I can't describe how it feels, thinking back on the weekend. When I was going through my pictures, I must admit, my hands got a little shaky.

A while ago, my friend Thaddeus and I planned a snowshoeing trip into the Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness, a vast stretch of desolate lakes and impenetrable forest along the Minnesota / Canada border. I hadn't been winter camping since I was in the Boy Scouts, some 10-odd years ago, and Thad had never been at all. We chose an established trail encircling Angleworm Lake, 13 miles north of Ely, for a little weekend adventure.

It was going to be an easy-going weekend, kind of a crash refresher course to further prepare ourselves for what lies ahead in the near future: Alaska. The mileage wasn't tough, and the weather began cooperating at the very last minute. The weekend before this trip, lows in Ely got down as far as -38 degrees Fahrenheit.

A few weeks before our departure date, Thad got another job, and informed me that he wasn't able to make it for this adventure. I had two options: scratch the trip, or do it alone.

I opted to make a solo run.

I am no stranger to the north woods, however. I have hiked Isle Royale and the Grand Portage, a wee bit of the Border Route Trail, I have kayaked the Apostle Islands on Lake superior as well as the quiet waters of Voyager's National Park, and I learned a lot about managing the more extreme cold from deer hunting near Emily with my friend Jeff.

I accumulated enough gear and enough confidence to give it an honest go, and when Friday morning came, I got in my pickup and drove 300 miles to my entry point, 13 miles north of Ely along a fire road called the Echo Trail.

I must admit that I was a little scared when I shut off my truck and took in the silence at the trailhead. The immensity and unforgiving nature of this wilderness is humbling indeed. In July of 2005, a 56-year old experienced hiker named Lloyd Skelton disappeared along this very trail. He left on a solo hike one morning, and was never seen again.

His wallet and clothes were found along the trail near the lake; possibly indicating what the officials referred to as "paradoxical undressing," where a person gets cold enough to be delusional and feel warm, when their body is actually shutting down. In this state, people undress because they feel too hot, when in reality, they're close to death from hypothermia.

That was in July, friends. My solo was going to be in February.

The next thing I knew, it was three days later, my ears were used to the silence, and my entire being was completely at peace. I had all kinds of jobs to do to stay busy and warm, and my gear was holding up well. Moving faster than I had anticipated traveling, I reached the trailhead again on the afternoon of the third day, and decided not to camp another night.

Besides, I was ready for a bleeding steak and a gigantic, cold beer.

So it turned out to be three days of hiking and two nights in the cold, opposed to the three nights in the original plan. But I was satisfied, relieved, and overcome when I first caught a glimpse of the end of the trail from the woods. I was ready to head for home.

Overall, I consider the weekend to be a success. I learned a lot of hard little lessons, and had my share of hard-won little victories. This knowledge was meticulously recorded in the journal, to help prepare for the adventures yet to come. Minnesota is wild, yes, but Alaska is the wildest place of all.

And, it got as low as -17 degrees Farenheit the second night, meaning my sleeping bag just might hold up to its -30 degree rating with just a few extra handwarmers. Also, according to a NWS report, it did get down to below zero for a time period exceeding 24 hours while I was out there, meaning I can unofficially award myself the Zero Hero badge from Boy Scouts.

Northern Minnesota has always had a special place in my heart, and surely, it always will. Something about it draws people like a magnet, and now, I feel more connected to it than ever before.

I'll be back again very, very soon.