically the same camping equipment stored in your attic, adding an extra brain smashing machete or two.

The love of zombie movies, TV shows, books and video games all make relative sense — everyone love zombies. What’s not to love? The idea of your neighbour transforming into something that should be stored on a morgue gurney is kind of cool. It’s childish fun. But does the same go for a major marketing campaigns directed towards surviving a zombie apocalypse?

Outdoor companies such Adventure Medical Kit, Gerber and Goal Zero recently created fresh online campaigns by simply re-packaging their camping products into zombie apocalypse survival kits. When talking to reps from the companies, all said sales went up because of it. They also said they had fun doing it, stating that they’d rather promote their bivy bags, survival knifes and solar charge flashlights for zombie protection then some other more serious end of the world scenario.

Doomesday models have haunted us for thousands of years. The Romans freaked out when the mythical founder of Rome, Romulus, was shown by 12 eagles — predicting the world would end in 754 B.C.. The New York Times posted a front page story in 1910 of massive extinction caused by cyanogen gas from Halley’s comet. There’s also the Malthusian Theory, the Y2K bug and the more recent Mayan 2012 predictions. The prophecies are endless. None have happened but the paranoia continues. And more and more camping equipment is being bought just in case one of the prognostications, whether it’s zombies or comet gas, actually comes true.

The ugly truth about zombie culture, why the newest zombie movie outsells the last, is not the fear of the brain eating zombies themselves. Even Brad Pitt protects his family from a zombie apocalypse in the new movie World War Z.  The undead are merely the catalyst. It’s the paranoia of surviving a zombie apocalypse that’s created the interest. Most of us have a deep desire to see if we could survive, live in an untamed world where you make your own rules. Staying alive during a zombie apocalypse is pure fantasy and much less scary then if a real natural disaster did happen. Look at the movie 2012 where the climate shifts and the entire planet as we know it changes. Many people believe this to be a possibility — that’s why the film 2012 boomed at the box office.

This is the same reason survival shows have been on the rise. The only difference is that by putting zombies into the picture there’s more entertainment value for a wider audience. Thousands have watched Bear Grylls drink his own urine or Canadian icon, Survivorman, dodge polar bears. But throw a herd of zombies into the picture and Les Stroud would be more then a Canadian phenomena — he’d be a super star.

Here’s what I would pack for a basic “Bug-Out Bag” from all my assorted gear storied in my attic, besides the obvious Duct-Tape and a splatter mask.

Goal Zero Guide 10 Solar Kit — for when the power goes out.

Goal Zero Bolt Focus Flashlight — because zombies attack at night as well.

Adventure Medical Kit Escape Bivy Bag — sleeping on the go.

Adventure Medical Kit First-Aid Kit — for any non-bite injuries.

Emergency Colman Poncho — perfect to camouflage yourself with blood and guts.

Outdoor Research Advanced Bivy — when the abandoned farmhouse is taken over.

Leatherman Multi-tool — an indispensable gadget whether you’re running from zombies or not.

MSR Hyper Flow Water Filter — getting clean water on the run.

Light My Fire Firesteel — matches and lighters will eventually run out.

Silva Ranger Compass — satellites will be down and your GPS won’t work.

MSR Trail Lite Duo Cook Set — a great lightweight cook set.

Kelly Kettle Trekker — a stove that runs on twigs.

Gansford Bruks French Trade Tomahawk — good brain smasher (and wood cutter).

Spring is here, which means maps are rolled out on the kitchen table and the planning of the season’s first camping trip begins. Algonquin Provincial Park or Killarney is usually the place I head to first. Problem is, it seems every year I forget how terrible the weather can be during the first few weeks of spring.

To be better prepared this year, I’ve decided to gear up and be ready for the worst. I bought wool from the Canadian Outdoor Equipment Store’s booth at the Toronto Outdoor Show. I bought the typical base layers, including wool skivvies, plus wool socks and even a toque and balaclava.

I like wearing wool. I always have. Some may think it’s because I’m too cheap to buy some of the “fancier” fabrics on the market, or that I’m too “traditional” to go beyond wearing an old wool sweater. But that’s not it at all. Wool generally keeps you dry when wet, unlike a lot of other materials. It’s also darn environmental (the animal doesn’t die when the material is obtained so it’s definitely a sustainable resource). The new-age stuff is also incredibly light-weight, so there’s no need to dress up in an over-sized sweater your grandmother knitted you a dozen or so years ago for Christmas.

My favorite wool gear is a product called Woolpower. It’s made with Ullfrotte Original, a material two-thirds fine Merino wool and one-third synthetic fiber, giving the product ultimate strength. It’s also knit with a distinctive terry loop stitching, which gives it the best overall insulating capability. However, the layering system that this wool garment company has developed is why I started buying up their new wool products in the first place. It’s not just one bulky sweater but a series of layered clothing that can be added or removed to stop you from sweating and becoming chilled.

