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A Farewell to Gear
by Will Hartman
What makes the black flies bearable? The rumor is to eat lots of garlic and not take showers. I try those but I have concluded that these techniques may be the very reason my guiding tips have been non-existent. Bug dope, although I offer it to my customers in an attempt to be the finest guide I can, seems to be utter nonsense. For me, when I’m being turned into a flesh buffet, I think of pro-deals. As a first year guide, one of the most enticing perks is not the easy life-style or quick access to the river, but the dirt cheap gear made available to me because I am a guide. Although I depend on guiding as the source of my income, it is not rafting gear I dream about as the bugs gnaw on my neck, but kayaking accessories. Kayaking is the reason I came up to Maine to work and make small amounts of money. Unfortunately, due to the Siren’s Call of the pro-deal, those small amounts of money seem even smaller. “Wholesale Price!” the catalog sings to me, as I flip through it forgetting the thin wallet in my back pocket.
Now, I am a thrifty man. I do not like spending money, especially in large amounts. That is why I feel I need to give you a rundown of the paddling equipment that I came to the Kennebec Valley with. My helmet is an antique. It’s like one of those old bulky Pro-Tecs, but bulkier. This god-forsaken yellow brain-bucket easily dates back 25 years. Mr. Adams, my cat, used my Hydroponics spray skirt as his bed last winter and left hundreds of invisible, leaky holes with his claws. However, of all my gear, I am fondest of my paddle: an ugly black Ainsworth with purple camouflage spray paint on the chipped blades. I picked it up at a yard sale for ten bucks. Although I’ve chipped the blades, I will never break this stout paddle. I have come across heavier paddles, but I can’t quite remember when. The only thing this paddle is good for is giving me tennis elbow and bludgeoning a charging moose.
In actuality, not all my equipment was antiquated when I arrived in Maine. I did come up here with a new dry-top, but it is worth mentioning the horrendous wet-suit I was wearing on the frigid early season days, was picked from the trash of a Boston street corner.
Since I started consistently paddling last fall, I have played the borrowing game. The start of each day on the river involved waking up friends to take their gear. My longest stretch of “borrowing” is damn near a month. Needless to say, this individual and I are no longer as close as we use to be.
As late spring has turned into summer, I have slowly started filtering out these sentimental pieces. The gear that has not been retired to other paddlers or the dumpster, I have plans for as soon as more of those quaint checks roll in. Now, when I bring customers down the river, I look at them optimistically as an NRS strap or Grateful Heads helmet. I’d like to say I am a little sad to see the equipment that I learned in slowly be replaced by scratchless helmets and holeless spray skirts; but honestly, the sooner I get rid of this shit the better.
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