It’s just stuff. Old stuff mostly.
The sleeping bags have long since traded loft for aroma. The cook-set is stained and dented. The backpack could serve as a CSI: Extra Violent Crimes prop. Steven won’t accept that many of my time-tested layers qualify as field-worthy. I’d have a hard time giving away much of my gear stash at a yard sale.
Why then does the simple act of pulling the various pieces from their bins and shelves deliver such a thrill?
It must be the same phenomenon my dog experiences when she hears the shotgun cabinet door unlock. To her the 12 gauge is just a long, loud stick that I carry around sometimes. But darned if it doesn’t always show up right before the good time roll.
Some items will, for me, forever be associated with Elk season. It’s not a connection that sends me running around the house slobbering and wagging my tail… but it sure is close.
Grab the gear. We’re heading for the hills.