Pack it in, pack it out

I'm pretty sure someone stole my pack, because it's no longer in the back of the pickup where I left it. Sure, I probably shouldn't have left it in the bed of the truck, but I did and now it's gone.

I didn't even think about it back there. I took the boy and the dog for a walk, and after the hike I just threw it in the back of the truck and forgot about it.

Then I had to take a couple of pictures in a couple of different towns and some cretin snagged it.

It wasn't a cheap pack when I bought it, but it has seen a lot of miles and was beginning to develop a hole.

There wasn't much in it-at least nothing that was irreplaceable-a few rolls of film, a sweater that was warm, but too small because someone washed it in hot water, and a pair of annoying fleece pants that had no front pockets.

I hope whoever stole my pack puts those pants on and loses their keys.

There were also a half-eaten Snickers energy bar that tasted a lot like dirt, some rope and a fire starter in it. Why is it that those energy bars have to taste so bad? The real Snickers tastes a lot better.

The fire starter was sort of melted. Not because it got too close to a fire, but because DEET spilled on it. DEET eats plastic, which makes me sort of wonder what it really does to your skin. Even so, there are days when the bugs are just unbearable, so you keep it in there anyway.

The only thing I'd really like back was a Swiss Army tool that was sort of like a Leatherman, but the knives were so sharp you could just about split a hair with them.

But even that is replaceable. The nice fella that gave it to me was from Switzerland. I'll bet if I write and tell him what happened, he'd send me another one.

The worst part is that when someone steals your pack, it's like someone stealing your dog. Like losing a friend, a companion.

Me and that frayed fabric have seen a lot together.

I've worn it so much it fits my back just about perfect. The straps creak when I sling it over my shoulders. I took a hike without it and it wasn't the same. I felt sort of naked, like a piece of clothing was missing. That extra weight is comfortable, familiar.

It even smells like me. Heck, it really smells like me, which is why the guy who stole it will probably never wear it, never get it clean.

It will end up in a pawn shop somewhere, begging for a journey.

A journey like the ones I took it on.

So long, pack.

Good luck.

Chris Peterson is the editor of the Hungry Horse News.