Pulling gear

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.

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