In celebration of Father’s Day, here are some of our favorite memories of biking, hiking, and getting lost with dad. I had just turned eight years old, which meant I finally got to go on the annual Barronian backpacking trip with my dad, uncle, and cool older brothers and cousin. I’d wanted to join them for several years but was: (1) a brat and (2) too small. After promising that I wouldn’t complain, I packed my little clothes in a JanSport backpack. Then we set off for a lake in the Cascades. We got to camp, I had to pee, and my dad realized I’d yet to learn the backcountry squat. He poorly mimicked the action, told me to pull my sweats all the way to my ankles, and sent me on my way. I dropped trou, did a tiny squat directly over them, and peed squarely into my sweats. After hearing my yells for help, Dad extricated me from my mess and strung up some paracord to hang the pants dry. Once I was comfortably zipped into a pair of dry jeans, I thought my embarrassment was behind me. That ended when a few friendly deer wandered into camp and started treating the sweats like a salt lick. Some advice to the outdoor parents: ask mom to teach your daughters backcountry bathroom technique. —Abigail Barronian, senior editor.