TRIED AND TRUE. PHOTO: BEN DUCHESNEY
WHY YOU SHOULD NEVER DITCH THAT GRUNGY GEAR
If I were to spread out all of my fishing hats and lay down, I’d be more comfortable than if I were asleep on a Tempur-Pedic mattress. I’m swim- ming in hats. Yet, I only ever wear three, and really, when I need some extra fishing mojo, there’s only one for me. I wouldn’t say I’m a superstitious person, but I guess I can’t say that I’m
not one either. If I know I need to catch a fish, whether it’s for a photo, to catch one on camera, or just to get out of a slump, I grab my Buggs Fishing hat. I don’t consciously make the decision, but the decision is made some- where deep within my fishy brain. I’ll admit, it’s getting grimy. There’s a sweat stain creeping forward on
the brim that looks like an ocean wave surging up the beach. The mesh in the back has turned from white to off-white to a color that can only be described with a silent grimace. The front panel, already 10 shades lighter than it started, is caked with an eternal layer of salt. Like a soft pretzel— but one that’s been dropped on the ground. Paddlers, fishermen, climbers, skiers; we stand united in our addiction to
gear. After a few years dedicated to our favorite passions, sure enough our closets are bursting at the hinges with too much gear. I bet each of us could go out every day for a week in a whole different outfit. I don’t know how I’ve accumulated so much gear either; it just happens.
10 PADDLING MAGAZINE
GROSS PERFECTION
Yet, I know that most of us will show up to the put-in, chair lift or park- ing lot in the same exact get-up as we did the day before, and maybe even 10 seasons before that. I know a few anglers that have more fishing rods than I do hats. Run- ners that have even more running shoes. Climbers that have enough rope to wrap around the earth—twice. Still, they always seem to wear the same thing. The memories build up
over the years and share the same fabric as the grime. That time a buddy fell out of his kayak and grabbed my bow, spilling me into the drink; I was wearing that hat. When I caught my personal best striped bass, I was wearing that hat. When I went on the best kayak fishing trips of my life, I was wearing that hat. No matter how many paddling tops, rods, reels, paddles, boats or fish- ing hats, there are, when you walk out that door, keep building up those layers of stoke and gross on your old favorites. I’ll keep wearing my lucky hat until it falls apart, well beyond the fixing powers of duct tape. Someday I’ll have to retire it, but I’m sure I’ll have another one already waiting on deck. One that’s already been baked by the sun, been soaked by countless rainstorms and caked in enough fish slime and salt to look like an old friend. —Ben Duchesney
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