Let’s be honest: video games are stinking cool. They have dragons, infinite respawns, and can be enjoyed from the comfort of the couch. It’s no wonder our kids are obsessed. However, the modern mandate to “touch grass” remains a vital pillar of parenting.
In video games, RPG translates to role playing game, where a character is immersed in a world, and living out a storyline. I tell my kids that the great outdoors is the ultimate RPG. If you want to “level up” your character (aka yourself), you have to go out and gain some real-world experience points, or in gamer-talk, XP. Of course, when I tell them we’re heading out to gain that experience in the middle of January, their reaction is less “Hooray, adventure!” and more “Ugh, do we have to?” Given that it’s 5°F out, I suppose I can’t fault their logic.
Battle for Mindshare
As a parent, I’ve realized I am in a direct head-to-head competition with the dopamine hits of a PlayStation 5. Unless you’re as “experienced” (read: old) as I am, you might not remember a time when the most exciting thing in the world was a stick and a pile of dry leaves.
To win this battle, I focus on the high-impact memories. For me, that was sitting by a fire, roasting marshmallows, and poking the embers with a stick to see what happens. It’s the simple joy of trying to create a flame large enough to be seen from the International Space Station. That’s the “end-game content” I try to sell to my kids.
The “Stupid Hurts” School of Packing
Mixing adventure with learning is a tall order, and it starts with the least glamorous part of the quest: packing.
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I provide a survival briefing and then let them pack their own bags. As my father used to say, “Sometimes stupid hurts,” and “If you’re going to be dumb, you’d better be tough.” This philosophy is never more apparent than when you’re winter camping.
I’m not a total psycho. If they forget their sleeping bags, I’ll intervene. But if they decide to pack three redundant action figures and a heavy book that will weigh them down until their legs turn to jelly? I let it play out. Experience is a brutal but effective teacher.
Real Estate: Avoiding the “Widow Makers”
In camping, as in real estate, it’s all about location, location, location. To keep them engaged, I let the kids pick the campsite.
I only chime in to prevent an actual catastrophe. I look for:
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- Widow Makers: Dead branches hanging precariously over the tent.
- Water Hazards: Because waking up as an ice cube is rarely “fun.”
- Life-Threatening Issues: General “don’t set up next to a cliff” advice.
When they pick a spot, we analyze it. Is it level? Is there wind protection? By forcing them to think critically, I’m secretly building the skills they’ll need to do this without me one day.
The Hierarchy of Chores
Once we’ve staked our claim, the boring and fun jobs begin.
- The Boring Stuff (Shelter): This involves the tent, sleeping bags, and the double mat strategy. For the uninitiated: you put a foam mat down first, then an inflatable one with a high R-value on top. It’s the only thing keeping the frozen earth from turning you into a meat popsicle (enjoy that movie reference, my fellow old people)
- The Fun Stuff (Firewood): My boys both have Cold Steel axes because they look like weapons from Call of Duty. They love going into the woods to harvest resources. Not to mention, they love to go around throwing their axes at trees like it’s a melee attack in their game.
The kids usually return dragging literal trees, wood large enough to build a three-bedroom ranch, while I do the boring work of gathering tinder. To keep it spicy, we have a “Fire Race.” I clear a large (3-foot) circle in the snow, and they compete to see who can get a sustained flame first using only the gear they brought (matches, lint, or pure willpower). Eventually, we merge the fires to save wood and prevent the inevitable “My fire is better” argument.
The Fine Art of Frozen Fine Dining
After the hard work, we move to the dinner bell. Our menu is almost exclusively Mountain House freeze-dried meals. Why freeze dried meals? They weigh nothing, come in “flavors” that resemble real food, and are served piping hot.
We eat right before bed to ensure a full belly and a high core temperature. Pro tip: Let the kids make their own meals. There is a strange, rugged satisfaction in rehydrating beef stroganoff in sub-freezing temperatures that really builds a kid’s confidence.
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Pre-Sleep Protocol
Finally, before we crawl into our warm sleeping bags, I give them three pieces of advice to survive the night:
- The Empty Tank Rule: Go to the bathroom. Your body wastes incredible amounts of energy keeping urine warm. Don’t spend calories heating a bladder full of water.
- The Hot Water Bottle Trick: If they’re worried about the cold, we put hot water in a non-plastic, sealable thermos and toss it in the sleeping bag.
- The Dead Space Strategy: Change your socks and stuff tomorrow’s clothes into the bottom of the bag. It fills the cold air gaps and ensures your morning outfit isn’t a frozen suit of armor.
Bottom Line
Raising kids is about patience and finding what makes them tick. Whether it’s the “real-life Call of Duty” axes or the promise of a giant bonfire, the goal is to keep them engaged. They might be cold, and they might complain, but they’ll remember the night they conquered the snow long after they’ve forgotten their high score in a video game. A final piece of parting advice: make this experience enjoyable. If the kids are getting too cold, cut your losses and get them warm. It takes a lot of energy to heat your body, and when you are 5 feet tall and 100 pounds, it is easy to get cold.
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