In our industry, gear reviews often start with a press release and end with a neatly packaged conclusion. But that’s never been my style. My approach has always been a trial by fire—or in this case, ice. When Alps Mountaineering sent over their Vibe 0° Sleeping Bag and Trailblazer Insulated Sleeping Pad, I packed it up and took it straight into the Adirondack backcountry for a winter camping trip that would test its limits—and mine.

Alps Mountaineering Vibe 0° Sleeping Bag and Trailblazer Insulated Sleeping Pad

What was supposed to be a 5-mile snowshoe trek into the Shaker Mountain Wild Forest turned into an unexpected battle with frigid water, complete with an ice plunge, frozen clothes, and a desperate fight to stay warm.

The Alps gear didn’t just perform—it saved my hide.

A Winter Hike into the Adirondacks

Our group of four, plus one very excited dog (Bear), set out from the Wheelerville Mountain Bike Park. In the summer, this place is full of the sounds of rattling chains and knobby tires biting into sandy Adirondack dirt. But in the dead of winter, it’s silent—just the groan of tree limbs under the wind and the crunch of snowshoes cutting a trail through untouched powder.

We’re headed to Holmes Lake, one of the thousands of remote Adirondack lakes where a state lean-to waited for us after a long 5-mile trek through snow-covered terrain. The first leg of the hike was picture-perfect—crossing through dense woods, following the well-worn XC ski trails, and soaking in the absolute stillness that only winter camping brings.

Starting at a high elevation from Wheelerville Mountain Bike Park, we descended toward Irving Pond, a frozen marshland that, in warmer months, is prime canoe and campfire territory. Two miles into the journey we reached the far side of the pond; we could hear the distant whine of snowmobiles—a good sign, since that meant we were close to the snowmobile trail we needed to reach. It was 19º with bright sun. 

But first, we had to cross a creek swollen from an earlier warm spell. And that’s where things went south.

My Big Break

As we approached the creek, it was obvious the ice wasn’t perfect. A recent thaw and refreeze meant the surface was deceptive—thick enough to support weight in some spots but dangerously thin in others.

We split up to scout a crossing point.

Keith, with Bear trotting alongside him, found a spot to cross. He shouted to us as we made our way to the crossing site. Keith set out on the ice as we approached and made it across first on skis without issue. Chris followed; his weight evenly distributed across his skis. The ice cracked and buckled and though it did break, his ski’s spanned the cracks and held him up.

That left Matt and me. We decided to take the same route but split slightly—Matt moving 10 feet upstream, and I went 10 feet downstream. Bear whining, clearly uncomfortable with this crossing…

I took a step. Then another.

And then the ice collapsed beneath me.

One second, I was stepping forward. The next, I was waist-deep in 34º water, my snowshoes tangled in the ice. My hands slapped onto the slab in front of me, and instantly, I felt freezing water rush into my boots, my pants and my beltline. My breath stolen by the shock.

For anyone who hasn’t experienced a true ice plunge, here’s what happens: your lungs clamp shut. Your brain short-circuits. Every nerve in your body screams at you to GET OUT NOW!

My left foot hit the creek bed, but my right leg was caught under the ice, the current tugging the ice loose and pulling my snowshoe with it. I pulled it back and planted it down.   

Keith and Chris were shouting instructions, their ski poles extending toward me, but I couldn’t move. I had to focus on my breathing first—if I lost control of that, I wouldn’t be able to do anything else.

Getting Out Before Hypothermia Took Over

Somewhere through the haze, I heard Matt yell: “Ditch your pack!”

That was something I could focus on. I forced my numb fingers underwater, fumbling for the buckle before finally getting it undone. I tossed my pack onto the ice, though a 40-pound winter pack doesn’t exactly fly. It flopped onto the ice next to me. 

I tried pulling myself onto the ice, but the moment I put my weight forward, the slab cracked and broke away. My hands went under, my elbows submerged, and I felt the familiar panic flare-up again.

Chris and Keith edged as close as they could with their ski poles, stretching them toward me. I grabbed on.

With three calculated heaves we pulled, I kicked off the creek bed, pulled my tangled leg free, and flopped onto the ice. Clutching their ski poles they hauled me across the ice before I froze to it.

My hands stopped working almost immediately. My feet were blocks of ice inside my boots. I wasn’t just cold—I was burning through every ounce of energy just to get up.

The Race to Get Warm

As soon as I’m on my feet we break for the wood line and my clothes are freezing in the wind. As fast as I can remove them Chris is wringing them out and hanging them in a tree; they all freeze solid in the March breeze. 

Chris throws down his sleeping pad and there I am naked and freezing on a 19° beach. Waves of snow drift onto my bare feet.

Happy to see me out of the water and getting dry, Keith, Matt and Bear are rushing up the bank with cat-calls and big smiles, happy to present my pack. Thankfully, it’s dry.

Everyone is immediately digging through bags for spare clothes. Now that the immediate danger is over the jokes are flying. “Didn’t know this was a swimming trip” … “How was your ice bath?”… “Always need to make it about YOU.” The humor is reassuring and puts the group back in gear; time to get moving. 

Chris handed me his down camp booties. “Stuff these in your boots. You need them.”

I didn’t argue.

With dry(ish) clothes cobbled together, we made for the snowmobile trail. All of us just spent 30 minutes standing in the breeze… we needed to walk. We needed to get warm.

For the next three miles, all I could think about was a fire, a warm sleeping bag, and not freezing to death. The tax from the earlier plunge now a memory, the consistent march forward and the incredible winter scenes, reminding me that this was once a vast frontier––there was a time in the 1740’s when pioneers before me broke these wilds to make homes among the mountains. They did it without the nylon and ultralight camp chairs. 

The Alps Mountaineering Sleeping Bag System Delivers

By the time we reached Holmes Lake, I was spent. My body had burned every calorie trying to stay warm, and I had nothing left. I barely had the energy to help gather firewood.

After someone said I think we have enough for now, I did the only thing that made sense:

I inflated the insulated pad, rolled out the Alps Mountaineering 0° Bag, climbed inside and didn’t move for two hours.

The synthetic insulation warmed me up fast, trapping body heat without cold spots. The toe box is well-designed and well-insulated, and the zipper baffle prevented drafts. The Trailblazer Insulated Sleeping Pad is a fortress against the lean-to floor, with an R-Value of 8.0—so good that even after my ice bath, I felt nothing but heat.

For two hours, I laid there, listening to the fire crackle, hearing the crack of beers opening, laughing about the day—and thanking every bit of insulation wrapped around me.

This Gear Earned Its Place

I could nitpick. I could talk about pack size and weight, compare it to featherweight down options…

But after this trip? None of that matters.

This sleep system saved me.

• The Alps Mountaineer Vibe 0° Sleeping Bag is a rock-solid synthetic bag. Warm, comfortable, and reliable in real-world conditions. It’s bulky, but if I had to choose between a slightly heavier pack and freezing my butt off? I’d carry the weight every time. -0º, 4 pounds, 11 ounces, $119.99.
• The Trailblazer Insulated Sleeping Pad is a must-have for winter camping. The inflation sack makes setup easy, the 8.0 R-Value means you’ll never feel the cold ground, and it’s light enough to take on any trip. 1.7 pounds, $159.99.

Would I trust this system again? Absolutely. Would I prefer not to test it this way again? Also yes.

Stay safe out there. And if you’re crossing ice in the backcountry? Know that even being careful and calculated still leaves room for surprises.