Keeper
TOTEM
WHY I CAN’T LET GO OF MY CRAPPY OLD GEAR
WHEN I STARTED MY FIRST JOB as a river guide, I had no equipment of my own. Other than a couple short canoe trips at summer camp, I hadn’t spent much time on the water. So it was with great confu- sion I read the following pre-season email, sent out to all first-year staff:
As you budget for the summer, bear in mind there
is some gear you will want for your job. You WILL be in cold water. We can supply you with a paddle, PFD, helmet and wetsuit. Said gear will be entirely safe and functional, but be forewarned: you will look like a dork. You will have no sex appeal. All our staff inevitably invest in their own equipment.
More broke than fashion conscious, I ar-
rived ready to wear whatever they gave me. The first thing I noticed was the color. Angular pink patches cut through a blue body so faded it looked more like acid- wash grey. The stiff, thick neoprene made me walk with straighter-than- normal knees—the fabric pulling my joints into alignment with the suit’s pre-cut shape that when dry, looked
like it may be freestanding. A few years later I blew my river guide salary on a hot new drysuit and technical layering system well worth breaking the bank.
in their own well-worn neoprene.
Drysuit donned, I outfitted newbie interns I was cozy
during an early-season rescue course. I stayed bone
dry as I taught new staff how to swim effectively in whitewater. I was warm. I was comfortable. I looked like I knew what I was doing. There were good reasons I replaced ol’ faithful: too
many consecutive river days resulted in an irritat- ing itch. The faded fabric’s pores, rife with sun-dried urine, caused an odor that ripened when wet despite years of valiant laundering attempts. I even tried a cocktail of every home cleaning product I could get my hands on—the only result was a rash. But my blue and pink polygon suit was never tossed
to the curb. Somewhere in the depths of a Rubbermaid storage
bin, I hoard this relic of paddling days gone by. It gets pulled from retirement from time to time to enrobe a rightfully self-conscious first-time paddler friend; more often I just flip past it as I reach for my replace- ments. But like listening to any old song, seeing it there takes me back to another place and time. I’ve never paddled as many days in a year as I did few summers. They were endless river
those first
days. Nights were spent under the stars on shore, around a campfire surrounded by friends with a similar lack of responsibility and urge to play. I fell asleep to the roar of rushing water. More than a piece of gear, it’s a memory of the places and people who helped shape the person I’ve become. And that is something you don’t throw away.
IN WITH THE OLD. PHOTO: EMMA DRUDGE
Emma Drudge is the editor of Rapid magazine. She looks forward to letters from readers who still rock these suits.
30 | RAPID
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