I still remember my first serious backpacking tent.
It wasn’t especially large, expensive, or exotic. By modern standards it was probably quite ordinary. At the time, however, it was the nicest piece of outdoor gear I had ever owned.
The manufacturer’s instructions recommended sealing the seams before use. Looking back, I probably approached the task with slightly more enthusiasm than necessary.
The tent was erected in the backyard and the rain fly stretched tight. Bottles of seam sealer, brushes, rags, and cleaning supplies were arranged nearby. Every seam was inspected. Every stitch received careful attention. Several hours later I stepped back and admired the result with a level of satisfaction completely disproportionate to what had actually been accomplished.
The tent was exactly where it had been when I started. It was simply more waterproof.
The trip was still weeks away. The mountains were even farther away. I was excited, impatient, and eager to get started. Since I couldn’t leave for the trip yet, I did the next best thing. I prepared for it.
Every evening seemed to involve another small task. Food was packed. Fuel bottles were filled. Maps were checked. Gear was spread across the living room floor and then packed away again. None of it was strictly necessary at that particular moment, but the trip was still weeks away and I was eager to get started.
Looking back, I enjoyed the preparation almost as much as the trip itself. Planning routes, testing equipment, studying maps, and checking gear occupied my attention for weeks beforehand. The trip existed long before I arrived at the trailhead.
At the time, I had very little experience. Most of what I knew about backpacking came from books, magazines, gear catalogs, and the occasional trip. Experienced backpackers seemed to possess a level of confidence and competence I admired. They appeared to know exactly what they were doing. I was not nearly so certain.
The tent is still around.
So am I.