To my very first tent, that anonymous damp canvas cavern propped up in a small clearing simply north of Inexperienced Hand Bridge, inside smelling distance of the wetland. You had been my shelter from a cruel thunderstorm…till we deserted you for drier floor. Nonetheless, I’ll always remember our time collectively, as transient because it was.
To the traditional A-frame sunk right into a muddy subject close to Satan’s Lake. You had been a heat respite, a comfy nook, a spot to collect with buddies…in addition to the positioning of my first utterly unintentional hot-boxing. Expensive tentmates: sixteen years later, I’m nonetheless sorry. Please forgive.
To a budget Coleman with the flimsy material and irritable zippers. You had been the primary tent I exchanged actual, stay cash for; I owned you with delight. I look again fondly on our instances spent tucked into the sands of Huntington Island and that different swampy place whose title I can’t recall. I solely remorse driving you onerous and placing you away moist – who knew mould was so tenacious?
To my first backpacking rig, the spacious REI Half Dome. You accompanied me to the best and lowest factors within the Continental United States. You weathered two large ExPed Synmats being jammed throughout your inside time and time once more. You dealt with the repeated abuse on that single zipper like an actual professional. Miles and miles and miles, you had been my workhorse. My companion. My every little thing. I hope you aren’t jealous of my new, infinitely lighter and sexier backpacking tent.
Oops – did I say that out loud? Apologies.
To that snazzy glamping compound within the Serengeti. I’ll always remember the solace of your flushing bathroom, the consolation of your asininely enormous mattress, or the bliss of your heat bucket bathe. I’m additionally infinitely grateful in your safety towards that one jackal that spent the whole evening stalking me. Asante sana.
To the flowery expedition mannequin on Kilimanjaro. What can I say? We laughed collectively, we cried collectively, and that one vulgarly chilly evening, you even let me pee in you (in a clearly marked Nalgene bottle, in fact). I’m unsure if my particular eau de backpacker ever left your weather-resistant partitions, however I hope you’ll keep in mind me at all times.
To the stupidly small rented Mountain Hardware catastrophe pitched within the snow at Rock Creek Lake. Your guylines had been dumb. Your inside was miniscule. Your partitions manufactured cascades of condensation regardless of correct air flow. Nonetheless…I suppose you held up your finish of the discount. Barely.
To the absurdly giant Kelty Four-person fort. You’re my McMansion of automobile tenting. The day I noticed I might arrange a folding chair within you was the perfect day ever. So what if I seem like I’m preventing a greased pig each time I set you up whereas alone?
To my comparatively model new Massive Agnes Fly Creek UL2. Your silnylon is soooooo horny. The way in which it barely collects dew within the morning…the way in which it dries practically immediately if damp…the utter and inconceivable lightness in my pack…I’m in love with you. What do you say we hike 942 miles of the Pacific Crest Path collectively this 12 months?
…and to generally leaving all the tents behind in favor of cowboy tenting below an infinite sky.
Read more :