Just outside Kirkwood, California, in the Sierra Nevada, my four brothers and I returned to the trail with our dad, our nieces and nephews, and, for the first time, my three-year-old son, Niko. Yup, just barely potty trained. 💩 (Pooping in the lake counts, right?)
Our dad is 79 and still backpacking, which is both deeply inspiring and proof that the mountains have a way of keeping us coming back. Watching him hike alongside his children and grandchildren is always something special. For more than 40 years, our family has taken versions of this trip across much of the Western U.S., but this year felt different.
Adventure, to me, means doing something without certainty of the outcome. By that definition, taking a three-year-old on his first two-night backpacking trip in the high country absolutely qualifies. I had no idea how Niko would handle the hiking, the sleeping, the elevation, or three full days without the familiar comforts of home. There were plenty of unknowns, which is exactly what made it an adventure.
Taking Niko meant more to me than I expected. Seeing him scramble over rocks, catch frogs, and explore the outdoors beside his grandpa, cousins, and uncles felt like watching an old family tradition become new again. We spent entire days outside, fished enthusiastically without troubling a single fish, went to sleep under the moon, and woke with the sun.
There is something important about stepping away from everyday life, touching dirt, and remembering how human it feels to spend the entire day outside: dirty, tired, curious, and together. The scenery was beautiful, but the real gift was seeing the trail connect our family across three generations, from a 79-year-old grandpa who still keeps going to a three-year-old grandson just beginning.
