We pulled into camp late on Friday, met our friends and said our hellos in the fire-warmed cabin, and then slipped back into the night and our sleeping bags in the back of the truck for bed.

The low that night was 15°F. Nelson curled up at my feet, the tips of his ears cold to the touch. When I woke up in the morning, the window above my head was covered in delicate, arcing patterns of ice that reminded me of the tips of the frosted grasses I harvested on the farm this summer.

We could have slept indoors, but I wanted to know if I could handle the cold. I could and I did—in my 0° bag I was toasty. And now I’ve opened up a whole new season of outdoor overnight adventuring—yay!

All weekend we moved between the cozy hunting camp and the bite of fall. There were crunchy leaves, wrinkled bits of lichen, sunny forest paths, a tremendous waterfall, happy dogs, and one large, sparkling full moon. Just what the doctor ordered.