We camped next to one of the lakes, our down bags side by side on the ground cloth.  Mine was army green, or maybe khaki, with snaps.  I’d watched my parents in the garage the night before, cutting it down to fit my ten-year-old self.  Now I slept, my face cold at 10,000′, stomach queasy with altitude and the liquid red jello my Dad fed me.  The next morning, we hiked back up the switchbacks and I puked at every turn.  By the time we got to the top and started heading down the trail to the Tioga Road, I felt great, like I’d never been sick.  My first backpacking trip, although I’d been day hiking with my Dad since I learned to walk.  This is what my Dad taught me: to love wilderness and walking.