My first piece of gear was a sleeping bag. I didn't buy it, I asked my parents to get it for me for Christmas. I was 10 years old, so that was in 1969.

My mom really grilled me on that choice. I recall her telling me first that it was a really odd choice and then asking me "why in the world do you want that?

She seemed almost horrified when I told her I wanted to go camping, but she got me a bag. She was never happy about it though. She was a worry wort and I'm sure she envisioned me doing all kinds of mischief all night long under the guise of "camping". I'm sure because I endured long lectures on how I'd never get away with whatever I was planning combined with threats and descriptions of certain tortures I'd be subject to when I was finally captured in the middle of the heinous acts I was committing.

It was just a cheap discount store 3 lb bag but I loved it. My friends and I had all asked for sleeping bags and we camped out in our backyards with them as soon as it warmed up enough to melt the snow off. We talked a lot about how great it must be to be able to go camp somewhere not in our yards, and spent a great deal of time trying to figure out ways to convince or connive our parents into letting us.

It was a couple years before I actually used my bag the first time camping out in Rock Cut State Park, but two years after that it was with me when I did my first trip up into the Sequoia NF and it did many more there over quite a few years.

I've only bought 3 bags since, and still have all of them.