The I've always enjoyed winter camping. I've always enjoyed winter camping, the kinds of trips that really push you to your limits

and force you to embrace the cold and silence of the frozen wilderness.

Last winter, I decided to go on a solo trip deep into north central Pennsylvania.

The area I picked out was so remote that getting there

would require an hour-long drive down dirt forest service roads, followed by a six-mile hike

along a barely visible trail. There wasn't a soul around, and I wasn't expecting to see anyone.

The quiet, snow-covered forest was exactly what I was looking for.

The trail was rough, overgrown in places and barely recognizable as a path. I had to push through

dense, wet brush, and there were no footprints in the snow, no sign of anyone having been there

recently. It felt like the kind of place that only those looking to truly escape the

world would find. The trail followed a creek down a rocky valley, which didn't make for an easy

hike, let me assure you. And the terrain was steep and uneven with ice patches and thick snow

covering the rocks, making each step a careful decision. But the beauty of the place, the stillness,

the quiet, crisp air, it was well worth the effort. I had no specific destination in mind. I was

just wandering through the woods, hoping to find a good spot to set up camp. As the sun began to set

and the temperature drastically dropped, I came to a fork in the creek.

On the other side, there was a section of relatively flat land that looked perfect for a campsite,

and I carefully crossed the creek, stepping cautiously on the slippery rocks and then

started to investigate the area.

Scattered across the snow were signs that someone had

been there recently. A tarp was spread out in the ground next to a stone fire ring, and nearby

a log about a foot in diameter had been chopped in half so cleanly that it had to be with some

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