Columns: OF MOUTHS & MONIES [DAN SLATER]
A LIFE FULLY LIVED Throwing away a used item of outdoor gear and clothing might be thought of as tragic, but only if that piece of equipment is being discarded prematurely.
A
pologies if I’ve mentioned this before, but I have a lot of outdoor equipment. I don’t say this to show off, but because it gives me a privileged perspective on the value of possessions. Everyone loves getting shiny new gear for their adventures, and that special feeling when you’ve spent a considerable amount of money on a dream tent or sleeping bag is magical. I’ll never forget it. The thing is, despite my extensive gear closet (OK, it now occupies a small room of its own), it’s been a long time since I spent ‘a considerable amount of money’ on any outdoor gear. Working in the outdoor industry for any length of time, you just can’t help but accumulate ‘stuff’. There are giveaways at trade shows and training nights, prodeals and bro-deals, warranty stock that has to be written off even though there’s basically nothing wrong with it. I’m a gear reviewer. I test gear, write about it, and if I’m lucky the brand in question will allow me to keep it (which would in no way influence the nature of my review, by the way). Back when the Petzl Nao head torch was newly released and the hottest thing since sliced bread, a colleague of mine (and I don’t know which one) made a sale. The thing is, what the customer actually paid $200 for was ... an empty box! The actual torch was up on display and neither of them noticed its absence. In their defence, it was a particularly heavy empty box. Nevertheless, the customer walked away with nothing but an instruction manual, and yet they never came back!
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I cannot fathom what sort of person would arrive home, open the packaging, discover their loss, and then just throw it away with a shrug. Perhaps, however, that wasn’t the circumstance at all. Perhaps it was a gift, and the ensuing embarrassment precluded any mention of the lack of substance. Perhaps the buyer lost it before they had a chance to open and use it. Maybe they kept it for an emergency-lighting situation, which when it
THE DAY I THROW OUT A PIECE OF EQUIPMENT IS NOT, AS YOU MIGHT THINK, A SAD ONE. ON THE CONTRARY, IT’S A
CELEBRATION! ”
occurred resulted in a fatal accident due to the absence of said light. I’ve thought about this long and hard, believe me! My circuitous point is this: No matter how much swag I accumulate, and regardless of owning the latest model in any given category, I will never throw away my older gear until it’s completely dead. (Ed: I’d say likewise, but the hoarder in me keeps a lot of dead gear as well, just in case I can cannibalise some part of it for use elsewhere). I’ll keep using it and using it until it finally shuffles off its mortal coil. Even with the newest, shiniest version standing eagerly by, I’ll favour the faded, threadbare favourite any day. It’s as if the closer
it comes to D-Day, the more I’ll thrash it to get it there as quickly as possible. Case in point—my Earth Sea Sky Silk Weight T. When I first started work at my current company in 2009, I was given this T-shirt not only to wear in the store, but also on adventures to give me confidence in the product. It worked alright! I now have five of these Silk Weight Ts (some of which I actually paid money for), but I still almost exclusively wear the first one. It’s thirteen years old, discoloured, manky and full of holes, but that’s the one I reach for while the pristine shirts sit ignored at the back of the drawer. (Tragically, the style has now been discontinued, but at least I have enough in hand to last me the rest of my life!) The day I throw out a piece of equipment or clothing, finally beyond any further repair (and repair it I always do), is not, as you might think, a sad one. On the contrary, it’s a celebration! A triumph of perseverance. The feeling of having worn something completely out is that of a job well done. I pat myself on the back, bid the garment a fond farewell and reach for the next in line, which may already be ten years old and virtually unworn. Sure, there’s a tinge of melancholy when I think of all the good times we’ve had together. I might take a final photo, or in extreme cases, cut out the logo to stitch into a hideous FrankenTee in an eccentric attempt to keep it on life support for a while longer. But the overwhelming feeling is of joy. The resources that went into this product were not wasted. It lived a full life and died a hero. Vale!
