An Open Letter to Big Agnes

Note: This is the first time I’ve written a letter to an inanimate object. Let me surprise you. As a reader, I trust the writer in most cases and as I write this I trust you to make of it what you will. Thanks for stopping by.

bigagnes_logoPhoto credit

Dear Big Agnes,

I find myself writing to you on a warm Friday night, reminiscing on the day we met. There you were, your maroon colored shell protecting your Insulated Air Core. There I was, a sad backpacker without a comfy bed on which to lay.

With night descending on our camp, all eight of us pulled out our Big Agnes’; we felt pure joy as we discovered a different way to sleep in the woods.

I have my uncle to thank for instigating the Big Agnes tradition, and my dad for buying you off Campmor.com last year. And what a tradition it is now! Eight of us Jopsons stretched out on a tarp, nestled inside our down sleeping bags, on top of your two-inch inflatable goodness. (We snored away–we didn’t even have to count sheep). The sleep was that good. Your air pad qualities astounded us, and we vowed to never buy a Therm-a-Rest again.

We look like we don't know how to relax!
We look like we don’t know how to relax!  Photo: Jim Jopson
Like tattoos, you can't have just one.
Like tattoos, you can’t have just one.

Each morning of last year’s backpacking trip you stayed by my side as I popped my head out of my sleeping bag and ventured out into the cold air. You were my companion.

This year’s trip was fantastic, until I caught a cold and found it difficult to sleep on my back. In the few moments where I could actually breathe and lie down at the same time, it was bliss.

Even though I am not entirely sure where I’m going to sleep through half of September back at school, at least I’ll have a high chance of getting my beauty sleep.

Your loyal friend,

Jennifer

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