The first time I tried going to the Porcupine Mountains was in the summer of 2011. I started planning, got the gear ready, mapped out routes, and took off of work. At that time, I wasn’t all that confident in myself as a trip leader, backpacker, or more simply, a planner. But dammit, I wanted to go.

Long story short, plans fell through.

Buddies bailed, things went awry, and those plans were put on hold until almost a decade later (man, that makes me feel old) and in the winter no less.

And what a time it was.

Winter in the Porkies

The Porkies are some of the Midwest’s finest displays of mountainous terrain and densely forested hills. Granted, it’s the Midwest so we’re not talking snow-capped, barren granite peaks that look down on the clouds. Nonetheless, these mountains command respect and emanate a unique beauty. And while I’d love to go back in the summer, I find it particularly special to have gone in the winter.

Along with other Great Lakes states, Michigan’s Upper Peninsula in the winter is a harsh northern landscape that gets mighty cold, windy, and snowy. For outdoorsy people looking for a remote area with vast amounts of room to try their luck outside, this is a premier place to do it.

More specifically, the Porcupine Mountains Wilderness State Park is a protected, wild region of the state that boasts a solid population of old giant hemlocks.

There is plenty of snow. And that snow compounds in depth and magnitude the deeper into the woods you get and the higher in elevation you get. The same goes for the cold. The winters in states like Michigan, Minnesota, Wisconsin and the Dakotas can be down right bone-chilling.

If you plan accordingly, bring the right gear, a ton of snacks and hot drink, you’ll enjoy this place endlessly. And if you’re anything like me, you’ll walk away with a great deal of pride after experiencing a place like this.

Check out my entire photo gallery of the trip here.

Our Expedition

The rangers at the park station printed off a weather report for me. I thanked them before checking the temps.

Everyday we — meaning, Jerry the trip leader, Nate and me — were to be out, the highs were around 5 degrees with lows at about 2 below. Wind chill readings were projected at about 15 below. No doubt, it was going to be pretty chilly. Mix in the snow and we were going to earn our time in the wild.

A crude mapping of our routes. The blue line shows our route in. The orange shows our route out. The gray line is our original route. Click here to see the mileage.

Suited up, we left the ski hill parking lot headed west bound, following the groomed trail on and off the road until coming to the trail that leads to Trap Falls.

Our original route would take us past the falls, over Government Peak to Lake of the Clouds, with a final home stretch due east. That was our original route.

The first leg of the trek was fairly easy going. Groomed trail was a real treat. Getting on and off the road really wasn’t too bad with the sleds either.

However, there was a very clear transition from front country to wilderness. As the trail to Trap Falls went on, the snow got deeper and the trail less trodden.

The threshold that stood out to me was a bridge that led into the backcountry. Getting over the bridge alone was a bit of a challenge — the first of many.

Porcupine Mountains Wilderness State Park | Alec Olson

Staying the Course

We camped about a mile from Trap Falls. I arrived later than anticipated — punctuality isn’t my strong suite — and night was coming on fast. It always does this time of year.

We nestled in underneath some impressive hemlocks at a site just above a creek with running water. That’s a luxury when camping this time of the year.

That night, we ate like kings thanks to Nate’s superb camp chef experience. We didn’t have a fire, but we talked around a backpacker lantern with hot drinks. The next day we would start with a push up a steep hill and tread onward into a snowy, trying landscape.

Campsite No. 2

Waking up to frozen boots bites. I didn’t take the liners out of my Sorels the night before and suffered the consequences at sunrise.

It’s a chore in itself when you’re struggling to fit a cold foot into a surprisingly stiff and icy boot. It takes time to warm your boots in the morning, but it helps when you’ve inhaled two breakfasts and a fair amount of caffeine.

Looking at the forecast, the high was around 6 with an overnight low of around 0. The day’s mileage was expected to be around 6 to 8 in total. The goal was to make it past Government Peak.

A split in the trail told us that we were the only ones to have been out this far in some time. The snow covered the trail ahead, being noticeable only by a slightly sunken look in the snow. We were blazing trail.

When you’re hiking along the river, the trail can be very narrow. Turns can be tight, and you often cross over bridges or creeks that pour into the main waterway.

Whether you were pulling a sled with a rigid tow line or a slack one, it was tough to make it around some of the detours that we encountered. Tougher still, the sleds kept taking on snow like a sinking boat takes on water. Every so often, I’d look behind me to see gallons worth of snow piled up at the bow. We would stop, help each other out, push through, and continue on.

Eventually, we started trekking away from the river headed west again toward the highest point in the park, Government Peak. The forest wasn’t so dense like it was by the water. But it seemed to snow constantly. Giant flakes hung on my shoulders, while my breathe froze my beard and mustache together — and anything still stuck on from breakfast too.

Jerry dug out a comfortable camp kitchen for us at our Government Peak campsite.

The snow hitting my face, I tried using my snowboarding goggles. But they were useless because condensation built up from them being on my forehead and then freezing. Lesson learned.

