... my Dad was very explicit about Steve: “John, hurt that man.”

There is a strange connection between my Dad nearly killing himself taking my gear backpacking and me getting improved gear.
On his bill.
You see, my Uncle Fred has been big into camping all his life. He has this buddy, Steve, who has done 100-mile ultramarathons (and even talked me up for a 40-miler once), and they go backpacking.
Every once in a while they persuade my Dad to come along, run my Dad into the ground/nearly send him to the hospital, my Dad says he’ll not do that again, a few years go by, he heals, and they persuade my Dad to come along….
This has been going on now at least 30 years.
Last year my Dad went with them into the Yosemite backcountry. And I got a new backpack.
He said the straps on my old pack had gotten hard. They had.
I called Fred and Steve for advice on what to get. Most folks seem to be going with internally framed packs these days – they have a little better balance for things like rock climbing – but I still like the old fashioned externals. I don’t generally rock climb with a backpack on and I like having basically unlimited packing space – if it doesn’t fit, just strap it on.
Steve and I have interests in ultralight stuff, but for basic use on the trail I went with a more versatile Kelty Trekker 3950 that I hope to use this fall with these folks.
Dad’s sporadic attendance aside, Fred and Steve have a stable group they go hiking with on a yearly basis. A few years back they were on the Appalachian Trail in New England. After that trip I got one of these collapsible water bags with a tube sticking out of it so you can drink while you’re using your hands to scramble over rocks. And Dad started hiking in running shoes.
Up in New Hampshire, I think it was, they ran into Earl Schaffer, the first person to hike the entire 2,200-mile Appalachian trail. He was making his third thru-hike when my Dad met him in 1998 – he was 79.
Emil isn’t far behind. When I went backpacking with them on the AT for a week around West Point two years ago he was 72. And he could outhike most 20 year olds. He’d start off from camp a little early, I’d pass him, I’d stop for a break, he’d trudge on past…. And I started hiking in running shoes.
Good-spirited Joey, he dresses, um, colorfully.
And Steve? Who always seems to have more miles in mind than we do in our feet? Before the hike my Dad was very explicit about Steve: “John, hurt that man.”
Can’t you feel the love?
Anyway, the next year Dad went on a trip out to Yosemite with them.
Hearing the stories upon his return, I got a newfound respect for the dangers of altitude sickness.
And an air mattress.
And a new backpack.