I am still doing outings with the Appalachian Mountain Club, including snowshoeing up into the White Mountains in New Hampshire last February without tents, instead building and sleeping in snow shelters. Also, on September 6, climbed with a friend to the high tableland on Katahdin but got turned back by high winds (saw a woman get blown over, but it was on the flat tableland so she just stood up and kept going) plus socked-in summit. Too bad, because at that time of year if nice weather you can sit at the summit, enjoy incredible views, and greet the through-hikers as they take their last steps on the 2200-mile Appalachian Trail. Many of them have friends and family up there too, with cake and champagne--a real party atmosphere (but no Mighty Mo). Here are some pictures from February. We went on snowshoes up to Lonesome Lake in the White Mountains, without tents. I had never slept in a snow shelter. One (not the one I made or slept in) was a conventional igloo, made with a portable box to form the blocks. The box is attached to a pole, tethered at the point that will be the center of the igloo, so you get a smooth symmetrical structure. The "quinzhee" (this was all new to me), rather than the igloo, was used by the native Americans in our northern forest. First you pile up the snow.  Fresh snow is best, and it snowed most of the time during this trip. Then you let it settle and consolidate a little, for about an hour. Then you poke sticks into it, all to the depth of about one foot. After that, the thing is dug out, beginning the door on the lee side. The person inside (in theory) keeps digging until hitting the end of the sticks so the walls will have a uniform one-foot thickness.  It's always about 32 degrees inside (was much colder outside), so temperature was not a problem. I said "in theory" above because I just stopped digging inside when it was big enough for two sleeping bags. This left the walls thicker than one foot, and the only unpleasantness for me was some claustrophobia, worrying that if the thing collapsed in the night I would have too much snow on me. The fatigue won out and I slept very soundly, but next time I would make the pile smaller and the walls thinner. (Another factor for us was that the overnight snowing added about 6 inches to the walls.) I was surprised at how quiet it is inside one of those things. You realize that "quiet" is a relative term; inside there we could hear each other breathing, loud enough to be distracting. We slept a little late and the others thought we had died or something because we did not hear their shouting until they bent down and spoke directly through the doorway.