The best part of any of the newer wool products coming out now is that even though wool generally doesn’t smell bad due to its “self-cleaning” abilities, these newer wool products on the market now can be washed in warm water without shrinking. That’s darn incredible. I absolutely love it.

VIDEO

“Too much of anything is bad, but too much of good whiskey is barely enough.” - Mark Twain

There are campers out there who truly believe that the only spirit that should be packed along on a trip is a single-malt whisky. I’m not talking about brands like Yukon Jack, which is a honey-based liqueur labeled “the black sheep of the Canadian whiskeys,” or something like Crown Royal which is a rye whiskey. I’m talking about a barley-malt Scotch whisky distilled from barley and made in Scotland.

The word “whisky” is from the Gaelic uisgebeatha, or “water of life” and is technically an alcoholic liquor made by distillation of a fermented starch compound (usually grain). The act of fermenting grain dates as far back as the 7th century AD by the Chinese, which is five centuries prior to when Europeans were introduced to it. But it’s Scotland that’s become known for developing is diverse taste.

Becoming a scotch snob isn’t such a bad idea on the trip. After all, a little bit goes a long way. Tradition states that only two ounces after dinner, preferably with a cigar, is all that’s required on trip. The only bulky part is the container holding it and the glass you’re drinking from. It’s a sin supposedly to use anything but glass. Scotch stored in a Nalgene and sipped from an enamel camp mug is definitely frowned upon — but it’s still certainly doable and its what I use.

To make it last a little longer, it’s quite acceptable to add a bit of water — but only the best water obtainable (tradition states it should be distilled water). Some experts claim you add the scotch to the water and others state it’s the other way around. Most believe that adding water to the scotch helps bring out the flavour. Adding ice is an extra bonus but most unlikely during a camp out.

The flavour of Scotch brands is varied and most take time to acquire a taste for. It’s not like wine which has slight differences. Scotch can be peaty and rich, light and smooth, or somewhere in between. Anything sounding Anglo Saxon and aged 10 to 18 years old is acceptable for camping trips but brands from the Isle of Islay, such as Lagavulin 16-year-old, Ardbeg 10 years, Bowmore 17 years, Caol lla 18 years or Laphroaig 10 years are legendary among hardy campers. Ten-year-old Talisker from the Isle of Skye is a great choice. Highland Park from Orkney Islands, northern Scotland, is the most economical liberation in its class and was the source of many Hudson Bay Company employees. And there’s no sin in packing blended Scotch. It’s a lot cheaper and some brands are pretty darn good. My favourite to bring on trip (or have at home while watching the Bill Mason film WaterWalker for the hundredth time) is: The Black Grouse, Islay Mist and Teachers.

What ever the brand, make sure to give scotch a try on your next trip. After all, with so many outdoor enthusiasts glorifying it so much, it’s got to have some magical quality about it.

 I started off my annual lecture tour this past weekend at the Toronto Outdoor Adventure Show. It was the first of 26 presentations I’ll be giving between now and the end of May, at venues ranging from large-scale consumer shows to small-town libraries.

My sponsors — including Explore Magazine — have been helping out for over a decade now.

I’m loving it.

I truly enjoy presenting to a crowd of outdoor enthusiasts. I always have. I’ve been standing in front of outdoorsy people for over 25 years — but the only time I’ve ever been nervous was this last Sunday when my mother showed up.

Not sure why, but I got a severe case of butterflies fluttering around in my stomach when my mom sat down in the front row in the Toronto Outdoor Adventure Show lecture theatre. I’m guessing the case of the jitters was caused by the fact that she’s my mother. Complete strangers aren’t difficult to present to. They know nothing of my past. When I’m in front of strangers, I can be who ever I want. But to my mother I’m still that shy little kid who grew up with a stuttering problem and spent more time alone exploring the neighborhood woodlot then playing baseball or hockey with a group of friends.

Of course, I’m still ecstatic that she came to see me present. My mother is very proud of my accomplishments, even though she’s still wondering if I’ll ever get a “real” job. My tension even eased a bit when she stood up and introduced herself to the 200 people in the audience, stating loudly to everyone “I’m his mother.” We all had a good laugh at that one.

Having my mother there also created one of the funniest moments while working a trade show. After the presentation I wandered over to the Canadian Outdoor Equipment Booth to sign my latest book. There was a good crowd lining up — including my mother. I introduced her to everyone and she then proceeded to place her signature beside mine in everyone’s book. It was a classic moment, something that will be remembered forever. And yes, she even yelled out to the her adoring fans, “Kevin wouldn’t even exist if it wasn’t for me.”

Love ya mom.

Here’s my speaking schedule (more dates and venues to be announced):

http://www.kevincallan.com/

Hot tenting beats cold camping, hands down. I remember the trip that changed everything for me. I was “cold camping” in Algonquin park, sleeping in my four-season tent at the end of a long and cold February day of snowshoeing through deep snow.