Challenges aside, the conditions made the landscape look surreal. The woods almost looked like an alpine environment as we went up. The snow piled onto everything, creeping up trees trunks, stumps, and fallen logs.

The sky was overcast, but the sun beamed through the clouds creating this otherworldly effect that shown a cool, wintry filter over the forest. Looking at the clouds, the sun looked like it had a multicolored ring radiating around it — something that reminded me of the solar eclipse in the U.S. a few years ago.

We were climbing higher in elevation and earning every step at this point. It was a dogged trek. I was running out of fuel quickly even with the few stops that we made along the trail. Granted, they weren’t very long considering that cold sets in fast when you’re not moving.

We made it just about to the foot of Government Peak. We could clearly see the top, but we stopped short for the day.

We could’ve made it over, but it likely would’ve been pretty dark. We would’ve been spent, and we still would’ve needed to set up, cook and be nice to each other. It was better that we stopped short.

That night, Jerry dug out a spacious camp kitchen, cooked us a hardy meal, and just like the night before, we stayed up into the night telling stories and solving the world’s problems.

Turning Back

The second day on the trail was trying to say the least. The snow was deep and unrelenting. Dragging the sleds, although preferred to packing everything in, was still a chore. It was work, man.

An honest discussion the night before and a few solid glances at the map showed us that we weren’t going to make our route happen in the amount of time we had. The conditions were too tough and we weren’t moving fast enough. We decided to turn back and retrace our steps.

Campsite No. 3

As much as I wanted to summit the highest point of the park, I was thankful to be turning back the way we came. With a trail already blazed, our third day was a breeze compared to the day before. In fact, I felt pretty strong.

On day two, we covered about 4 miles. On day three, we made it about 6 or 7 miles in the same amount of time. It was a schlep.

We made it back to Trap Falls in no time, and before long, we were at the road again headed toward the Overlook Trail.

The Grand Vista

The Overlook Trail is a long, steady climb up the ridge. You climb and climb and climb until finally you’ve made it to a mellower grade.

I remember being almost to the top and I just kept my head down and pressed forward. By this time, we had done all of yesterday’s miles and then some. We were hauling along, and I could feel myself winding down.

At the top of the hill, though, I was rewarded for all my efforts. The west vista of the Overlook Trail offers a grand sight of a serrated ridgeline in the distance, with a sea of frosty trees populating the valley below. Where the Carp River runs could just be seen at the base of the ridge. It was the first vista of its kind that we came across during our trip.

That scene is burned into my memory, associated with the triumphant climbs, the trail comradery, frost bitten fingers, and all else that made this trip such a vivid and humbling experience for me. The pinnacle of the Porkies, and one of the best ways to end our third day on the trail.

Lessons Learned the Hard Way

Each time I camp, no matter the season, I take stock of every detail I can account for with memory and Field Notes scratches. I pay attention to what gear I bring and use; what I wished I had. I think about new ways of using my gear or how I could be more efficient in the field. (More training is a common theme.)

With this trip, there were a few firsts for me.

The sled.
White gas.
Actual frost bite.
Sleeping below 0.
Harsh shooting conditions.

The Sled

On and off, I kept thing about ways to modify the sled to make it work harder, take on less snow, and keep gear in place better. I made some mods when I got home that I think will help.

White gas

I have an MSR Universal Whisperlite stove that I appreciate on a new level now. For this trip, I learned the white gas conversion and used it. I also used the canister fuel method, and to my surprise, that worked exceedingly well in single-digit conditions.

Actual frost bite

The tips of almost all my fingers, excluding my thumbs, were frost bitten. Like never before, listening to my body became immensely important on this trip. I pushed myself, and I paid for it. Luckily, I’m all good and I didn’t lose any fingers. But it was a good reminder to play it safe and pay close attention to your body’s needs.

Sleeping Below 0

Sleeping below 0 has become a point of pride for me whenever I get the chance to talk about this trip. Frankly, it felt pretty badass. At least, in the way of taking a calculated risk, gearing up, and trying to be brave in the face of cold. That kind of badass.

Harsh Shooting Conditions

Over the past year or so, I’ve been trying to hone my skill with a camera. I’ve made some investments, dedicated a good amount of time to learning, and I think I’m seeing results. I took some photos on this trip that I’m really proud of, and I think I appreciate them so much more because of the sustained conditions that I was shooting in. It’s one thing to go outside for a few hours and shoot; it’s a whole other cup of tea when you’re constantly exposed and at the mercy of Mother Nature for days. Needless to say, I have even more respect for all the photographers, videographers, and others who capture these stories in environments like this.

Looking Forward

As this winter winds down, I’m thankful for the opportunity to have gotten out and had this experience. Every time I take one of these trips, it deepens my appreciation for the land and the changing of the seasons. It’s a humbling way of learning your place and capabilities in this environment too.

My goal in the year and years ahead is to ramp up my winter camping and, more so, my time in the wilderness. This trip, like many before it, has helped fuel my wonder and desire to explore more of this world.