By CampAtelier Editorial
We left the trailhead at first light, packs heavy with canvas, cast iron and enough wool to insulate a small village. The forecast promised snow by the second night; it did not disappoint.
Day one: the long climb
The approach is unforgiving, a steady grind through old-growth pine. By mid-afternoon we crested the first shoulder and pitched the bell tent in the lee of a boulder field, stove lit before the sun dropped.
Days two to four: weather, and what it teaches you
Snow fell for thirty hours. Inside, the canvas breathed, the stove ticked and the whole camp settled into a rhythm of coffee, cooking and reading. This is what glamping in winter is really about: not luxury for its own sake, but the freedom to stay somewhere wild for longer.
Day five: the descent
We broke camp in blue pre-dawn light, the tent stiff with frost and lighter than we deserved. Packed, we turned downhill with the strange, quiet satisfaction of a place well spent.
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