I had no heat source — which is what defines cold camping — except for my own body heat. It was -27 degrees Celsius when I crawled out of my frozen tomb in the morning. Getting up and get moving on the trail was the only thing that was going to thaw me out, but the bindings of my snowshoes (and my boots) had a thick layer of ice to chisel off first before I could get anywhere. With frozen fingers and toes I made slow progress to my vehicle parked at the access point. When I reached my car, jacking the heater full blast to thaw out, I pledged that that would be my last four-season winter camping experience, ever!

The next year I splurged and bought a Snowtrekker “hot tent” and wood stove — a canvas-walled dwelling that turns into a sweet oasis when the stove is roaring. There’s a heat source. It can be -30 degrees Celsius outside but a balmy 20 degrees Celsius inside. Moments of an early morning, sitting by the wood stove, sipping on hot coffee and munching on baked biscuits, and especially being able to pull on de-iced boots that have been hung and dried overnight, are absolute bliss.

I haven’t abandoned cold camping completely, however. I’ve packed my four-season tent, even a bivy bag, for mid-March trips when temperatures aren’t so frigid. Cold camping does have its advantages. You’re not burdened by too much gear and can travel a lot further during the day. Set up and break down of camp is also far less time consuming. In an hour you can be fed and bedded down for the night. With hot tenting you have to set the bulky tent and stove up and spend a good hour finding and cutting enough wood for the night.

Hot tenting is preferred for times when you just want to be out in the woods in the winter. It doesn’t matter where you are, as long as you’re not home waiting for the colder months to end. Distance travelled isn’t part of the equation but length of time is. You can stay out for a serious stretch when you have a heat source to escape to. A colleague of mine (Mark Williamson) at the college I teach at part-time went across Algonquin Provincial Park last year and cold camped it. He made the 170 km crossing in 20 days rather then the estimated 26. He was ecstatic on how fast he traveled. To him the trip was a success, getting only slight frost bitten checks and toes. But I remember him saying when he got back that keeping things dry was the toughest part. On the fifth day of the trip a warm spell soaked everything and he never did totally dry out after that. If he had hot tented across the park, the amount of days spent out would have been extended for — but the trip would have been more of a time of “living” in a cold environment — maybe even enjoying it – rather then fighting to survive the ordeal.

To me, that’s what winter camping is all about. The relish in the silence of winter, getting away from the crowds and enjoying a time of year that few wilderness enthusiasts get a chance to experience.

Hot tenting beats cold camping, hands down. I remember the trip that changed everything for me. I was “cold camping” in Algonquin park, sleeping in my four-season tent at the end of a long and cold February day of snowshoeing through deep snow.

I had no heat source — which is what defines cold camping — except for my own body heat. It was -27 degrees Celsius when I crawled out of my frozen tomb in the morning. Getting up and get moving on the trail was the only thing that was going to thaw me out, but the bindings of my snowshoes (and my boots) had a thick layer of ice to chisel off first before I could get anywhere. With frozen fingers and toes I made slow progress to my vehicle parked at the access point. When I reached my car, jacking the heater full blast to thaw out, I pledged that that would be my last four-season winter camping experience, ever!

The next year I splurged and bought a Snowtrekker “hot tent” and wood stove — a canvas-walled dwelling that turns into a sweet oasis when the stove is roaring. There’s a heat source. It can be -30 degrees Celsius outside but a balmy 20 degrees Celsius inside. Moments of an early morning, sitting by the wood stove, sipping on hot coffee and munching on baked biscuits, and especially being able to pull on de-iced boots that have been hung and dried overnight, are absolute bliss.

I haven’t abandoned cold camping completely, however. I’ve packed my four-season tent, even a bivy bag, for mid-March trips when temperatures aren’t so frigid. Cold camping does have its advantages. You’re not burdened by too much gear and can travel a lot further during the day. Set up and break down of camp is also far less time consuming. In an hour you can be fed and bedded down for the night. With hot tenting you have to set the bulky tent and stove up and spend a good hour finding and cutting enough wood for the night.

Hot tenting is preferred for times when you just want to be out in the woods in the winter. It doesn’t matter where you are, as long as you’re not home waiting for the colder months to end. Distance travelled isn’t part of the equation but length of time is. You can stay out for a serious stretch when you have a heat source to escape to. A colleague of mine (Mark Williamson) at the college I teach at part-time went across Algonquin Provincial Park last year and cold camped it. He made the 170 km crossing in 20 days rather then the estimated 26. He was ecstatic on how fast he traveled. To him the trip was a success, getting only slight frost bitten checks and toes. But I remember him saying when he got back that keeping things dry was the toughest part. On the fifth day of the trip a warm spell soaked everything and he never did totally dry out after that. If he had hot tented across the park, the amount of days spent out would have been extended for — but the trip would have been more of a time of “living” in a cold environment — maybe even enjoying it – rather then fighting to survive the ordeal.

To me, that’s what winter camping is all about. The relish in the silence of winter, getting away from the crowds and enjoying a time of year that few wilderness enthusiasts get a chance to experience.

See the Video Here: