Feb 7, 2026 5 min read

The recent cold snap has affected me. Maybe it has taken its toll on you, as well?

My experience has not been necessarily a bad one, however. When we look back over the ages, time has an interesting way of skewing our perspective. I would venture to say that we might fancier ourselves a bit tougher on the football field than we might have actually been. Maybe our romantic inclinations become a bit fuzzier than we’d like to remember when it comes to being suave and debonair. What we recall might not necessarily have been so.

Something that I most definitely do recall well as a kid, and even into young adulthood, was being cold. And I mean uncomfortably cold. Sled riding cold, hunting cold, working outside in the cold type of cold, lousy heater in the car cold. I always loved the outdoors but staying out in freezing temperatures was always a nearly impossible chore. It was more like a contest to see how long we could last before caving into the elements. Between ADHD and frigid temperatures, I was never one of those guys who could last all day on stand. Sissy that I am, I still tend to make it indoors for lunch and a short nap before sitting my evening stand.

Certainly, clothing was a big part of the hunting equation, be it a positive or a negative experience. My hunting outfit probably had more to do with my lack of enjoyment than anything. I can still recall every garment I donned from head to toe like it was yesterday … Red Ball three-eyelet lace-up rubber boots, always a size or two too big, being hand-me-downs. Stuffing two pairs of socks in them would have helped if I’d known at the time that cotton socks next to your skin was defeating the whole purpose. Long-handled cotton underwear or “long johns” as we referred to them in southwestern Pennsylvania parlance, did little to help much, topped off with cotton blue jeans. The one intelligent piece of hunting gear I possessed was my Dad’s old Woolrich hunting coat from the 1940s. Although it was the warmest garment I owned, the coat was a medium and I, unfortunately, was a large, allowing little room for the various other layers of cotton beneath. Monkey-faced cotton gloves and a blaze orange acrylic toboggan (hat, not sled) completed the ensemble. You remember, the cap with the black circle deer patch sewed onto the forehead? Everyone I knew had the same hat, purchased from Gatlings in Waynesburg.

Is it any wonder that we were soaked with sweat in a few hundred yards on the way to our stand, only to marinate in our own stew until we nearly froze solid? And to think that I called this fun? It amazes me to this day that I still get such a kick out of being outdoors in any form. So what gives?

Well, I am better educated on fabrics. My discretionary income has increased into adulthood. I have purchased nearly every garment manufactured that can assist in keeping me warm and I have passed my castoffs and discards down to my proteges.

These days, I try to walk a couple of miles per day at least three or four times per week. Throughout this cold snap we’ve been experiencing, I find myself walking Jensen Hollow nearly every day possible and not minding it a bit. The other day was a seven-degree day and a PennDOT truck driver, a neighbor, a family member and two good Samaritans stopped to tell me it was cold. This, too, is a daily occurrence. I guess they were checking on me, so call it a plus? Even better, I wasn’t cold.

I wore a fleece jacket layered with a down coat. Having borrowed my daughter’s electronic hand warmers she received from our neighbors as a Christmas gift, I was toasty. Sweatpants with fleece long underwear kept my bottom half good to go. Insulated hiking sneakers with wool socks, a neck gaiter and a goat herder cap with ear flaps had me ready for another mile if I chose to go that route. I did not, however, choose that route.

I’ve even given some consideration to a heated vest. There are some interesting combinations out there that are of a rechargeable nature and look to do an even better job of keeping one warm than my handwarmer route.

So, as I pause to reflect on my good ole’ days, I have to ask myself, “Were they really all that good?” Certainly, I was able to leap taller buildings in a single bound. Was I faster than a speeding bullet? Absolutely. Was I more powerful than a steaming locomotive? Questionable at best. Was I warmer last week than any time I can remember in 50 years of cold weather?

These are the good old days my friends.

Dave Bates writes a weekly outdoors column for the Observer-Reporter. He can be reached at alphaomegashootingsolutions@gmail.com