I only had one real moment of panic during this solo trek on the Superior Hiking Trail. It came suddenly when I realized I lost the trail — and it happened twice.

There are points along the trail where the forest opens up, giving way to grasses and exposed granite. In the winter, the trodden ground is totally covered in snow. And believe it or not, far fewer people travel out there during the winter so a nice beaten trail can get covered quickly, masked by layers and layers of snowfall.

I was hiking along until I came to a point higher at elevation where the forest opened up. It was way less dense all of a sudden, with more deciduous trees than anything else. And the shrubs and smaller plants were mostly buried. It was a solid recipe for confusion, which left me to take a shot at using what basic navigation skills I know.

In general, I knew that I was headed in a northeastern direction. When I was hiking, I kept that in the back of my mind. But, what ended up happening was the trail broke straight east for a time before drifting back toward the north.

When I came to that point where the woods opened up and the trail shifted, I kept walking in a northeasterly direction. I got off the trail some, hit a wall of trees, and realized that I should probably pay attention to what I’m doing.

I looked around a bit, realized that I made an oopsie, and started to figure it out. My first instinct was to head back to the last blaze I’d seen. I backtracked clumsily in the deep snow. Finding the last blaze, I busted out the map and compass to orient myself. Studying the map for a tick, I realized that I was almost going in the right direction, so I walked toward where I thought the trail might be and kept my eyes peeled for blazes.

After about 20 yards and some serious investigative work, I found trail! Boom!

Before this trip, I didn’t study the map for as long as I normally do. I went into this trip fairly confident that I’d be able to get through whatever was thrown at me; basically, I got cocky. The result of that was a good 15 minutes of backtracking, circling and trying to find those elusive blue blazes that mark the trail. If I’d been smarter, I would've taken this trip more seriously and studied the map, looking at the twists and turns in the route so that I could predict where I might get turned around. Rookie mistake.

I should’ve known better because I know the blazes can be spaced out pretty far sometimes — or they’re on one side of the tree showing in only one direction. Add these factors with a thick layer of snow, a beautiful day, and a less-than-normal caffeine intake, I fumbled there. Luckily, I did check the trail conditions ahead of time so I at least knew some of what I was getting myself into.

To top it all off, March and April in Minnesota can be tricky months to plan for. Every so often, it snows into May, which means that the spring time is totally unpredictable in a big way. (It could be sunny and 60, or 25 and blizzarding.) And while spring and summer are trying desperately to break through, winter is still holding on in the northwoods. But it’s cool, I made it out to tell the tale.

The West Branch of the Knife River

It feels like you’re constant ascending and descending on the Superior Hiking Trail. They may not always be steep climbs, but these rolling hills don’t stop. It makes for a hell of a workout, man. Your legs get strong quick — or you drag ass until they do get strong.

When you’ve finally finished your 105th summit of the day, it’s nice to stroll for a bit along the flatter sections of the trail like you do along the Knife River.

The West Branch of the Knife River snakes along the forest floor underneath the many northern trees. Every so often, a narrow bridge takes you across to the other side before crossing back over again. During the snowy season, these bridges can be covered deep with a thick layer of ice adhering to the wood. It can be a bit shifty inching along with a large pack and snow shoes.

But the bite on my snowshoes made me feel much more confident when crossing. I have a pair of MSR EVO Ascent snowshoes. They are aggressive! They’re also super lightweight and decently narrow, so even when I’m fumbling through the snow, they’re really manageable snowshoes. Highly recommend. I’m always thankful when gear performs well in the field. Makes life easier, you know?

Hiking along the river was my favorite part of this section. Going from rotten snow at a higher elevation to denser snow at a lower elevation was a leg-saver, but the tone of the hike changed too. Before reaching the river, you’d hear the wind rush through trees, along with the natural sounds of the woods: animals scurrying, the subtle noise of snow melting, leaves falling.

It felt calmer down by the river, with birds singing and fluttering along. The sound of the water sounds was peaceful, relaxing. It was shady and cool, but the sun shot through the trees to hit the forest floor. All this made the pack lighter, my arms and legs stronger, and raised my head higher.

Crossing from one side to the other, I hiked about a mile or two before coming to Big Bend — the only campsite in this section of trail.

Getting into Camp

Big Bend is a smaller campsite, with enough space for three backpacker-friendly tents. There’s a fire ring, with two benches on either side. The best part is that the trail sweeps around camp, following the river. It’s nice to have such easy access to water like that, especially because not all sites on the trail have a river or lake close by. It’s quite a luxury to walk only a few feet to access the river.

When I got into camp, I went through my standard camp workflow. I set my bag down. Then, I packed down where I’d sleep with my snowshoes. Then, I set up my shelter, which was just a tarp and bivy. Then, food.

Assembling my sleeping setup, I slid my camp pad and then sleeping bag into the Outdoor Research Alpine Bivy. Getting that squared away, I tied off my tarp, the MSR Thru-Hiker 70 Wing. This was my first time sleeping like this. Kind of awesome, really.

Going with this setup was way lighter in the pack, took up significantly less room, and I also felt sufficiently protected. The wing is more than enough over the top to feel almost tent-like, and this particular bivy offers a good amount of head and shoulder room. If I got caught out in the rain in this bivy, I could be very comfortable kicking back and reading a few chapters. It has a pole that props up the bivy and a separate mesh screen that lets light and airflow in while keeping bugs out. (Reason no. 345 why I love camping when it’s cold is because there are no black flies or mosquitos.)

The main reason I opted for this setup was to lessen the load of my pack because, eventually, I’m looking to do longer hikes — as in, I plan to thru-hike the SHT one day. I’m not sure of the details yet, but it’s a dream that I’m slowly shaping. That’s also a big reason why I took this solo trip.

Even though it was only a night out on the trail, it was a huge confidence boost. To me, it felt like this big first step that I needed to take to open up more doors, to go further, and to have the confidence in myself when venturing out. It helped me feel totally self-reliant and capable of enjoying the outdoors on my own terms, using the skills that I’ve learned and honed over the years. All those times of learning the hard way have sort of paid off in a way.

Plus, I just needed to get out. It’s been a long winter.

Which do you prefer: a tent or a bivy? Let me know in the comments.