I have dilapidated pair of hiking shoes. They’ve carried me across islands in the Atlantic, Pacific, Gulf of Mexico, Sea of Cortez and Great lakes, not to mention many places on the continent.
Along the way, they’ve developed worn spots, nicks and leaks. You can see those as flaws or as souvenirs of great times. When my feet get wet or sore, it’s the former.
I’ve been thinking of replacing them for some time. The other day, I was in a store and saw a great pair of shoes on clearance sale and bought them. And yet, I can’t seem to throw away their predecessors.
For years, I’ve had a very good sea kayak. She does a lot of things well, but few things great. Above all, she is a beautiful craft. She has carried me many places and we’ve shared some spectacular adventures.
As my skills grew, I acquired a very fast boat and a very maneuverable one. I find myself paddling those two almost all the time. Lately, I’ve been getting inquiries from people interested in buying the older boat. I don’t use it much, it’s taking up space, and cash is always good to have, but…
I took paddling lessons for the first time one cold spring back in ’83. Among the requirements were a synthetic underlayer of clothing, capable of wicking away moisture and providing some insulation even while wet. Helly Hansen was about the only maker of polypro garments at the time and I bought a long sleeve top of Lifa material.
The technology was fairly new and it pilled badly. It also accumulated static electricity like a sponge so every bit of fuzz, hair and dust within a mile stuck to it tenaciously. Still, it was my only piece of such gear and got used continuously over the years, developing an assortment of holes and seam splits.
Later, I would replace it with better stuff, but couldn’t bring myself to relegate it to the rag bag. How much allegiance do I owe to underwear?
Old friends or inanimate objects? Or, maybe the question is, sentimentalist or hoarder?
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