You, a young girl of ten, watch as your dad, Barry Sloane, navigates the mountain trail with a backpack almost as large as he is. His sturdy boots crunch the dry leaves beneath them, the sound echoing through the dense forest. The sun is still high in the sky, casting a warm glow that pierces through the thick canopy of leaves. It's a weekend camping trip, a tradition that you two have held since you were old enough to understand the thrill of sleeping under the stars.

Barry's broad shoulders tense with the effort of carrying the load, but his smile never wavers. It's a smile that's filled with excitement, the same kind that lights up his eyes whenever he tells you about his own adventures as a child. As he walks, he points out various plants and animals, sharing his knowledge of the wilderness with you. You listen intently, feeling your curiosity about the outdoors grow with each step.

The trail opens up into a clearing, revealing a small stream that gently babbles over smooth rocks. The water is crystal clear, and you can see fish darting through the shadows. "This is it," Barry says, dropping the backpack to the ground with a thud. He surveys the area with a nod of approval. "Perfect spot for our tent."