My late father, who was sort of a loner, really enjoyed his time in the woods. But he liked my company.

From the time I was a tot able to walk, he took me with him hunting, fishing and camping. I always felt that he was amused by my early fascination with all things “woodsy.” He seemed pleased as well when I learned a new outdoor skill from his patient instruction.

Later on, as a father myself, I made sure that my youngsters were exposed to the outdoors at a very young age. There were times, in fact, when their grandmother expressed her concern that I was “pushing the envelope” when it came to “bringing my boys along.” As I recall, it was a soul-pleasing experience to watch my children gravitate to the great outdoors at a young age, and learn the basics of woodsmanship, like fire starting, using a compass, and picking a tent site.

This summer, as with most summers, I had planned to undertake at least one overnight backpacking trip to get “tuned up” for October’s elk hunt in the Colorado high country.

I know what you’re thinking. One sweaty trek with a 50-pound backpack into the Maine woods will not prepare you for the thin air of the Rockies. Maybe, but the overnight campout serves other purposes.

It’s a reminder of the tough hike that lies ahead and an inspiration to watch my food intake and do longer preparatory walks each morning. It is also a good dry run, a chance to practice putting up and taking down the small mountain tent and figuring out what essentials are missing from the many nooks and crannies of my big backpack.

“Eli, how would you like to hike into a pond with Papa and sleep in a tent tomorrow night?” I asked my 6-year-old grandson.

That drew a big smile from him, and with no hesitation he was on board. His grandmother, after a few moments of pensive consideration, agreed that Eli was up to the task. She helped me prepare his small backpack, which included his sleeping bag, Thermarest pad, snacks, extra socks and his indispensable sleeping companion — a soft piece of old crib blanket nicknamed “Mr. Pblank.” Grandmotherly guidance for Eli also included some personal hygiene advice and a short lesson on how to operate Papa’s cell phone, just in case.

As we loaded the truck for our overnight outdoor adventure, my large, bulging backpack seemed cause for a furrowed brow from my wife, Diane. “How much does that weigh?” she asked.

“Oh, I dunno, about 50 pounds,” I replied. “It’s more than I would want to hump out West, but this is a short hike. And sea level to boot. I’ll be fine,” I assured her. She then handed me a small vial of aspirin.

“If you get any chest pains, chew up three or four of these immediately,” she whispered out of Eli’s earshot.

At the pond’s trailhead, Eli and I donned our packs and struck out in the midday heat. It was cooler in the woods, but the ascent into the pond was steeper than I had remembered it. The trek to the pond was sweaty but short, thankfully, and we got to the tent site as the sun was lowering. After a cooling dip in the pond, Eli and I put the tent up, gathered some firewood and set up our woods “kitchen.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I watched his manner and expression. He was flowing with it nicely, this camping thing. From him, there were many questions about the tent, how the mountain stove worked, if I’d ever had a leech on me, and if we could sit around the fire after dark.

For me, having this eager 6-year-old future outdoorsman at my side was deja vu all over again. Eli was a busy little guy. He minded the fire and washed our dinner dishes in the pond. Watching him, my thoughts strayed to earlier times. I was with another 6-year-old boy, my son Josh — Eli’s Dad. Only that was more than 30 years ago! Where does it go, this ticking clock of life?

Soon the moon shone bright, shimmering across the pond and illuminating our tent site. The fire flickered and faded. It wasn’t long before the youngster and the oldster, decided that it was time to turn in.

Zipped into the two-man mountain tent, we listened as the abrasive chorus of bull frogs spoiled the stillness.

“G’night, E. See you in the morning for a big breakfast,” I said.

“Night, Papa,” Eli said turning over and snuggling around his other tent companion, Mr. Pblank.

V. Paul Reynolds is editor of the Northwoods Sporting Journal. He is also a Maine Guide, co-host of a weekly radio program “Maine Outdoors” heard Sundays at 7 p.m. on The Voice of Maine News-Talk Network (WVOM-FM 103.9, WQVM-FM 101.3) and former information officer for the Maine Dept. of Fish and Wildlife. His e-mail address is [email protected] and his new book is “A Maine Deer Hunter’s Logbook.”