By Greg and Geoff Giles: In 1992 we took the trek up the ravine from Convict to Mildred Lake. We threw our lines in, and caught fish by the cast. I think it was big Al who said, "Why would we ever fish the lower lakes again?". A few of us headed up to the next higher lake, Dorothy Lake. It was the most beautiful lake I had ever seen. It was not easy as we had not dealt with altitude like this before, but we felt like we had seen something not many had seen. When we got back to Mildred lake we were all excited about the what if? What if we brought backpacks and tents, and just stayed up here? We all agreed. There’s no reason to stay down where the cars could park and everybody could fish any longer. So we were prepared in 1993, or so we thought, to head up the mountain and stay a while. When we pulled up to Convict lake it was raining and they told us, “There is no way you’ll make it up there. The river is rushing too big so you can’t cross.” It was an El Niño winter so we believed them. It was the most snow we had seen in years. So we asked them where we could go instead. They said the trailhead at Lake Mary might be open. So we went over there, and parked at the bait shop because the road to the trailhead and campground was still closed as it was covered in snow. Most reasonable people at this point would probably head back down to lower elevation to fish with the people that could drive to the lake in Motorhome’s. Not us, we had tasted the freedom of the unknown and the fish jumping out of the water for our lures so there was no way we were turning around. The picture of us in ponchos at the trailhead with excitement in our eyes was taken after we already hiked a mile through snow drifts. Little did we know that we were walking on the roads of the car campground. We thought we were already close to the lake because we had been hiking so long… I love you guys. Thank you for giving me the opportunity to grow through challenges and mistakes. We didn’t know what we were doing, but we did it anyway. Sometimes we wait until we have all the answers before we take steps, and this probably is the smarter way to do things, but we experience so little because we don’t walk very far this way. Thank you to my dad and my uncles for taking steps into the unknown and bringing us along. It’s not easy, but it’s worth the risk. By Geoff: This is when Backpack started for me. At least, how I think about what Backpack is now. It was the first year that we walked out into the woods to see if we could survive. It was the first time we had that indescribable feeling that we were “away” for much longer than we actually were. We found out that the coldest place in the nation was mammoth lakes California on June 19, 1993. My mother and my aunts made us aware of that, saying things like, “I can’t believe you guys made it.” We got down off the mountain and it felt like the world had changed and didn’t even notice that we weren’t part of it. It was a time before cell phones, so everyone had to either get home to let their significant others know we made it or find a pay phone. If I remember right, they waited to get home. It blows my mind that the ladies let this take place. Times have changed so much. Nowadays, Audra lets me take our boys because she knows they would be mad at her if she didn’t. But, she is also deceived into thinking I know what I’m doing. I guess from being taught how to do things the ill-advised way has made it possible for me to make better decisions and thus give them a better chance to return to her alive. The fact, that my aunts and my mom let the 3 of them take us out into the woods with nothing but backpacks without any prior experience is incredible. Kevin is 8 years old in that photo by the sign. Every single night he would scream out, “Bear!” at the top of his lungs and scare the crap out of all of us. Of course we all laughed about then and still laugh about it now, but the craziest part is that I’ve been back to that exact location a couple of times now and every time I’ve been there I’ve actually seen a bear. During these early years the idea that a bear would be anywhere near us was apparently out of the question. I don’t know about you, but the older I get the more I appreciate the saying ignorance is bliss. But, these three brothers believed it was going to work out and for the most part it always did. Still to this day, they all make us circle up and pray before we hit the trail. It is in those hills that I learned faith. Not because I read about it, but because those before me walked it out. I always find it hard to understand why the concept alludes so many of us. I believe that those that know Him should be those that exhibit it the most. Not in ignorance but in a knowing that a life placed in the hands of the Father is a life worth living. That trust is a true sign of love. And that love has the ability to love selflessly. I’ve learned most of the lessons of my life the hard way. I carry a lot of scars, but those scars were earned, and I wouldn’t trade them for anything. This trip has shaped me in more ways than I know that I’m aware of, and it started on the shores of the lakes we camped at in 1993. 15 years later I walked to Canada with a person that I met on the Mexican border of California. For months he had to listen to my stories for 13 hours a day. So many of them revolved around Backpack. When we finally reached the Sierras, I asked him if it would be alright to leave the PCT and take a slight detour. Being the gracious person that he is, Ben obliged my request. When we made it over the summit of Duck Pass and made our way through the canyon towards Mary lakes something came over me. I was transported to 1993. We stood and stared in a sense of reverence at the fishing hole that we had fished. I took him to the campsite that Stevo tackled me for not helping him with the firewood. We passed the sign that Big Al yelled at TRo to read to him. We crossed the parking lot that we had crossed, but this time Ben and I were on the asphalt. And we stopped at the bait shop that first pointed us in the direction of adventure. I was overwhelmed and grateful for the opportunities that I’ve been blessed with. He’s a good Father and I’m grateful to Roo and my uncles for inadvertently teaching us what it means to walk by faith and not be sight. And also for the second generation for being brave enough to follow them into the unknown. We are truly blessed.