IN THE CLEAR
There’s an old saying that goes, “A happy mountaineer always pees clear.” Light or clear urine is a sign of good hydration, while darker urine indicates dehydration, and that can trigger lethargy, fatigue, and possibly hypothermia.

After my first season of winter hiking, I chose a new jacket based largely on the fact that it had a front inside pouch to hold my water bottle. I am a lazy drinker. Even in the warmest months, I can let hiking get ahead of hydration. It’s doubly hard in the winter, when drinking cold water is less appealing.

On average, hikers should drink between 4 to 6 quarts (liters) of water per day, even more if conditions or terrain demand it. Keeping the water bottle near me does two things: It prevents the water from freezing because it’s next to my body and it allows me to drink on the go. Lucas St. Clair and Yemaya Maurer, authors of the recently published AMC Guide to Winter Hiking and Camping, also suggest wrapping a thin cord around a bottle’s lid, stringing it around your neck, and tucking the water bottle inside a shell. Water bottles wrapped in extra clothing or in an insulated pouch can stay on or in the backpack too.

I’ve also developed a palate for warm water. Pete and I pour hot water into our water bottles before a trip to keep the liquid from getting to a teeth-chattering temperature. On mild days, the water will stay warm for a good three to four hours. (We avoid doing this with our old polycarbonate plastic water bottles, as they can leach Bisphenol A, a potentially dangerous chemical.)

Hot chocolate is also worth the weight of the thermos in my pack. The steamy liquid is easy to drink in cold temperatures and provides a small fraction of the 4,000 to 7,000 calories we can burn while winter hiking. Which brings up another fringe benefit of winter hiking: Zero guilt in eating good, fatty foods. Most people will be hard pressed to consume more calories than they use in the backcountry. Often the greater risk is in not packing enough calories. A general rule of thumb, according to Maurer and St. Clair, is to plan on 2.5 pounds of food per person, per day.

IF THE SHOE FITS
We had hiked almost 2 miles on the Stony Brook Trail, and were surrounded by leafless, thin birch trees and evergreens draped in white when the untracked snow began to lap at our knee caps. Grudgingly, we took off our packs to fetch our snowshoes.

Snowshoes are absolutely essential gear for winter trips. Their decking and cleats provide traction and stability…but I’ve learned not to be too eager to put them on.

Every pound added to your foot is the rough equivalent to putting 5 to 10 pounds on your back. And, if you’re snowshoeing uphill, you can burn 1,000 calories or more per hour. It’s strenuous work, especially with a good-sized pack on. We leave the shoes off on packed, stable terrain where there’s no significant post-holing (when your boots break through the surface and sink deep into the snow).

Luckily, I owned a pair of snowshoes when I began winter hiking, but there were other items on the gear list, like crampons, which I purchased once I decided I liked the activity and would need such equipment. (Renting before you buy is a good way to test your interest level and the gear, which varies widely based on performance and personal preference.)

Once my snowshoes were fastened, I grabbed my adjustable trekking poles—gear I use in every season—and began following the deep tracks Pete made as he broke trail. We were still 2.5 miles shy of the shelter and now wading uphill through snow that would become thigh-deep without our shoes on. But we were also alone in a wood frozen over and muffled—a landscape that conjured serenity, even in its underlying harshness.

This is the first in a two-part primer on winter hiking and camping. In the January/February 2009 issue, Ingraham describes her camping experience at Imp Shelter.

Karen Ingraham is the magazine's senior editor.

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